Chapter 8 #2
“I’ve seen you in the kitchen a million times, Cece. This was never your norm before. What’s going on?” Damn him and his uncanny ability to read me better than anyone else.
“Nothing,” I say and cross my arms over my chest. “Guess I’m a little grumpy. Late night.”
My gaze holds his, but he doesn’t pick up on the reference to his excuse for why he’s getting a late start.
“Okay…I’m going to get to work upstairs. Holler if you need anything.” He offers me a tight smile and turns, walking out of the kitchen.
And I’m left feeling like the biggest brat.
Not even a day after Cash and I called a truce, I’m acting like a complete bitch to him.
And for what? Getting jealous over a woman who may not even exist about a night this fictitious woman and Cash probably didn’t spend together.
If people didn’t think I was already a little off my rocker, the scenario that just played out in my head would be enough to tip things over the edge into straight loony town.
I take a deep breath and think about where my mind went.
The bar, the beer, the anger. It was too much.
It was too easy to get wrapped up in all of it.
So I play the tape through. What if I’d had that beer, then what?
How long would it have taken me to be back at the quarry?
Lying to everyone around me about what I’m doing and where I’m going.
A week? A month? How long until I show up drunk and pissed off at another family event?
Those are all questions I can’t answer, and that scares me.
That’s not who I want to be. I also don’t want to be a jealous asshole that lashes out at someone over some fictional situation that probably didn’t happen the way I was picturing.
Or at all.
I’m not great at apologizing with words, but thirty minutes later, when the turnovers are cooling on a rack, I head upstairs and find Cash in the hallway bathroom.
It’s several degrees warmer up here than downstairs, and he’s taken his shirt off, kneeling as he bends over to tape off the baseboards.
This is the first time I’ve seen the man without a shirt.
The muscles of his tanned back and shoulders flex with his movements, sending chills racing down my arms.
“Hey,” I say, and he turns his head. “I made a batch of blackberry turnovers. They’re still warm if you want to take a break.” I look down at my hands and pick at a bit of dried flour on my wrist. “You know, since you’re my official taste tester and all.”
When I look back at Cash, he’s wearing a smile as he stands, turning to face me.
And holy shit, I was not prepared for this rush of desire to careen through me.
His chest is toned and glistening with a light sheen of sweat.
My gaze travels down his pecs and over every inch of his perfect six-pack to where the muscles form a V before it’s cut off by the waist of his jeans.
The breath stalls in my chest, and I almost feel lightheaded from the sudden burst of lust racing through me at the sight.
Cash grabs his shirt that’s sitting on what looks to be a new vanity and puts it on, covering himself.
Unfortunately. Actually, it’s probably better for my sake if he’s fully clothed.
That was the first time I’ve had such a visceral reaction to seeing him, and I need a second to catch my breath before I really do pass out.
Is that a thing that could happen? It feels like it could. How would I even explain it? Sorry, seeing you half-naked made me have a mini stroke, and I lost consciousness for a second. Don’t worry, everything’s fine now. Just please keep your shirt on.
That’s not ridiculous at all.
“You good?” he asks, eyeing me with concern. “You’re a little flushed.”
“Oh, uh… yeah. It’s hot up here, huh?” I stammer out, fanning my heated face.
“Yeah. Heat rises. Especially in old houses like these.”
It sure does.
I stand in the doorway, still a little afraid that my jelly-filled legs are going to give out on me.
“Come on. I’m dying for a taste. It’s been forever,” he says, taking a step toward me.
“Huh?” I ask, raising my head to his when he’s right in front of me.
“The turnovers? I haven’t had one in ages.”
“Oh, right. The turnovers,” I answer, but don’t move.
“Okay, sweetheart, I’m starting to get a little worried. You sure you’re okay? Do you need some water or something?”
I giggle—fucking giggle—before I move out of the way. “Sorry, I’m a little tired.”
Turning around, I head back down the stairs and feel Cash’s gaze on me as we walk down the narrow staircase. This man probably thinks I’m a complete nutcase right about now.
When I get into the kitchen, I pull down a paper plate from the cabinet and place one of the warm pastries on it, handing it over to him.
He takes a bite and lets out the familiar moan that I’ve heard plenty of times in the past. I turn and busy myself with the compote mixture so he doesn’t see the blush that I’m sure is making me red as the strawberries I have sitting on the counter.
