CHAPTER 18 #2
Right now I just want to make sure that that woman, currently beaming at one of James’s patrons, brow glistening and body that…well I have a plethora of thoughts about her tight little body. But I bet her back aches and her arms feel like lead. She has to be exhausted.
And she is not riding home on a bloody bicycle!
_____
“Goodnight Ja—Aiden?” Her voice startles me. I’ve been standing in this spot behind the bar for at least a half hour. “Where’s my bike?”
“In the truck,” I say, motioning against the vehicle I am leaning on. She frowns at it, then her bike, then me. “Yes,” I answer her face’s question. “I traded with Steven. He was all too happy to drive the E63.”
She crosses her arms and doesn’t have to say it out loud. Why?
I shrug, “You fought for me in there. And I live next door to you. It’s convenient, let’s go.”
She narrows those unreal eyes at me, “You know I have used my bike to get around at night for years, right? I’m a big girl, Aiden.”
I laugh, “You’re tiny! Five foot what, one?
Maybe two? And just because you do something regularly doesn’t make it safe to do.
Plus, the bar is way farther from your house than the bakery.
And damn is it humid here. Come on,” I stalk around and open the passenger door for her. She’s being ridiculous.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she mutters. My thoughts coming out of her mouth makes me smile wide. She pauses and looks up at my face before she gets in. Like she’s…in awe? Or maybe afraid. I am acting a bit strange.
“Sorry. Still just such a victory when you talk to me,” I say before making a point to not watch her ass climb up in to the truck.
I’m being enough of a creep as it is. I quickly close her door and walk around to the driver’s side.
I start the big Ford and begin to pull away from the brick wall in front of us.
“You know, two pieces of chicken is not enough to sustain yourself. You’ll get sick,” I say. She chuckles and says nothing.
“Do you pay yourself a salary? Surely?” I go on. She doesn’t respond.
“Well, Lewis is a wanker,” I blurt out. We haven’t even left the parking lot yet and already I’ve made a fool of myself. Still, I want to know more.
She sighs, “Steven told you my whole life story, I guess?”
“No, actually. He’s a bit of a wanker too. Wouldn’t tell me anything except that the dog was Lewis’s. But he implied there was someone else, before Lewis…” I say, looking between her and the road.
Those green eyes study me in the dim light before she asks, “Have you ever been in a serious relationship, Aiden?”
I cough, shocked at the question. Did not expect that. And has her soft, sweet voice ever said my name before? How can I get her to say it again?
“Yes, of course,” I say.
“Okay, then tell me all about it. Right now,” she says, then crosses her arms like I’ve been had. Like she’s won. Which makes me fight a grin. She does not know who she’s dealing with.
“Marion, at Cambridge. A perfect match on paper, she wanted to get married and settle in the UK. I didn’t,” I answer easily.
Harper releases a small laugh, “Yeah, so you’re Lewis. And JimBo, too.”
“JimBo?”
She nods and yawns, “Lewis was actually just a restart, I think. Rebound, I mean. Lewis was a rebound. I never loved him. So you’re JimBo. I’m Marion.”
“You wanted to settle down and… JimBo didn’t?”
Her eyes are closed, which I dislike. But her guard appears to be down due to the fatigue. She’s talking. Which I very much like.
“He did, and then he didn’t. Did you tell poor Marion you loved her and you were going to marry her and give her lots of babies? I bet you were engaged, right?”
“What? No,” I say quickly. “We dated for a year but when she started to talk of settling in London I told her the truth, I wanted to travel.” With her. Marion had other plans, though. Namely screwing one of my flatmates behind my back. I don’t share that bit. I don’t need Harper’s pity.
“Hm,” she says. Her words are so slurred I think she may actually be asleep, “Maybe you are more of a Lewis then. Did you stick her with a giant dog before you left?”
I ignore her question, “Where did Lewis go?”
“Cedar Point!” She laughs in a delirious, exhausted sort of way. “Not even the big city. They do have an AmeriMart though. We don’t have an AmeriMart.”
