Chapter 5 Scarlett
SCARLETT
Thirty days. It had been exactly thirty days since Luke had come home to tell me the FBI was in Clifton Forge. Thirty days since he’d asked me his yes or no questions about Jeremiah and the Warriors.
Thirty days—I’d been counting—and nothing since. No hint at what was happening beyond these walls. No interrogation about my past. Luke acted like I was his long-term guest. A roommate, even.
He went to work every morning, rising earlier than me. He’d leave the coffee pot on with enough left over for me to have three cups. Then he’d come home every evening and eat whatever I’d made that day. With nothing else to do, cooking had become a regular pastime.
A couple times per week, I’d leave a sticky note on the island with some things I needed from the grocery store and Luke would dutifully pick them up.
We didn’t eat together. I made sure to finish my dinner before he came home, ensuring I wouldn’t be forced into the dining room again. I hadn’t set foot in there over the past thirty days either.
After he ate, sometimes we’d watch a movie together. Other times, I’d disappear to my room while he went upstairs. But the awkwardness between us was fading. Being around him was . . . comfortable. Easy. Or, it should have been.
As the days passed and he continued to show absolutely no interest in what had happened before I’d come to live under his roof, the anxiety was taking its toll.
I was sick to death of the pleasant smiles. His standard How was your day? followed by a standing report on the weather. The goddamn weather.
What was happening? Was the FBI still sniffing around? Had anyone seen or heard from the Warriors? The only reason I could come up with for his silence was that he already knew. But that was impossible. There was no way he knew what had happened in Ashton.
There was no way he knew what I had on my phone.
So why was he being so quiet? His silence was driving me up his chocolate-frosting-colored walls. It had pushed me to the edge and when he got home and saw what I’d done to his house, well, he only had himself to blame.
“Damn,” I muttered to the ceiling as I flopped onto the carpeted floor. Sweat beaded at my temples as my heart pounded inside my chest.
God, I’m out of shape. My muscles were weak after a month of lazing around and doing nothing but watching Netflix, snacking and reading a couple of Luke’s books—or trying. The man only had books about dead presidents and world wars in his library.
No, thanks.
The past month with little to no physical activity had turned my body sluggish. My time at the Warrior clubhouse hadn’t exactly included regular exercise either. I’d spent months in Jeremiah’s room, avoiding his brothers. More like avoiding assholes.
When you added up my time here and my time there, I’d been in Montana for ten months. Nearly a year of spending more time in bed than out. Nearly a year of terror and uncertainty.
Nearly a year, wasted.
No more. The minute I was out of here, I was going to change that. I’d find a job. I’d find a home. I’d find a flipping life.
Only, I had no idea when I was getting out of here.
Luke might not have clued me in to what was happening with the Warriors or FBI, but I had to believe that if there was no risk, he would have been the first to kick me out of his house.
In the meantime, I was stuck in Luke’s house, desperate for a distraction and searching for ways to get into shape.
Hence my afternoon rearranging furniture.
In Luke’s bedroom.
After a month of wandering around the house and shaking my head at the layout in each room, I’d finally had enough. Seriously, had he just left the furniture where the delivery crew had dropped it? There was no structure. No pattern. No flow.
Well, I’d fix that.
And work up a good sweat in the process. If Luke didn’t like it, too bad. It was his fault for not having a home gym.
Certainly he worked out, but where? His body was insane and fit and tight in all the right places. His biceps bulged against the sleeves of the navy uniform shirt he donned each weekday. His jeans molded around those beefy, tantalizing legs. And his ass . . .
I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut as a wave of heat rushed to my core.
Maybe it was boredom’s doing, but damn it, I’d all but memorized Luke’s features in the past month and not a single one was lacking.
His physique was unparalleled and so, so freaking sexy. His blue eyes had this way of drawing me in and putting me under his spell. And every now and then, he’d flash a smile, mostly when we were watching a comedy on TV.
That smile sent tingles down my spine each and every time it spread across his face. It wasn’t devilish or flirty. No, Luke’s smile was just pure, unfiltered confidence.
When something was funny, he smiled. When he was happy, he smiled. Luke wasn’t the type who needed to fake a thing, certainly not his joy. He knew exactly who he was, and damn it, that was the biggest turn-on of them all.