“Damn, sweetheart, this is the best one yet,” he compliments around a mouthful.
“Thanks. The blackberries they had are so sweet,” I say as I turn around with the mixing bowl in my hands. Cash is standing right behind me, and it startles me. I drop the bowl between us.
“Damn it,” I say and spin to grab the paper towels. When I turn back around, Cash is kneeling on the floor, trying to scoop everything back into the bowl.
“It’s such a mess,” I say, noticing the berry splatter on his jeans. I wipe a paper towel on his leg, but all it manages to do is spread the stain. “I hope you aren’t attached to these pants. Pretty sure I ruined them.”
Cash looks down and chuckles. “It’s no big deal, sweetheart.”
I look into his smiling eyes and we fall silent. His gaze is traveling over my worried face. I still get a little anxious when I make a mess. That never ended well for me in my old life. But the smile on Cash’s face puts all those old anxieties to rest.
“You have blackberry on your face,” he says.
“How on earth did that—”
I’m struck speechless when his thumb grazes the apple of my cheek, and it comes away with a bit of berry.
He puts his thumb in his mouth and sucks the compote off. “Delicious,” he whispers, and both of us hold our breaths, staring into each other’s eyes. We’re so close, yet a million miles apart at the same time. His head slowly moves toward me as though he’s about to—
And my phone chimes loudly with a text.
He leans back on his haunches, his head dropping to his chest as he blows out a breath.
When he lifts himself from the floor, he holds out his hand, and I give him the soiled paper towels before I finish wiping up the remnants of the compote from the floor.
“Well, at least I got a couple batches done,” I say, throwing the rest of the paper towels in the trash.
Grabbing my phone, I see there’s a text from Roman.
Roman: Sorry, it’s been a little busy here this week. If you’re still interested in working together, come by in an hour or so, and I’ll show you around.
This last week I’ve been spending time in my self-defense class, but still haven’t managed to catch Roman at a good time. Then yesterday, with my surprise, and today with the baking and mini mental breakdowns, I haven’t even thought about it.
Me: I’ll be there.
Cash has been wonderful—giving me a place to have some freedom and an amazing, fully stocked kitchen to make all my creations in. It’s more than I could’ve ever asked for. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to fix everything for me.
It strikes me that I feel so at odds with the life I always thought I wanted. The one where I’m happy and in a kitchen and creating—which is something I love.
I could tell Roman to forget it and come to terms with making pastries for Betsy and living a quiet, peaceful life.
Or I can take this new path that I never envisioned for myself but feel, down to the very marrow of my bones, that this is what I need to do.
Not just for myself, but for all the other women who have found themselves in the same situation I was and need to get out.
The ones who need to know that those who threatened them will finally leave them alone.
“I have to get going,” I say to Cash, who is still standing behind me.
“What? Why?” The tone of his voice is almost pleading.
“I have some things to take care of,” I say as I grab a couple of containers and begin packing the turnovers away.
“Is this about what happened a second ago? I’m sor—”
“No, not at all.” The pitch of my voice is a little higher than I meant for it to be. “I just have to be somewhere.” Not a lie.
“Oh, are you going to your self-defense class?”
“Yeah. Time got away from me.” That one is a lie.
“I get it. Here,” he says as he grabs the sponge I was reaching for. “I’ll clean up.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, shaking my head.
“It’s important for you to go to those. I don’t mind at all.” He shoots me a smile, and I feel like shit for lying to him. But I really do have to get going since Cash’s place adds about fifteen minutes to my drive to Ayre. This meeting is important to me. To who I want to be.
I grab my bag from the counter. “Thanks, Cash. For everything.”
“Drive safe,” he tells me.
“I will. Promise.”
He gives me one last smile before I head out the front door and get in my car, hating the bitterness the lies have left in my mouth.
When I pull up to the address that Roman sent me, it’s a four-story brick apartment building. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe some offices or something, but this quiet, tree-lined street wasn’t it. I park across the street and walk up to the door. Before I get there, Roman opens it.
“Hey,” he greets. “Glad you could make it.”
“Hi. Were you about to head out?” I’m going to be utterly disappointed if I’ve left Cash’s for a meeting that isn’t going to happen.