Chapter 18
Zara
Walking on air.
I've heard it said many times in my life, but I never actually thought it was a thing. I figured it was words people used to describe something they couldn't actually explain, but I know exactly what they meant now.
I leave the bathroom, water droplets still clinging to my skin, my legs weak, my smile strong.
Yet, my bedroom is empty. The living room is empty, and from the end of the hallway, I can see that the kitchen also doesn't have a surly man standing in it.
I figured when he left the shower, he'd be around. I didn't think he'd leave the house altogether.
I do my best to shove down the twinge of pain his absence causes, but he just left.
Granted, he made me come twice on his tongue and once on his cock, leaving me nearly incapable of standing, but it's rude for him to just leave without saying goodbye.
Do I deserve a goodbye? If this is what it is, us just messing around and enjoying each other's bodies, do I have a right to be annoyed?
Having a right or not, irritation still simmers inside of me as I dry off, get dressed for the day, and head to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
Not that I expected one, but there's no note on the counter explaining his hasty exit. Hell, he could've easily yelled see ya later from the fucking hallway. It doesn't take much effort to be considerate.
Tapping my fingers on the laminate counter, I tell myself to just get over it. The man is giving me the best sex of my life, and I shouldn't expect anything more from him.
But I can't get the memory of him holding me last night while I cried out of my head. I don't know what caused the rush of emotions. Maybe it was the culmination of the last eight months. Maybe it was being worried for the girl I saw Tommy with. Maybe it was the fear that raged inside of me when I heard someone in my house, and then the relief of knowing it was him. Maybe it was the realization that despite his ability to hurt me in ways I can only imagine, I still want him near.
He didn't shy away from me or my tears, and maybe that was enough to make my mind convince the rest of me that there's more to whatever this is between us.
I should know better. Men like him don't do happily ever after, and I'm more than aware that fairy tales don't exist.
Owen didn't leave the house to go grab breakfast for the two of us after seeing my mostly empty refrigerator. He isn't a sweetheart who is considerate of other people, despite how he acted last night.
My first sip of coffee hits my stomach like a brick, making me remember I haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning. I pull the bread from the fridge and toss a couple of pieces into the toaster, standing over the damn thing because it has to be supervised like a toddler with a marker or it'll burn.
Dry toast is just as boring as it sounds, and as I eat it, I consider all the things I could do today rather than worrying about why Owen left without so much as a middle finger in the air.
I choke down the toast and the coffee, grab my purse, and leave the house.
Just as I'm locking the door, my phone rings, and like a fool, I rush to pull it out of my purse.
Owen doesn't have my phone number, so I don't know why I was hoping to see an unfamiliar number on the screen. Instead, it's from the area code where Billy is being housed in prison. I hit the decline button and shove the damn thing back into my purse.
I should've changed my number when I left. It's bad enough that I'm getting letters from him in prison. It was the last thing I considered when I used one of the forwarding mail requests through the post office when I moved.
Stupidly, I read the first letter, thinking maybe he'd feel guilty about what he did. But he was still fully in the middle of his blame game because according to him, it was all my fault that he was in prison. I still haven't figured out the math on that one.
My exasperation only grows as I drive into town. It's after Christmas, but Gatlinburg is swamped with people. I've been told that after New Year's the entire town goes mostly quiet. There are many businesses that close and don't reopen until around spring break season. I can't wait for the days that it doesn't take me nearly an hour to drive ten miles.
The universe throws me a bone, and I find a parking spot only a few blocks down from where I had planned to go.
People take their time walking down the street, window shopping the boutiques. Kids aren't as happy as their parents, crying when they're dragged into yet one more shop where they won't even be allowed to touch anything. I can't imagine the level of torture that must be for them. Old ladies walk in groups of three or four, no doubt trying to find the sales and bargains that after-Christmas season brings, with shops trying to lower inventory one last time before shuttering for the after-season.
I was heading to the chocolate shop, but several screaming kids could be heard in that direction, so I change my plans, slipping into a shop filled with metal art instead. I startle almost running headfirst into a giant metal-pieced black bear, the different colors of the massive thing making me think of Lisa Frank or Andy Warhol. It's gaudy and impractical, but I can also see the hard work it took to make the thing, not that I know the first thing about welding.
"How many of those do you think they've been able to sell?"
I turn my gaze to the masculine voice, noticing his silver hair and beard. Bright blue eyes smile down at me, matching the grin on his face. He's a handsome man, albeit probably in his late-fifties or early-sixties.
Laugh lines mark his cheeks, small lines radiating out from his eyes, but they do nothing to hinder the man's good looks. I bet the women fought over him in his prime. He seems to have had a lifetime of laughter and smiles, and I can't help the way my face mimics his, my own mouth tugging up in the corners as I turn my attention back to the multicolored bear.
"I bet this is the only one," I answer. "It's too big to make more than one."
"Did you see this?" he asks, his hand cupped under a price tag so I can see it.
"Really? Eleven hundred dollars? Definitely the only one in existence."
"Or," he counters. "He sells one and makes another because that price would be worth the time that would go into it."
I look around the room. "I might have made a mistake coming in here. This place is way out of my price range."
The roar of a motorcycle draws my attention, but the angle I'm standing at prevents me from seeing it slowly drive past the front of the store.
"Waiting to meet someone?" the man asks, pulling my eyes back to his. "I should've guessed a pretty girl like you isn't single."
He's flirting with me!
A good-looking man is flirting with me and he isn't belly up to the bar and three drinks deep.
And yet, nothing. I feel nothing. Well, that isn't true, I feel something... for Owen, and man if that doesn't just fuck everything up.
I'm not supposed to care enough for a thought of him to slink inside of my head, but here I am, thinking of him just because another man is speaking to me.
I offer the stranger a gentle smile, but I don't give him anything else.
"Damn it," he says, a sad huff of breath leaving his lips with resignation. "All the pretty ones are taken. Have a good day."
I turn when he walks past me and watch as he leaves the store, wondering if I just lost my chance at something real. That man doesn't look like the type that would pick a lock and enter my home in the middle of the night.
The roar of another bike has me rushing to the large window at the front of the store, but the rider atop it is wearing a fuzzy helmet with bunny ears sticking out of the top. I may not know much about Owen, but I do know he wouldn't be caught dead wearing a helmet that looked like that.
I wander around the store just a little longer, looking more at the price tags than the actual items for sale, all the while wondering if I shouldn't take a damn welding class. Then again, with as many people who walked in, I only counted two that walked out with a purchase in their hands and nothing too big to carry. Being for sale doesn't mean it will sell, and I learned that from years and years of working retail and having to rotate and clear out old stock.
I have to come to the same conclusion where Owen is concerned. Just because he might be standing in front of me one day doesn't mean he'll be there the next. He made that clear with his disappearing act this morning. Accessible doesn't mean available and vice versa.
I pat the multicolored bear on the back just before leaving the store.