Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
V incent turned off the engine, and Hilary opened her eyes to find him watching her, his mouth curved into a one-sided smile. She looked away quickly and fumbled with her seat belt, only to hiss in pain. He reached over to undo the buckle and gently squeezed her right wrist. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I hope so,” she grumbled. “This is frustrating.”
“True. But it’s a great story, and think of the scar you’ll have.”
Snorting, she turned entirely to the right to open the door with her left hand, only to find his body draped across hers as he opened the door to the truck. She sucked in a breath at the contact, and he drew back.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, eyebrows drawn together.
She grimaced. He didn’t need to know it was his proximity setting her off.
“Sorry about that. Wait there, and I’ll help you out.”
“No! Umm. I can do this. Thank you.” She pushed the door open with her foot and slid out of the truck to find him there, ready to take her arm and close the door .
Hilary sighed. “Seriously, I’m fine. I appreciate your help, but I’m alright.”
“Stop being a martyr, and let me help.” He ignored her grunt of displeasure and continued to hold her arm as they ascended the stairs to her apartment. She scowled and grumbled until they made it to the top and were confronted by the open door and the trail of blood on the floor.
“Oh! I always lock the door.”
Shaking his head, he led her through the doors, around the drops of blood, past the dining table, and eased her gently down onto the couch. She leaned her head against the cushions and closed her eyes, wanting him to leave her alone but secretly hoping he wouldn’t. It was nice having someone take care of her.
Not saying a word, he moved quietly around the place, running water in the sink, opening cupboards. There was the hiss of a spray cleaner and the scent of bleach.
The tantalizing aroma of pizza awoke her. She was lying on her side, head on a pillow, covered by an afghan, shoes removed. Her stomach dipped. She couldn’t remember taking off her shoes. A noise caught her attention. Vincent sat in the armchair reading the latest Louise Penny novel. She watched him for a moment. How long had she been out? With his legs stretched out in front of him, he seemed comfortable and relaxed, idly stroking his bottom lip with one long finger wrapped in a Snoopy bandage.
“What did you do to your finger?”
Vincent looked up at her voice. “Jammed it fixing my mom’s lawnmower.”
“She has Snoopy bandages?”
He chuckled. “She bought them by the caseload when I was a kid. I was an accident waiting to happen.”
She should get up but was warm and comfortable, her thumb thrumming with a dull ache. And it was nice to have someone to talk to. Other than work and the grocery store, she rarely talked to anyone.
“There’s some Okanagan Porch Banger wine in the fridge. Any chance I can convince you to pour me a glass?”
He raised an eyebrow at her and closed the book. “For medicinal purposes, I suppose?”
Smiling innocently, she pushed herself up, shifting around to prop her feet on the coffee table. “But of course.”
As he went into the kitchen, she fluffed her hair as best she could and grimaced at her blood-stained shirt. No point in changing it now. Vincent had seen her at her worst. She hoped she hadn’t drooled in her sleep.
A moment later, he returned, handing her a glass of white wine. She raised the glass to take a sip and realized he didn’t have any. “Do you not drink wine?”
He stepped back and rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t know if I was welcome.”
“Of course you are,” she said, getting up from the couch. She thrust the glass at him and pushed past to the kitchen. She grabbed another glass from the cupboard, the wine from the fridge, and turning, found Vincent leaning against the dining room table, his arms crossed, mouth in a thin line.
“What?”
Straightening up, he replied, “I wasn’t sure if you would be able to do that.”
Hilary put the wine bottle down and held up her thumb. It was wrapped in a dressing and covered with a rubber sheath. “They used some kind of super glue and then taped it. There aren’t any stitches, so it’s not too bad.” She poured herself some wine and then took a sip. She held up her thumb again and studied it. “I didn’t know they made condoms this small.”
Vincent snorted and busied himself with the pizza on the table. He opened the lid, releasing a mouthwatering aroma of garlic, cheese, and tomato. “I figured you’d be hungry and not up to cooking. I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I played it safe and ordered cheese.”
“That was very kind. Thank you so much.” About to offer payment, she stopped, somehow knowing that would ruin the evening.
A blush stole up his cheeks as he dipped his chin, not meeting her eyes.
