Chapter 12 Ilsa
Ilsa
Cosi’s guest bedroom smelled like my mom. Like Mary Kay emollient night cream and Caress soap. Sweet and floral and clean. His mother must use the same products as mine. Those familiar, comforting scents were the only reason I’d managed a few hours of sleep.
Even then, sleep hadn’t come easy. In my rush to pack a bag and leave the cabin, I’d only grabbed my chartreuse silk nightgown with thin straps and a lace hem.
Not something I would have thought twice about wearing to bed in the privacy of a motel room, but in this house, sharing a roof with the incredibly handsome sheriff and one of my students?
I hadn’t wanted to risk an accidental encounter in a nightgown that barely covered my ass and showcased the peaks of my nipples.
So I’d slept in the Levi’s and Nebraska State Fair T-shirt I’d pulled on after calling the police.
I hadn’t even bothered taking off my bra, something I regretted this morning.
The underwire was stiff and unforgiving, denting the skin next to a rib.
Sitting on the foot of the mattress, I stared at an invisible spot on the floor as my toes flexed and unflexed in the tan shag carpet. Beneath me, the bed was made, the patchwork quilt smoothed and pillows fluffed.
The room was simple and clean, with beige walls and white curtains. The furniture was the same shade of brown as the closet’s bifold doors. My duffel was on the floor of that closet, the bag stuffed with enough clothes to get me through the weekend and a few days of school.
My hands were wrapped around an empty glass jar. Why I’d grabbed it during my panicked packing last night, I wasn’t sure. But I’d snagged it at the same time I’d grabbed my briefcase.
Toddlers carried around security blankets. Apparently, this was my security jar.
Now what? Where did I go from here? Sooner or later, I’d have to return to the cabin. I couldn’t exactly stay in Cosi Raynes’s guest bedroom until the motel owners returned in March. But just the idea of going back, of seeing the charred remains of Dad’s shed, churned my stomach.
Who would do this? That shed had been full of tools and a rusty old lawnmower. A few empty gas cans. Items I’d planned to sell in the spring. What was the point of burning it down? Why?
If someone was trying to scare me, it was working.
A shiver rolled down my spine, forcing me to my feet. The house was quiet, not a sound coming from the hallway. I padded to the door, carefully turning the knob to avoid making a sound. I tiptoed into the hall, about to go to the bathroom, when the scent of fresh coffee hit my nose.
It was like inhaling magic, the tension instantly easing from my shoulders. I followed that delicious smell to the kitchen, where I found a sight that made my mouth go dry.
Cosi leaned against the counter with a mug lifted to his lips.
He was dressed in a hunter-green flannel shirt, the snaps open and the hem untucked.
Beneath was a cream Henley, the buttons undone to show the hollow at the base of his throat and a sliver of taut skin.
He wore faded jeans that molded to muscled thighs, the hems pooling at his bare feet.
His hair was damp, the strands curling at his nape. His mustache was a smooth, dark band above his mouth that would undoubtedly feel incredible against my lips. He hadn’t bothered shaving this morning and his cheeks were dusted in stubble of the same shade.
My knees wobbled, not enough to make me trip over my own feet, but enough I came to an abrupt stop.
No man had any business looking that good.
I really, really needed to get out of here.
Riding to town in his Bronco last night had been hard enough.
With everything that had happened, the very last thing I should have been thinking about was how good he smelled, woodsy and fresh.
How the corners of his jaw were sharp and chiseled.
How much I liked the shape of his hands.
How he had the most balanced, striking profile I’d ever seen—the line from his forehead, down his nose to his chin, was nothing less than flawless.
In all my years of stealing glances at Troy, not once had I noticed his hands or chin.
I could study Cosi’s features for days on end and still want more. That scared the hell out of me.
“Morning,” he said, lowering his mug from his mouth.
My cheeks flushed as his gravelly voice filled the kitchen. “Morning.”
His eyes dipped, taking in my clothes.
This T-shirt was my favorite. A souvenir from the trip Mom had taken me on for my twenty-first birthday to watch Dolly Parton sing at the Nebraska State Fair.
It was threadbare with a small hole in my left armpit.
The letters and logo were faded and the fabric that had once been black was now a dark gray.
