Round Sixteen #2
“I’ll get to them eventually, and in the meantime, she needs to sell enough to make owning the shop worthwhile. If business slowed down too much, she’d feel like a failure.” He shrugs. “I don’t want her to feel like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because she deserves better. And because I owe her so much more.” He studies the wall of books for a beat, smiling at whatever private thought passes through his mind, then he grabs my sleeve and leads me back into the hall.
“Third bedroom is just for storage. Don’t go in there unless you want a nose full of dust.”
“Oh… okay.”
“I mean… you can. If you want to.” He stops on a dime and hauls me around. “I’m not saying you can’t go in there.”
“I…” I study the door. “What?”
“I’m not forbidding you from going in there, is all.
Telling you that you shouldn’t, might sound like I’m saying you can’t.
And it doesn’t escape me that coming here means you’re trusting me to do the right thing by you.
So I’m clarifying that you can go in there if you want.
It’s dusty and gross, and it’ll mess with your sinuses, but I won’t be mad if you take a peek or whatever.
I’m not hiding anything crazy in there.”
“Okay.” His nerves make me smile. His warming cheeks are entirely, ridiculously charming, so I smile and nod, and I say nothing of his intriguing Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde impersonation.
Except there’s no bad guy in this scenario.
Just a doctorly friend who blushes and smiles and carries entirely too much happiness everywhere he goes, and then there’s Mr. Hyde, the man whose personality can turn commanding on a dime.
The one who allows me no room to argue if I’m arguing against my own good sense.
“If I feel the need at any point to go into the third room, I’ll do so.
Without worrying about you getting mad.”
“Good.” He wraps my hand with his and continues along the hall.
“I’ll show you the backyard real quick, and the deck I’ve been busting my ass over.
But it’s cold as balls out there today, and I don’t wanna spend a single second longer in the snow than I have to.
” He brings us through the wide opening at the end of the hall and into a glistening kitchen, an entertainer’s space with a massive stone countertop, double sink, double stovetop, and no fridge at all…
which leads me to assume it’s built into the cupboards at the back.
“I like to cook, and I love to eat.” He leads me all the way to a glass wall of sliding doors, flips the lock, and opens the door to reveal a half-finished deck, where the dark innards are exposed and, if a woman is not careful, becomes a hole she might fall into.
“Don’t judge my deck,” he grumbles. “It’s huge, and that shit takes time.
I’m a very busy, very important man, and I simply haven’t gotten back to it. ”
“Very busy,” I snicker. “Very important. Your deck looks great.”
“Thanks. It’s my current passion. Except… ya know, I’ve neglected it.”
“I’m sure you’ll return to it when the time is right.” I angle toward a portion of the deck that’s finished, the screws are in, and the structure looks secure. Hopeful, I meet Ollie’s stare and thrill when he gives me a ‘go ahead’ flick of his wrist.
Crossing the threshold and onto unstained timber, I wander as far as I’m able and stop where there will eventually be a railing, then I spy another building off to the right of his yard.
It’s dilapidated and partially collapsed, with crumbling stone walls and rotted wooden framing.
What was once an amazing greenhouse only the truly passionate would construct is now just… a broken-down building.
“You didn’t fix that up while you were doing the rest of the house?” I sit on the very edge of the deck and drop the five or so feet to the frozen grass below, shivering under the onslaught of the icy wind and huddling into my jacket.
I don’t even peek back to see if Ollie is following. I simply walk toward the greenhouse and dig my hands into my pockets. “It’s amazing.”
He scoffs, walking just three feet behind me. Of course he is. He’s a protector. “It’s where the termites come for vacation. They visit and eat until they’re fat, then they go and tell their termite friends. It needs to be knocked down.”
A deep, mysterious ache lashes across my heart, surprising me. “I think it should be restored.” I lick my frozen, dry lips and turn. “There’s history in this building, Ollie. Someone loved it very much.”
“There are termites,” he chuckles, rubbing his hands together and bouncing in place to combat the cold. “I can’t knock it down till I spray the termites. Otherwise, they’ll move into my house. And nobody wants that kinda mess.”
“Especially not after all the work you put into the deck.”
He barks out a loud, stomach-tingling laugh that has puffs of white air dancing in the space between us.
“Smartass. Come on.” He grabs my sleeve and starts back toward the house.
“My shed’s over that way. Hidden behind those trees.
” He gestures with his chin. “But it’s too damn cold today, so I’ll show you another time.
” He stops by the deck and releases me, only to link his fingers together and bend. And wait… and wait… and wait…
“What?”
“Put your foot in so I can boost you up.”
“Oh!” A silly giggle rolls along my chest and tosses me off balance the moment I take one foot off the ground. But I place it in his hands and thrill in the way he so easily lifts me high, how he holds on long enough for me to climb to my feet and find my balance. Then I spin and offer my strength.
Which is foolish, really, to think I could lift him.
He places his hands on the deck, his shoulders and arms swelling with muscle he keeps hidden under a starchy white coat the rest of the time. He doesn’t grunt. Doesn’t groan. He doesn’t even huff. He hoists himself up easily and pops onto the deck with a smooth swing of his legs.
“Time to go inside before our noses freeze and fall off.” He leads me through the sliding glass door and closes it right behind us.
“Why don’t you take your suitcase to your room and unpack while I start a fire and get this place a little warmer?
” He drags me through the kitchen and back into the living room, then, releasing me, he detours to an ottoman in front of his couch, opening the lid and revealing blankets and cushions, chip crumbs he probably didn’t intend for me to see, and finally, an abused box of Uno cards.
