Chapter 6 The Right Person, the Wrong Time #2
“Well, I don’t think he’d have the right to complain, anyway, seeing as he dumped you after your parents’ funeral.”
My chin jerks back as I once again wonder how he knows all of this. “I dumped him, actually.”
“You did?” He seems genuinely surprised, then shrugs it off. “Either way.”
Okay. So I guess that’s not a problem.
I clean up the kitchen island, stacking plates. “And how long are you staying in town?”
He laughs softly, the sound rich and warm. “No hard plans, honestly.” He meets my gaze. “I could be talked into sticking around.”
“Don’t you have a job to go back to?”
“Full-time, great salary. Would you like me to send you my last pay stub?”
I scoff and set the plates back down. “What, I was just making conversation.”
“No,” he muses. “You’re trying to find a valid reason to set this thing between us to rest.”
“I’m not—”
“You won’t,” he insists, his tone firm but light. “I’ve waited a long time to make sure you wouldn’t.”
I watch him, my lips parting in surprise. What does he mean, he’s waited a long time?
“Anyway,” he says, brushing the topic aside as if it were nothing, “I should go. Some family members I’ve never even met on my dad’s side are coming to pay their respects tomorrow.”
“Let me pack up your leftovers.”
He holds a hand out, shaking his head. “Keep ’em.” He points at me in warning. “Remember to eat them for lunch tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I feel a flutter of something in my chest. I swear I’m ten times more awkward when Rafael is around, but this man… God. Did he overorder on purpose? “Thank you.”
I walk him to the door, the cool air from outside brushing against my skin as he steps onto the porch, leather jacket swung over one shoulder. I watch him wave and walk down the steps, my heart racing.
Why is he so different? Different from what I expected, from what I’m used to. Different from anyone I’ve ever met. The thought lingers, sweet and uncertain, until I can’t hold it back. “Rafael?”
He turns to face me. “Yes?”
I feel a wave of regret hit me, but I can’t stop myself. This is so stupid. So, so, so stupid. “Did you… did you get my letter?”
His expression shifts, and for a long moment, he just looks at me. When he finally nods, my heart stutters. “I did, yes.”
Oh God, he did. Of course he did. I listened to Paige, and now I look like an idiot dredging up ancient history he wants to forget. Panic rises in my chest, and I spin on my heel. “Okay. Thanks. Bye,” I blurt, heading straight to close the door.
“Scarlett, wait.”
I exhale, forcing myself to stop and turn back around. “Yeah?”
“You were dating my cousin.”
Shame washes over me like a wave, tightening in my chest, and my expression must betray my thoughts, because he shakes his head.
“No, no. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad. You were drunk, and… basically a kid.” He smacks his pouty lips, as if recalling a distant memory. “But back then, I really couldn’t… do anything.”
I stare down at my shoes, trying to absorb what he’s saying. It makes perfect sense, of course, but I spent half a decade believing he didn’t care, that he just didn’t think I was worth his time. Why did this not occur to me?
“Look, for most of my life, you were just the girl who lived next door. Three years younger, which at the time felt like a lot.” He moves up the steps until he’s standing on the last one, bringing his face close to mine.
“I never really paid much attention to you. Until your sweet sixteen. Remember that?”
God, his nose ring is so sexy.
“You weren’t there.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Well, you had it in your backyard, which…” He gestures toward his old bedroom window, facing directly into my yard.
“Oh.”
“I looked over and saw the party,” he continues. He sounds almost nostalgic. “Everyone was having a great time. There were lights, music, food, those cute yellow decorations hanging everywhere.”
Hence his guess of my favorite color. I can’t believe he remembers all of this.
I shift on my feet. “I was reading a book.”
“Uh-huh. All curled up, reading with this intense expression, like you were at a major turning point in the story. Completely lost in that world.” His smile fades. “I was so jealous of you.”
“You? Jealous of me?”
He nods, the vulnerability in his eyes quickly gone.
“Anyway.” He clears his throat. “You were lying on one of those loungers. Something must have happened in the book, because you jumped—like, full-body flinch—and your elbow smacked right into the arm of a woman walking past with a tray of drinks.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” He’s laughing now. “She dropped the whole thing. Someone nearby slipped in the mess, knocking into the table holding the cake—sent the whole thing flying.”
“What?” I cover my face. “You’re lying.”
“Wish I was. The cake landed face down, your mom had frosting in her hair. It was beautiful. Tragic. But beautiful.”
I groan into my hands. I vaguely remember Mom saying someone had dropped the cake, but I had no idea I was responsible.
“Nobody noticed the whole series of events, and you just kept reading, totally oblivious, while chaos exploded around you.” He whistles, shaking his head. “It was just so… incredibly you. After that, I couldn’t help but notice you every time you were around.”
Is that so? Because he hid it perfectly.