This shirt was as comfortable as my own skin, and as Cosi’s gaze drank in every detail, I fought the urge to tug at the hem and smooth down the front. I’d never met anyone with such a natural intensity. It was as potent as the scent of coffee.
Something flared in his hazel eyes before he looked away. It almost looked pained. Guilty, maybe? He turned his back to me, reaching for the coffee pot to refill his mug.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Please.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“No, thanks. Just black.” I set my jar on the round table in the corner of the kitchen.
He opened a cabinet, taking out a simple white mug. After filling it, he brought it over, his feet a gentle thump on the floor. Also something that shouldn’t have been attractive. Male feet were supposed to be gross.
His? Not gross. Not at all.
Damn it.
I could not, absolutely not, have a crush on Cosi Raynes. He was a student’s parent, and while I wasn’t sure if that was against Dalton School District’s code of conduct, it was against mine.
Yet when I took the cup from his hand and our fingers brushed, the sensation that zinged up my forearm to my elbow was impossible to ignore.
This had all the ingredients of a mess.
And I had enough messes to worry about at the moment.
“What’s with the jar?” he asked, retreating to the coffee pot again.
It felt safer with the entire kitchen between us, so I took a seat at the table, at the chair in the farthest corner. “My dad didn’t have drinking glasses. He saved jars and used them instead.”
Cosi hummed, quietly sipping his coffee.
I hadn’t been around him often, but I liked that he was okay with quiet moments in a conversation. That he wasn’t the type to fill every moment with idle chatter.
Troy chattered. Mom chattered. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d gone out for dinner and drinks with my friends in Phoenix and the entire evening hadn’t been filled with chatter.
The one person in my life who’d always been okay with quiet was Dad.
I missed my dad.
Especially today. Especially after last night.
He would have given me a bear hug—a honey bear hug, those tight, all-encompassing embraces he saved only for me.
He would have told me not to worry about the shed, that it was old and full of junk anyway.
Dad wasn’t the emotional type. Even when Mom had left, I’d never once seen him angry.
Though I had a feeling this fire would have pissed him off.
The sting of tears pricked my nose, so I sniffed it away, distracting myself by studying Cosi’s kitchen.
It was exactly what I’d expect from a single dad. Simple. Clean. No ornaments or frills in sight.
Mom loved chickens, so her kitchen was crowded with ceramic hens and roosters. In Arizona, I’d kept every graduation announcement from my high school seniors tacked to the fridge with magnets. Troy kept empty beer growlers and whiskey bottles above his cabinets.
Cosi’s kitchen was functional to its core. Beige countertops. Hickory cabinets. White appliances. Taupe linoleum floors.
Its lack of character was the character. Sturdy. Reliable. Manly.
Exactly what I would have expected from a guy like Cosi.
“You sleep okay?” he asked.
I lifted a shoulder. “Not really. Too much on my mind.”
“Yeah. Same here.”
I took a sip from my mug, savoring the strong, bitter taste. “What now?”
It was the same question I’d asked last night. And it was time for an answer.
“I’m heading out to your place.”
“All right.” I nodded. “Can I finish this coffee before we go?”
“You’re not going.”
“It’s my house.”
“So?” He tipped his cup to his mouth for a gulp. Then he set it in the sink before stalking out of the kitchen.
I scoffed as his broad frame disappeared down the hallway opposite the one leading to the guest room.
Cosi was dreaming if he thought I’d just stay behind like a dutiful citizen. Something I would make explicitly clear when he came back.
I guzzled more than sipped my coffee, letting the warmth and caffeine seep into my bones.
When my mug was empty, I helped myself to a refill from the pot.
But just as I was about to go to the bedroom and find a sweatshirt to wear to the cabin, the sound and vibration of a door slamming made me pause.
Breath held, I listened for footsteps or movement. The distant sound of a garage door opening unglued me from my spot in the kitchen, and I raced through the front living room to the entryway, yanking open the door just as Cosi’s Bronco rolled down the street.
He didn’t so much as glance at the house as he drove away.
“You did not just leave me here.” I huffed, my breath a puff of white as the cold seeped into the house.
“Miss Poe?”
I whirled, heart leaping into my throat. Damn it. I’d forgotten about Spencer. What kind of a teacher forgot about her student?
A teacher who needed to drink more coffee and have a very stern discussion with the local sheriff.