She took a seat at the table, arching a brow in inquiry. He hesitated a moment, then sat across from her, his gaze bouncing around the room before landing on the painting of the tree on the wall behind her. It had initially hung in the dental office, and more than one person had commented on it, with a few asking if they could buy it. The receptionist later told Hilary that David was mad when he discovered she’d taken it. Which pleased her immensely, especially because patients remarked upon its absence.
“The initials HB are in the corner. Did you paint that?” Vincent asked.
“I did.”
“Seriously? It’s really good.”
“Just good?” Angling for compliments wasn’t something she usually did. It must be the wine.
“You’re right. It’s definitely more than good. Where do you paint?” He looked around the apartment. “The back bedroom?”
Her smile faltered. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Possibly.” It would require buying supplies. They’d been left behind or tossed aside. She couldn’t remember because it had been so long since she’d wanted to paint. Maybe now that she was settled, though….
With open admiration on his face, he continued to study the painting. And she studied him. Bronze skin, thick dark hair, thick dark brows, and eyes so dark she couldn’t tell if they were brown or black. What colors would she use to paint him?
“Do you only do landscapes?”
“Hmm?” She blinked. “Oh, yes. I know you work with wood. Iris told me you did the work in here and that you’re starting your own business.”
“That’s the goal,” he acknowledged with a tight smile. He sat back and indicated the printing on his shirt. “But right now, I’m a KBS employee.”
She tore her gaze away from the broad expanse of his chest and caught the scowl on his face. “You don’t sound pleased about that.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Iris is great.” He toyed with the base of his wineglass.
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ there.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Have you met her son?”
She shook her head. “No, but I’ve seen the photos, and she’s gushed about him a lot.”
He focused on the contents of his glass, appearing to be searching for words. Leaning forward, he said, “I’m not going to trash talk Eddie, but be careful around him. He doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, especially from attractive women.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, but I doubt I need to worry.” She waved a hand in dismissal.
Hilary’s face heated as he continued to look at her with narrowed eyes. She crossed her arms self-consciously and met his gaze. His eyes did not waver. He wasn’t assessing her body, which she knew was too thin and lacking in curves, he was seeing her . Something in her chest loosened, and a warmth spread through her.
Vincent’s gaze softened, and his jaw relaxed. “Yeah, you do.”
Not knowing how to respond, she pushed back from the table, forgetting about her injured thumb. “Ouch! ”
He winced in sympathy. “I’ll clean up.” He rose from the table and picked up the plates.
“You’ve done enough already,” she protested. “I’m really thankful for your help.”
He reached for the bottle of wine, refilled her glass, and took it over to the coffee table. “Sit,” he ordered.
“Fine,” she huffed, moving toward the couch. Watching him move back and forth between the kitchen and the table, competent, confident, his big frame filling the small space, she searched for a safe topic of conversation. “Where did you learn your carpentry skills?”
“In prison.”
The gulp of wine turned into a cough.
He poked his head from around the kitchen and grinned at her.
“Seriously?” she asked when she could breathe again.
He wiped off the table and nodded. “What do you want to know?”
What did she want to know? She knew the bare bones from Iris but hadn’t bothered to dig further. Her heart told her this was a man who had been screwed over. Finally, she responded, “Whatever you want to tell me.”
“I heard someone say, ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions.’ That’s pretty much what happened to me,” he said, settling his butt against the counter edge. “I was in Australia on a ski trip and met these girls.” He grinned at Hilary’s snort. “Yeah. I was thinking with my dick. Ilsa and I hooked up, and I stayed with her and her sister Nadia for a while, then broke it off when I returned to Keeney. A few months later, they came here to ski and stayed with me. They were here for a few weeks, then Ilsa left to ski at Whistler. I’m not sure why Nadia didn’t go with her. I was working and getting ready to go to school for a construction management program and didn’t see much of her. Anyway, a couple days after she left, the cops were at the door in the middle of the night.”
Hilary sat up straight, dropping her feet to the floor and concentrating on the man before her who refused to meet her eyes, staring at his feet instead.
