Chapter 16
Sloane
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Actually, I do, and that’s the problem.
I can’t make it stop. Everything reminds me of Cruz.
I can’t stop thinking about him. When I get up in the morning, I picture him sitting on the couch or at the table, back straight, alert, eyes alternating between his phone screen and the door like they’re not gritty from hours and hours of doing only that.
When I’m making coffee, I picture that one he made by himself, and how proud he was after, that little dimple that he’s probably not even aware he has, appearing in his left cheek.
During the day, I see Cruz in my memory, a huge, protective shadow in my space.
At dinner, I miss him sitting at the table.
At night, I miss his quiet, calm, and surprisingly humorous presence.
I can’t wash dishes, cook food, prep anything, make coffee, or even talk with clients in the shop without seeing Cruz everywhere. He’s lodged in my head.
At night, it’s more than that. The ache for him, for what we might have done and could have been, and all that craziness that I shouldn’t want to mess with, lodges in my chest. Like before, I don’t bother to touch myself. It’s not my hands that I crave.
When Liam texted me this morning to say that Cruz would be stopping by around dinner, I offered my token protest.
He doesn’t have to. We still have cameras on in the main café and on the building’s exterior. Wizard said that we’re safe. Cruz is probably busy. He likely has a thousand things he’d rather be doing. I’m fine.
Liam ignored all of it and texted me back that Cruz said he’d be over just after six.
The man knows my schedule inside and out.
I’m starting to think that he knows me the same way. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. That’s me, in the dead of night and in my vulnerable, quiet moments, wanting things that I can’t have. Cruz isn’t a dream guy. He’s not a fantasy. He’s not perfect. He’s a real person.
That’s what makes him so alluring.
“Stop.” I feel like an idiot as soon as I whine the plea into the quiet of the apartment.
I closed up right at six and came up here to start dinner.
When Cruz was here, I never bothered to ask him what he liked or didn’t like.
Liam told me that first night that Cruz would eat anything and he didn’t have any allergies.
The first few days I did it to be purposely rude.
Is it weird that I wanted to text him all day and ask what he wanted?
Is it even weirder that I’m standing in the middle of the kitchen, doing nothing other than sweating furiously? My palms are soaked and I’m damp under my sweater. Am I actually nervous?
I am. Yeah. I’m freaking out because this isn’t the same as having Cruz here to do a job. He’s coming of his own free will. I know Liam asked him to, but it could be more. It can’t be, but it could.
I told Liam to tell Cruz to use the café key he still has to let himself in.
I’ve been up here, losing my mind and rattling apart at the seams, for ten minutes before I hear the chime of the front door opening downstairs.
I open the apartment door and glance downstairs.
My breath catches and my stomach turns into a wild ball of nerves when Cruz’s shadow appears before he does. Then, it’s all him.
Huge. Beautiful. In a black t-shirt with the club’s logo on the front, faded jeans, and those heavy boots he wears everywhere. His lips wobble when he sees me, like he’s trying not to break into a goofy grin. He loses, smiling so wide that his dimple pops.
My heart flutters and goes straight into palpitations. I go from I can play this cool to holy fuck, my pulse is going to redline in two seconds flat.
How is it possible that Cruz is even hotter than I remember? Taller, broader, the planes of his face harder, his lips fuller, his eyes that intriguing but alluring light gray.
Stop, stop, stop.
“Hey.” My voice is all wonky. It’s not a wonder, given how dry my throat is. I stand back and pretend to be casual while Cruz enters and shuts the door. “Where’s your jacket?”
“In the truck. The heater’s been acting up. It was pumping so hot that I didn’t need it.”
“You didn’t ride?”
A look flashes over his face, and I worry I’ve said the wrong thing.
“My knee still isn’t great. Don’t want it to lock on the highway, so I’m in a cage,” he answers.
“Are you going to get it looked at?” I break off, fully aware that I went into full on mom mode there. He’s a grown-ass man, he’s been in the military. The fact he’s clearly trying to rest his knee, shows he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
He doesn’t seem annoyed by my concern. If anything, his eyes shine a little bit brighter.
“I haven’t made dinner yet. I—uh, haven’t started it I mean.
What did you want?” It shouldn’t feel so strange to ask the question.
Or to have Cruz standing in the very place where he spent so much time.