Spencer stood at the mouth of the entryway, his feet partly on the burnt umber tiles, partly on the plush shag carpet. He was dressed in sweatpants and a Dalton High sweatshirt, his brown hair sticking up at odd angles. His toothbrush was in his mouth, the teal handle dangling off his lower lip.
“Oh. Um. Hi, Spencer.” Shit.
He raised his eyebrows, gripping the toothbrush. A silent what the hell are you doing in my house hung between us.
“There was a problem at my place last night. The motel is closed, so your dad let me crash in your guest bedroom. It was here or jail.”
Spencer blinked.
“I, um . . . I’m new in town, so I don’t know many people.”
Except I wasn’t new in town, not really. I’d been coming here my entire life. But it was easier to use it as an excuse for the reason I hadn’t made any friends. It was easier to blame my isolation on frosty teachers and Principal Harlan and the remoteness of Dad’s cabin.
The truth was, I hadn’t tried. When it came to Dalton, I’d always kept one foot out the door.
Maybe it was time to stop hiding on Cotters Lake and find a place in this town, even if it was only temporary. A problem to solve later, when my student wasn’t staring at me with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.
“This is weird, isn’t it?”
Spencer scrubbed at his molars, giving me an eye roll as he walked away.
What were the chances he wouldn’t tell people at school about this? I could already hear the rumors in the teachers’ lounge.
My groan filled the entryway before I poked my head out of the still open doorway to glance down the street. Empty. Cosi was long gone.
I slammed more than shut the door. “So I’m just stuck here?”
“Do you always talk to yourself?”
I flinched, turning to once again find Spencer staring at me with raised eyebrows. “Yes?”
We stared at each other, my confidence withering under his unwavering gaze. Teenagers really were brutal.
“This is awkward,” I said.
“Pretty much.”
“I don’t have a car. Mine wouldn’t start last night.”
“’Kay,” he drawled.
“I don’t know when your dad is coming back.”
“He said a few hours.”
“Oh.” When? “He talked to you before he left?”
“Duh. He doesn’t just leave.” With an eye roll, he walked away. Again.
“Right.”
I hated when students rolled their eyes.
Though I probably deserved at least one of those.
Standing in the entryway for hours, waiting until Cosi returned, wasn’t a great way to spend a Saturday, so I made my way to the living room, where I found Spencer on the couch, the television remote aimed at the screen.
I plopped on the opposite end of the leather sofa, sinking into the soft cushions as Spencer turned up the volume to the music video playing on MTV. “Is this what you’re doing today?”
“It’s Saturday.”
“So, yes?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
I shivered, rubbing at the goose bumps covering my forearms. I’d left the door open too long and now I was cold.
Spencer stretched to snag a plaid throw blanket from the back of the maroon corduroy recliner next to the couch. He tossed it on my lap. “Want me to build a fire?”
There was a neat stack of wood beside their stove.
“No, this blanket is enough. Thanks.” I spread it out, drawing it up and over my shoulders.
“Want to watch a movie?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He was already flipping through the channels.
“When it’s over, we’re going to do your homework.” If I was going to be stuck here, at least I could do something productive.
He scoffed. “It’s the weekend.”
“And it’s due on Monday.”
That scored me another eye roll. Three in less than ten minutes. My new personal record.
“My favorite student of all time lives in Arizona. His name is Richie, and he’s in a wheelchair. He was in a car accident and got a spinal cord injury.”
Drunk driving. I had a feeling that Cosi had already covered that lesson.
Spencer kept flipping channels, but I knew he was listening.
“Richie is not the smartest kid. And I’m not saying that to be mean.
He’d tell you that himself. Some people, like you, are simply born with more intelligence than others.
But the reason Richie is my favorite student of all time is because he worked his ass off to be the best. He was valedictorian and earned a full-ride scholarship to Notre Dame.
He always did his homework on Saturdays. ”
Richie did homework every day. What would take Spencer twenty minutes, would take Richie two hours.
Spencer glanced over, expecting more to the story.
But I let it end there. He could glean the morals for himself.
He kept flipping the channel, pushing the same button over and over and over again.
“Fine,” he muttered. “We’ll do my homework after a movie.”
I snuggled beneath the blanket, drawing my legs toward my chest. “Nothing gory and scary. I don’t like horror movies and thrillers give me nightmares.”
Eye roll number four. It actually made me smile.