“And JimBo?” I try, knowing she’s about to nod off completely and suddenly desperate to learn as much as I can, as quickly as I can.
“He’s all over the place, you know JimBo,” she snorts like she’s talking to Steven and not me.
I push, “And he told you he would marry you and give you lots of babies, then?”
“Mhmm.”
Last question, man, let her sleep! “And you loved him?”
“Rip.”
The word is barely a whisper. She means yup. Or right. I should probably be alarmed that I know that. That I “Speak Harper.”
I wonder if she’s dyslexic? Or just so exhausted her brain can’t keep the words straight. A few silent turns later, we’re at her door. I hate to wake her, I do. But her neck is twisted in a way that will hurt like hell in the morning.
I kill the truck’s obnoxious engine. She doesn’t stir. I open my door. Still nothing. I walk around and open her door. Not even a twitch.
“Right,” I whisper, pumping myself up. I’ll have to carry her in. It’ll be no trouble, I’m fairly certain I lift heavier than her body weight regularly. But I’ll be…touching her. Which makes me nervous?
A Vanderwell does not get nervous.
Right. I reach across and unbuckle the seat belt. It gets caught. I reach out and grasp her wrist to lift her arm and—
“Huh? What! What are you doing?”
“You fell asleep, I was going to carry you inside,” I explain softly, frozen in place.
“You think I could sleep through someone carrying me upstairs? No one is sleeping through that unless they’ve been drugged. W-was I drugged?”
“Harper. You fell asleep for all of four minutes.”
“Oh,” she says, her brain starting to sort through the sleepy haze. “Right. Man, I died. Sorry,” her voice softens like she’s embarrassed.
“It’s fine,” I say.
Here we are again, nearly nose to nose. “I’d like credit again,” I whisper, inching closer.
“For what?” She asks, whispering too.
“Displaying immeasurable restraint right now,” I croak back, unable to stop staring at her perfect lips, lips which are right there. She frowns, confused and sleepy and utterly lovely, asking me what I mean with her frown. “Not doing exactly what I want, right now when I want it.”
Her sleepy eyes search mine…but I can’t read them. My heart is pounding like that jackhammer at the site this morning. Is her heart doing this too? Will she pull away? Slap me? Kiss me back?
Only one way to find o—
Bark!
“Uh! Yeah! Well, um, thank you for the ride,” she says quickly. I jerk away, the moment over thanks to Lewis’s damn dog. Harper nearly sprints to the back of the truck.
“I’ll get the bike, go on, go to bed. You’re not working first thing, are you?” I ask as I follow after her.
She shakes her head that no, thankfully, she isn’t.
“Thanks,” she yawns before going inside. I nod once, disturbed by how happy I am that she’s going to get to sleep. Why am I so worried about this girl? It’s not like she didn’t live a big, full, adult life before I got here.
With JimBo, apparently.
Hate that name. And that guy, probably. Hillbilly little boy who couldn’t man up and do what he said he would do.
A Vanderwell would never.
If I’d told Marion I would settle in London and marry her, I would’ve done it. Our word is our currency, our very fortune. Since the time of handshakes and verbal agreements back when this country was founded.
That’s why I always say what I mean, what is true, even when uncomfortable, and I won’t agree to anything I can’t fully commit to. I didn’t with Marion, and thank God, since she was not who I thought she was. I also haven’t in business or…social arrangements with women since then.
I put Harper’s bike in the garage, scratch Stu’s happy head, check the latch on the window, and close the garage. I take the truck to my driveway. It won’t fit in my garage with all the workout gear.
Well, not my garage. I rub absently at my chest as I lock the vehicle and head inside.
Not my truck, not my town. I’m not like Lewis or JimBo.
But the truth is that yes, I will leave too.
Of course I will. This isn’t my home. I don’t even have a home.
Even if I did want to settle in one place, which I don’t, it absolutely would not be Juniper Falls.
Why does that make me feel like a right bastard?