This is somehow more intimate. I can’t think of a different word, even though I know that’s not right.
My brain is too scrambled by the rich leather, gas, cologne, and fresh shower scents of Cruz to function properly.
“PB and J.”
“What?”
With his signature calm, Cruz expands it for me. “Peanut butter and jelly.”
“You want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner?”
“I’d like multiples. Maybe three.”
“I haven’t had a sandwich for dinner in a very long time.”
He wanders over to the table, pulls out a chair, and sits down. I don’t miss the way the narrowing of his eyes, or the tight tug at the corners of his mouth. He’s in pain.
It’s all I can do not to offer him the bottle of ibuprofen and whatever bag of frozen veggies I can find first. I’d like to lean over him, set my hands on his shoulders, and massage the tension out of him until he groans with satisfaction and tips his face up to mine to kiss me.
I shake off the images and ignore the wild heat that blazes through me. I have two different kinds of jelly in the fridge—grape and apricot—a fresh loaf of sourdough bread on the counter, and half a jar of crunchy peanut butter left.
Cruz turns in the chair so he can watch me. He’s probably going to call me out on the way that I make PB and J. I’m not a monster, I swear, but peanut butter and jelly belong on both sides of the bread. When they mush together, you get a perfect distribution.
I go classic and make two with grape jelly, and one with apricot to mix things up a bit. I set the stack in front of Cruz before I make my own.
“Eat,” I encourage him. “You don’t have to worry about being polite and waiting for me. I’m going to make tea, so I’ll be a minute. Do you want some?”
“Sure.”
He doesn’t ask what kind. I don’t know if that’s because he doesn’t care and he’s not fussy, or because he’s having one of his quiet nights. Maybe both.
I’m satisfied when he follows my instructions and tucks into the sandwiches.
He devours them, cleaning his plate. It makes my chest ache to think that he was starved because no one is taking care of him.
When he was with me, I made sure he had a good breakfast and dinner, and got coffee and snacks throughout the day.
Was he too busy to eat today? Did he forget?
I want to urge him to take better care of himself, but maybe he did and he’s famished anyway. It’s not any of my business.
I make orange pekoe tea with cream and choose grape jelly for myself. Liam’s favorite is the grape, so I always have a jar on hand.
I sit down across from Cruz after setting his mug in front of him. Steam curls off both. I have my head bowed while I nibble my sandwich, but I can feel the heat of his gaze on me.
“Did you see the cat I sent you?”
“I did. That was sweet to think about me. And her. I’d like to go see her.
Maybe on Sunday, because it’s the first day I have off where the shelter’s hours line up with mine.
” When I sneak a peek up, Cruz looks inordinately happy about that, like he’s a kid who just got promised his first long awaited pet.
“I was thinking about getting her if you weren’t, but I’d have to get a place of my own, and that could take some time. I think she’d be a good fit. She’s older, so she’d probably just like to sleep all day in a bed or one of those window hammock things.”
His eyes dart away, to the window over the kitchen sink.
I remember how he kept looking there the first night he was in the apartment.
It felt so wrong on night one. I was so angry.
I’m not angry now. I’m the furthest thing from it.
It takes all my strength not to reach across the table and set my hand on top of his.
“Maybe the club has taught me to be sentimental, but likely not. I think I’ve always had it in me to collect the broken and unwanted people and things around me.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I want to ask him more, but his voice is heavy and sad.
“I think she’s a beautiful cat.” She has lovely tabby markings, brown with splashes and streaks of orange, and white on her paws, her nose, and the tip of her tail.
“Old cats likely don’t get adopted very fast.”
“I thought about that too. And how hard the change must be for her, going from a loving home to a shelter. She’s got to be so confused.”
“I’ll go for sure on Sunday.”
“You don’t have to. I’m sorry. I’m pressuring you and making you feel guilty.”
“You’re not. I want to go see her. I’ve been thinking about her a lot.
” I thought about her extra because Cruz was the one who saw her and took the time to send her to me.
He cares about her situation, where most people would just overlook her, and if that doesn’t say so much about the person he is…
“She seems perfect. But it would be a big adjustment for her. I’m a bit worried if she’s used to someone being around all day and then gets to spend all day in an apartment.
What if she’s lonely? What if I don’t know what to do? ”