You have no business being turned on, Scarlett.
No, I did not. Because whenever Luke did decide to ask me some questions, a crush wasn’t going to make it easier to dodge them.
Besides his inability to stage a room, there had to be something wrong with him. If I could just figure it out.
I wiped my brow and sat up, inspecting the room.
The pieces had been a lot heavier than I’d imagined.
Luke had invested in quality furniture. But I’d managed to wrestle them around regardless.
Sure, I could have just watched a Pilates video, but I loathed them—there was something about a woman ordering you to lift, sweep, circle over and over that made me want to pull my hair out.
Tomorrow my plan was to tackle the living room. Then his office.
For the first week I’d lived at Luke’s, I’d stayed on the main floor, keeping close to my room. But then curiosity had won out and I’d wandered upstairs. Much like the first floor, the furniture hadn’t so much been arranged as it had been plopped.
Luke’s bedroom had been the worst offender, so I’d decided to fix it first.
His bed had been pushed underneath the windows, leaving a huge expanse of empty wall space. Who didn’t center their bed? Not only that, but it had been on the wrong side of the room. Why not put it opposite the doors to the bathroom and walk-in closet?
His sleigh bed was extremely heavy and had taken me nearly an hour to shove, inch by inch, and pivot in the room. The chest of drawers had taken nearly as long to drag into position across the thick, plush carpet.
I stood and surveyed my work, smiling to myself as my chest puffed with pride. There was so much potential with Luke’s house. It just needed a bit of help.
In another life, maybe I would have become an interior designer. But no one was going to pay a woman with a generic associate’s degree from a no-name community college to shuffle furniture around and pick out new pieces.
Besides, before I could think of another life, I needed to fix the one I was living.
I glanced at the clock. I had another hour before I needed to start dinner, so I hurried to the bathroom and showered. As I blow-dried my hair, I studied the small room, like I did most days.
The mirror was boring and frameless. The walls needed a color other than white.
Fixing those would be another woman’s duty. I doubted Luke would grant me access to a paint brush.
I dressed in a pair of boyfriend jeans, cuffed at the ankles, and a simple T-shirt.
It was a Clifton Forge Police Department shirt, one Luke had snagged from the station.
He’d ordered the jeans for me online, along with a few simple tees after he’d offered and I’d given him my sizes.
I hadn’t gone crazy, just two pairs of Levi’s, but it was amazing how much better I’d felt, acquiring a wardrobe not entirely made of sweats.
I hadn’t worn a lot of jeans growing up. Dad had preferred his precious angels in dresses and skirts. If there were bruises on our legs to cover, then we’d slip leggings on beneath our skirts. Everything had been pastel or floral print.
If I never wore a flower again, I’d die a happy woman.
I worked my hair into a quick braid. It had grown thicker this past month. So had I. My pants and shirts didn’t feel like the tents they had when I’d moved into Luke’s home, though when I looked in the mirror each day, I still didn’t love the woman staring back.
But she was growing on me. Each day I noticed my skin’s healthy flush. The blue of my eyes was beginning to sparkle.
Maybe these thirty days were exactly what I’d needed.
I hurried to the kitchen, taking out one of two cookbooks from Luke’s cupboard. The cooking was in part so I’d have something to do and something to eat. But it also served as a way to avoid another cheeseburger.
Tonight, I was making spicy mac ’n’ cheese.
I got to work, bustling around the kitchen that felt more and more like mine every day, boiling water and shredding cheese.
I roasted a couple poblano peppers and added them to the casserole dish before placing the entire thing in the oven to bake while I pulled out plates and silverware.
I was just taking the dish from the oven when the garage door opened and the low rumble of Luke’s truck grew louder.
“Damn.” It was only five. He’d come home early and I’d gotten a late start on dinner.
We’d probably have to eat together.
The door to the garage opened and Luke jerked up his chin as he tugged off his boots and socks, tossing the latter in the hamper I’d learned he left in the laundry room specifically for that purpose. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I gave him a small smile, trying to ignore the skip of my heart.
It was a rush to see him. The biggest thrill of my day. The energy was always charged when Luke was in the room. Whether it was because I was waiting for him to finally ask me about the Warriors, or something else entirely . . . well, it was probably both.
He came into the kitchen and opened the fridge, bending to take out a beer. “Want one?”