15. Ew. Gross
Chapter 15
Ew. Gross
M addock pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss. His blue eyes capture mine with a question.
In response, I say the reasonable thing, “We probably shouldn’t be doing this.”
“But do we want to?” His voice is low, saturated with honey.
I’m afraid I’m developing feelings. That we’re falling ... together and this is just the beginning. But I don’t dare reveal that.
I say, “This is probably a bad idea.”
The flame in his eyes tells me he disagrees. The one in my belly burning me up suggests I’m lying to myself.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about this every day since we talked about not kissing.”
Every hour of every day. But instead, I say, “You know as well as I do. There are strings.”
“Maybe I like these particular strings. Maybe I want strings in my life.”
“I find that hard to believe given the way you roared into town.”
He leans in and roars in my ear, then whispers, “I think you secretly like it.” Again, he nibble-kisses the spot behind my ear and I melt.
But before the world turns totally fuzzy, I say, “I’m afraid to have this conversation because of what it could mean or result in. Not because I don’t want it, but because I don’t trust it. It’s easier to tell you off than to let you in.”
He leans back and goes still. “Is it?”
I nod slowly and he searches my eyes. His gaze alone fills me up in a way that I didn’t realize I needed or wanted, but the risk freezes me in place.
Maddock’s rough fingers trace my jawline and his thumb rubs my chin. “I want my lips on yours. I want your mouth on mine. But I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
It’s been a long time since someone has been considerate of me in this way. But that almost makes it worse. Makes me want him more.
So I drop my lead foot on the gas and go.
I cannot hold back. Fisting his shirt in my hand, I tug him toward me. Once more, we’re kissing and his hands on my skin ignite me.
Maddock lets me direct the proximity and intensity. The space between us narrows until it no longer exists. My hands grip his back as if I’m holding on for dear life. Some days it feels like I’m falling. All over my failures. But this is something else. It’s a different kind of falling ... more like I’m floating. However, I’m not in a fog. More like a daze as my thoughts drift away, leaving nothing other than affection and sensation as Maddock slides his fingers through my hair.
As the kiss deepens, his pulse is erratic, yet somehow mine remains steady. With this man, it’s like I can breathe again.
But this is risky. What if I come to rely on it? What if he leaves?
Right now, with his mouth on mine and his big, warm, protective body pressing against me, I decide to let myself forget until tomorrow. This is my first time kissing Maddock and with him leaving, I fear it could be our last as well. So I pour myself into it, never wanting it to end.
Shooting upright in bed, I wake with a start. I have the eerie feeling someone is watching me sleep. But I was also having a bad dream. After nearly baring my soul to Maddock last night, the secrets that I usually keep under lock and key snuck loose.
Well, most of them.
Fitting that it’s the day before Halloween, traditionally the night that young, misguided youth do things like toilet paper houses, toss eggs at cars, and other unruly things. I’m not saying I didn’t partake, but I’m not not saying that either.
Leonie rouses in the Pack ’n Play and I recommit myself to her life never resembling the one I recounted last night. I won’t drag her into debauchery or debacles, use her as an accomplice or exit strategy as my mother did.
Taking the little bundle of love into my arms, I sing our morning sunshine wake-up song. As I pass the window, Maddock’s truck disappears under the canopy of trees down Shady Lane.
I never imagined my life would take me back here in such an unexpected and somewhat redemptive way. I want to hate this house with its many rooms, secret passageways, and memories, but I can’t hate anything with Leonie’s bright blue eyes looking around with wonder.
It’s my day off, which is another way of saying the day to do all the things I can’t manage while running the restaurant during the work week. This includes, but is not limited to laundry, bills, and other responsibilities that I sometimes avoid. Not because I’m lazy or negligent. More because I rarely have the cash to pay for things like insurance for the mobile home, but I figured I could skip a couple of months given the new roof. If I have the chance to go over to Sunnyside today, I should probably check on things, grab some more clothes, and see if there’s anything salvageable—if rodents haven’t kicked out the frogs and made themselves at home.
When Leonie and I get downstairs, I find five days’ worth of breakfast treats on the counter—muffins, pastries, and beignet buns—along with coffee and a note that says, Don’t you dare eat any of this! xo Maddock .
I chuckle at his calling me out on my stubbornness by trying reverse psychology. I’m onto him ... and really into him, as it turns out. I cannot erase the kiss from last night from my mind. I don’t want to. But the little thrills that shoot through me when I remember the heat of his hands on my skin, the spark between our lips, and the fire in his eyes is like living in a daydream.
When I get the baby’s milk from the fridge, I discover that it’s stocked with labeled glass containers. Another note from Maddock includes reheating instructions. He provided a week’s worth of meals so I don’t get caught up and miss a meal. My jaw hangs open.
No one has ever done something so ... thoughtful.
If I could afford to hire an employee besides Antoine to pay in cash rather than crème br?lée, then I wouldn’t be running myself ragged. But Maddock’s meal gesture touches a place inside I’d cordoned off, fueling me in the best of ways.
After Leonie and I have breakfast, we walk over to the mobile home park. It’s a beautiful fall day. The air is crisp for southern Louisiana and the leaves have faded to shades of yellow and gold. They carpet Shady Lane and I sing the “Yellow Brick Road” song to Leonie. She giggles all the way.
The electric company cleared out the fallen tree and debris, but the fact of the matter is my trailer is in shambles. Granted, it wasn’t in great shape to begin with, but now it’s an absolute dump. Already soggy from the storm, I’m not going to add my tears to the mess, but frustration builds. Feelings of helplessness tie me in knots. If it weren’t for Maddock’s generosity, we’d be living in the office in the restaurant. I don’t like the feeling of being in someone’s debt. I have enough of that as it is.