My brows jump high on my forehead. “You wanna play?”
“I wanna help you find yourself. Card games assist cognitive function, which improves memory. If the last two weeks have taught us anything, it’s that your recovery won’t come easy. We’ve gotta work for it. Jiggle something loose. Hence…” He gestures with the box.
“Uno.” My stomach drops and swirls, my brows coming down to shadow my eyes.
I spy the suitcase in my peripherals, my bag of books, my entire world—not even enough to take up more than a quarter of the backseat of his truck.
“Okay.” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and feel that familiar sense of unease in my belly.
I feel like an intruder. Like the poor man was coerced into something he really doesn’t want to be a part of.
He talks a good talk and says all the right things, but it would be stupid of me to think he’s not in a rush to bring my memories back. To remind me of who I am. To get me out of here.
The sooner I know who I am, the sooner I can go.
“What, Rose?” Reading me, oh so well, he releases the ottoman lid and comes around the couch. “You’re hurting your own feelings again. Spit it out.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind.” I exhale a shuddering, aching breath and jerk my thumb toward my suitcase.
“Worst-case scenario, we get back in the truck and you drive me to The Wallflower. It’s an hour each way, and that’s totally not what you wanted to do with your day, but if you do, or if you call me a cab, I’ll go and you’ll get your home back—”
“Because I wanna play cards?” He stops in front of me, tilting his head to the side.
“I’m gonna do everything I can to help bring your memories back, Rose.
” He tucks the card game into his back pocket, freeing up his hands.
“I want you to heal. I want you to remember. Not because I want you to leave as soon as possible, but because you deserve to know who you are.” He folds a little lower, forcing himself into my line of sight.
“I’m gonna throw these games at you every single day from now until we’re done.
I’m going to test you and encourage you.
I’ll research TBIs in my spare time, in case I’ve missed something, and I’ll absolutely ask to get lunch with Doctor Dawes in a day or two, because he’s a hundred years older than me, and maybe he knows something about your condition that I haven’t yet discovered.
But none of that means I’m in a rush to get rid of you. ”
“You’d tell me if you wanted me to go, though, right?” Sniffling, I exhale a shaking, shuddering breath. “You’re a nice guy, Ollie, and sometimes, nice people make offers they haven’t truly thought through, and then they’re too nice to admit when they’ve over-committed to something.”
“You want me to tell you if you’re annoying me?”
“I want you to tell me when you’ve come to the end of your patience. When this has gone on long enough, and you’ve realized you want your privacy back. It doesn’t have to be a whole thing, and I won’t get my feelings hurt if you need to step back.”
His lips quirk up on the side. “Liar.”
“Okay. But my feelings will hurt much, much more if you wanted me gone, but you were too nice to say so.” My heart thunders in my chest, painfully throbbing against my diaphragm, and it doesn’t slow when I peel my hands apart and offer one, allowing it to hang in the space between us.
“I’ll promise to do my brain exercises every single day, not make a mess of your home, and demand as little of your attention as possible, and you’ll promise to speak up if you need to. To say when you’re over this.”
He takes my hand, smirking. “Okay.”
“I’d rather you spoke up early, Ollie, when things are still friendly and we’re able to communicate effectively.
Burying your feelings for the sake of good manners will allow bitterness to creep in between us, and I really don’t want that to happen.
If, even for a second, you think you’ve made a mistake inviting me here, I just want you to say so. Please.”
“I promise.” He wraps his palm around mine, his fingers enveloping mine until there’s simply nothing left to see, then with a bright smile, he shakes and squeezes for extra emphasis.
“I will not let bitterness or weirdness creep in, you have my word. But. In exchange, I’d like you to speak freely, too. ”
“I do—”
“You censor yourself,” he cuts in. “You agree to any damn thing I suggest because it pains you to say no. If you hate a certain food, and I find out you agreed to it, and choked it down for dinner, all to save my feelings, I’m gonna be cranky.”
Salmon. The word flashes in my mind from somewhere I have no control over. A hidden memory. A new fact about myself.
He watches me closely, his eyes glittering with curiosity. “What?”
“I don’t like salmon. I think. I didn’t have it at the hospital, so I can’t know for sure. But you said what you said, and I thought salmon.”
“You remembered something.” He exhales a pleased, humming breath. “Good work. But don’t change the subject.”
“I…” I gulp. “What?”
“Speak up. If I’m watching something on the television you don’t like, say so.
If I’m doing something annoying, tell me.
If you feel guilty for infringing on my space, so you decide to do my laundry because you wanna help, but you accidentally put a red sock in with my white clothes, and then you’re freaking out because you screwed up… ”
I narrow my eyes. “Speaking from experience?”
He chuckles. “Perhaps. You’d be offended if I wanted you out but didn’t say so?
Well, I’ll be offended if you’re uncomfortable in my home, but too terrified to tell me.
This,” he points between us, from his chest to mine, “what we’re doing?
It has to be a partnership, okay? I want to help you.
I’ll do damn near anything for the privilege of walking you from here to where we’re going, but you have to be brave enough to take up space.
” He silences and stares into my eyes, raising a single challenging brow. “Deal?”
I nod, but the lump in my throat makes it impossible to speak.
My pulse skitters, and electric waves of contentment simmer in my veins.
Worse, fresh new tears shimmer in my eyes.
But I smile for him and nod again, and because he wants me to be brave, I push the word he so badly wants to hear past my lips.
“Deal.”