“When I got the letter, I…” He shakes his head, his gaze dropping as he wrestles with the memory. “I just kept thinking, what if I’d come over during your sweet sixteen? What if I’d just come down the stairs and walked over to you and just…”
“Just?” I prompt.
“Just asked you what book you were reading.” His eyes settle on mine, the same gray as a stormy sky that promises rain. “I really wanted to know.”
“Pride and Prejudice.”
One corner of his lips quirks up. “Any good?”
“No, actually. It both created and cemented my hatred for romance.”
With a light chuckle, he looks up at the evening sky, the first stars beginning to twinkle against the darkening canvas. “I would have kept you company, then. We could have just sat in silence, watching the party go by.”
My stomach twists hard. When I dated Quentin, there was no sitting in silence and watching the party go by. He dragged me along to parties, meetups with his friends, football practice. This alternative sounds much nicer.
“You never even looked my way,” I murmur. “Never talked to me, never said hi, never…”
“I was nineteen. You were sixteen.” He presses his lips together.
“And besides, I didn’t know how to talk to you when you were so much better than me.
Smart, sweet. I was the town’s criminal-in-the-making, and you were a cop’s daughter.
A stellar student beloved by everyone. It was different with you, Scarlett. ” He inhales. “It still is.”
I watch him, struggling to get a word out. I bet Paige would freak out, though. That she’d say something about how this always happens in romance books. How you eventually find out the love interest was pining after the main character all along.
“So that’s why I didn’t mention the letter.”
“Okay.” I take a steadying breath. “I get it.”
“But I’m sorry I hurt you. You were really brave—braver than I was, for sure.”
He’s right. I was brave. While the other girls at school were busy daydreaming about him, I actually went for it. I tried. It went horribly, but I survived. “Sorry I said I was happy your spider died.”
He huffs out a laugh, a glimmer of his usual mischief sparking back into his eyes. “Thank you. Hairy Houdini would have loved you.”
“Can’t say the feeling’s mutual, but…”
“All right, all right.”
He takes a small step back, watching me with the same glimmering interest as he has for the past twenty-four hours.
The same look that sends my heart racing and my thoughts spiraling, as if he’s studying every detail, every breath, and somehow finding each one fascinating.
“Did you think about me at all?” he asks.
“Excuse me?”
“Over the years, I mean. Did you ever think about me?”
Only all the fucking time. “I guess.”
“Good.” He fits his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I thought about you, too.”
I feel queasy. Having dinner at my place felt completely natural, like falling into a routine that had been perfected over time.
But the thing about routines is they can get swept away in an instant.
A phone call, a car ride, and your universe is shattered forever.
No more routines, no more love. No more nothing.
“Rafael, look…”
He grimaces. “Goddamn. There’s no positive ending to that sentence.”
“I told you I don’t date,” I say apologetically.
“Then let’s not date,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “All I’m asking is that you keep doing your thing. And I’ll just”—he waves a hand around—“exist around you. If you don’t mind.”
I blink, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. What does one even say to that? Two days ago, I had no love life. And now there’s this man who just wants to exist around me.
“You don’t even know me,” I point out.
“Don’t I? I know you have a cat you’ll always love more than me. And that your favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip. You forget to eat, and your favorite movie isn’t American Pie.”
“That hardly means—”
“I know you read during meals, and you miss your parents every day. That you pull your hair up every time you open a book, like you’re preparing to go to battle, and that you spent your birthday with me, but you didn’t want to celebrate it.”
I watch him, mouth wide open. “How do you…”
“Because I saw you back then, and I’ve thought about you since.”
This is so close to my recurring dream when I was a teenager that I nearly check for drool to make sure I’m awake.
“Look, I get that I hurt you. Really, I do.” His shoulders roll back. “But if you’re open to it, I’d really like… I’d like a second chance.”
“Technically, you didn’t get a first chance yet.”
“Even better, then.” He smirks. “Everyone deserves at least one chance, right?”
My phone rings, and with a quick apology, I take it out of my pocket. “Sorry, I…”
“No, hey. Take your call.” He steps closer and kisses my cheek softly. “See you tomorrow, Scarlett.”
The spot on my cheek tingles like his lips actually left a mark, and watching him walk away, I’m too dazed to answer the phone for a while. When I come to, I bring it to my ear and say, “Hello?”
“Scarlett? Hi. This is Chief Donovan.”
Well, well, well. Chief Donovan. Something tells me he’s read the book and I’m suddenly not such an idiot anymore. “Yes, hi, Chief. How can I help you?”
“I, uh… I have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
Feeling even more smug, I say, “Of course not. What about?”
I wave when Rafael turns to look at me. His See you tomorrow echoes faintly in my mind. It’s such a small promise, but it feels like much more.
Like the start of something.
“What, uh…” The chief’s voice crackles into my ear. “What can you tell me about Rafael Gray?”