Still standing outside, the crunch of tires over gravel startles me. It’s Jesse, but he’s in his regular truck.
“Howdy,” he calls with a tip of his hat.
Tallula hops out of the passenger side. We swap a hug and she takes Leonie with glee. Lexi and JQ aren’t the only ones who will soon be starting a family.
“It’s remarkable,” he says.
“That a power line came loose during the storm, the pole got hung up in my favorite magnolia tree, and the whole thing came crashing down on my house?”
“That, but also that Maddock was the one who took charge and prevented a major fire and possibly injury to our local crew.”
It’s also pretty amazing how quickly he cleaned up the estate—granted, it’s not in any shape to be featured in an HLTV special, but it’s livable, whereas this place is ready for a Dumpster ... and how he did laundry, including a bunch of his T-shirts, has been helping take care of Leonie, and keeping me well supplied with snacks and meals.
“I saw you over here and figured if you were thinking of heading inside, we’d go together.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, Jesse, but?—”
He shakes his head. “No arguing. These are Maddock’s instructions. As it is, the place is a hazard, but likely you want to retrieve some of your things.”
He’s right, so I accept this help while Tallula entertains Leonie. We pick through the debris, but there’s not much worth salvaging. Just some clothes, a few mementos, and kitchen items.
Once back outside, Leonie lets out her little lion roar when she spots me. I take her and a pile of mail from Tallula grabbed from the overflowing mailbox.
She says, “You have to come by the Coffee Loft to grab a complimentary baked good every day starting next week.”
“Tallula, you don’t have to—” I’m about to decline her offer.
“Maddock took care of it.” She bites her lip as if sensing I might not like Maddock using her as a conduit to bark commands.
Fine. Secretly, I love it. I’ve never been taken care of like this. It makes me feel twitchy, but also something else ...
“Well, thank you.”
She clears her throat. “He also said that if you don’t follow orders, there will be consequences.”
I’d cross my arms in front of my chest, but they’re full of mail—which I could do without—and Leonie, who’s being a major snuggler right now.
After we say goodbye, we walk back down the tree-covered lane to the chateau. Tire tracks lead onward toward the cemetery and fort. It’s too early for Hogwash Hunters to be out this way. Perhaps, in addition to making sure that I’ll be fed and watered daily, Maddock took a spin down there before he left.
The big house stands imposing before us, but it’s far less haunted looking than when I brought Maddock here for the first time—he let a lot of little light into this place and my life.
Leonie looks around and I point out things we pass—a squirrel, a daisy, and a maple tree. From the nearby bayou, a twig snaps and a bird caws as it flies skyward. The only wildlife I have a real concern about are gators, including the crocogator, so I hustle inside.
When Leonie goes down for her nap, I pick through my mail, sorting bills from junk. Letters from my mother go in that pile, too.
Unfortunately, for Luckie, it’s too little too late. I’m not interested in her wild theories or get-rich-quick schemes. Instead of the depressing state of my finances, I set aside the stack and pick through the cupboards. Yes, I serve pancakes every day at the restaurant, but I could go for a fluffy stack with butter and syrup right now.
While looking for a whisk, I find the old cookbook with the red fabric cover worn thin by use in a drawer. I’d forgotten all about it. On the inside, it says, Property of Eloise Tickle.
The paper bound by three rings is brittle and I turn them carefully. It contains handwritten recipes along with others meticulously cut out from newspapers and magazines. Notes about variations, measurements, and personalizations fill the margins. Tickle was a big fan of the flapjacks with a side of mulberries when in season. I grunt because Maddock would probably like them, too.
So many people came through this old house—from my mother with her schemes and scams, Jesse and Sawyer with their spray paint, and countless others looking for treasure. “Yet they missed this,” I whisper.
Sure, it might not be valuable to some, but inspiration sparks as I review the recipes, including sweet potato hash, one for a roast with rosemary, okra salad, chocolate pudding, and an apple tart. At some point, I will update the menu at the restaurant and add some of these.
When I reach the back, there are some kid-friendly recipes too, including one for “Baby’s First Birthday Cake,” along with finger foods and a secret ingredient pasta sauce to “Ensure Nutrition.” Spoiler alert: it involves pureed collard greens.
That night, after Leonie goes to sleep, I take the cookbook upstairs with me to bed and make a list of recipes to try. Maybe I can make some of them for Maddock, yes, including the flapjacks.
The memory of us in the dusty secret passages, him keeping close to me, and the warmth he radiates prompts me to kick off the bedspread. Being so close to him made me feel heady.
All those times I found his gaze straying to me made me feel like I was in the spotlight—a place I avoided, unlike others in my family. But then I was disappointed when he didn’t look, which must mean something.
I don’t want to tell him that he was right, that I do like him but just didn’t realize it. I sure liked our kiss. And I’m rather fond of his deep voice. The way he can’t keep his eyes—or hands—off me. I’m a fan of the flannel and the firefighter command in his stature and composure. He’s a protector and maybe I needed rescuing. From the state of my life, but also parts of myself. Perhaps he met his match with me and I popped his big-headed balloon of arrogance so he could join the rest of us here on solid ground.
A creaking sound comes from somewhere in the house, but I mostly ignore the old sounds it makes. It must be settling with the weather change as the seasons shift closer to winter. Southern winter, but still. Don’t be fooled, it gets cooler here, relatively speaking.
I take a photo of the flapjack recipe and send it to Maddock in a text. It’s earlier on the West Coast and he’s probably working, but maybe he’d like to know that I’m thinking of him.
Me: These will be waiting for you when you get back.
He replies less than a minute later.
Maddock: Will you be, too?