“I had no clue why they were there. I was scared shitless and not cooperative. A cop shoved a search warrant in my face, then pushed me against the wall and held me there while two others tossed the place. The cops found a bunch of stolen shit—cellphones, tablets—brand new, still in packages, in the bedroom Nadia and Ilsa had used. I just about passed out. I hadn’t been in that room for a while and had no idea that stuff was there.”
Eyes filled with frustration, bewilderment, and pain, Vincent finally looked at her. “Then the nightmare really started. Even in Keeney, spending a night in jail is scary. I called my mom.” The knuckles on his hands whitened as he gripped the lip of the counter. “She bailed me out. A proud parent moment for sure. I was assigned a lawyer who couldn’t tell the difference between his ass and a hole in the ground. That and a judge with a hard-on for brown people got me sentenced to seven years.”
“Seven years? That’s a long time.”
He shrugged. “I only served three years. Ma took out a loan and got me a better lawyer who got the sentence reduced.”
“Still. Three years.”
“Yeah. But I completed the contracting program without having to pay for it.”
She stared at the young man in front of her, imagining having three years of her life taken away and being able to look on the bright side. Clearing her throat, she said, “It must have been a good program. The cabinetry work is excellent.”
He smiled slightly but stood tall. “Yeah, it is.”
Fuzzy-headed but content, she finished her glass of wine while he finished cleaning up the kitchen. His quiet presence was so calming she didn’t feel self-conscious about her appearance or the fact he’d watched her sleep. She blurted out the words she’d held back since moving in. “I owe you an apology.”
He turned, one eyebrow raised.
“Iris told me about the quilt and the trunk and the photo album. I should have apologized then, but I didn’t know how and…”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know me, and privacy is important.”
“Still…”
He smiled his acceptance and turned back around.
That was it? An unexpected warmth coursed through her at the thought that he wasn’t going to hold a grudge. He was a much better person than she was. Sitting back, she shook her head and asked, “What has Eddie done to annoy you?”
Facing the sink and with the water running, it was possible he didn’t hear her, but she saw him stiffen and remained silent as he finished the washing. He grabbed a tea towel and dried his hands while walking toward her.
“He thinks I need a watcher. Someone to make the clients feel safe and make sure I don’t steal shit.” There was more than a trace of bitterness in his voice.
“Does he not trust you, or is he trying to humiliate you?” Feet on the coffee table, the wineglass resting on her stomach, she watched as he all but choked the tea towel, the muscles in his forearms rigid with tension. If she were another woman, a bolder woman, she might lean forward, take his hand, and stroke the tension away. But she wasn’t. She was Hilary, so she poked at him.
“Both.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
Vincent flicked an irritated glance at her.
She waved her glass at him. “I’ve had two Tylenol with codeine and most of a bottle of wine, your frowny face doesn’t faze me right now.”
Quirking an eyebrow, he sank into the chair. “I’ll play nice. I need KBS, and Iris put a lot of effort into hiring me. I don’t want to let her down.” His attempt at nonchalance wasn’t working, though his respect for Iris was clear.
“And you succeeding is the ultimate ‘screw you’ to Eddie.” Hilary’s words were beginning to slur.
Vincent’s gaze moved over her, then a smile spread slowly. “I think it’s time you headed off to bed.”
Hilary shook her head, which was more like a sloppy nod. “Nope. I’m fine here.”
He stood and took the wineglass from her hand, placing it on the coffee table. With care, he moved her feet to the floor and pulled her up from the couch. She fell against his chest and giggled. “If only I were a wee bit younger,” she whispered, nuzzling against the softness of his T-shirt.
S he was practically asleep on her feet as Vincent led her down the hallway. When they got to the bedroom, he hesitated before pulling down the covers, wondering if he should undress her. Deciding against it, he guided her into bed. While she nestled down on the pillow, he went to the bathroom, rustled through the medicine cabinet, and returned with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. He placed these on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed. Again, he watched her sleep and marveled at her beauty. Yes, her hair was gray, and there were lines on her face. But those testified to a life lived. Would she be willing to share that testimony with him? He hoped so.
He reached out to stroke her hair but stopped himself. Back in the living room, he folded the afghan, gathered the wineglasses, rinsed them in the sink, and turned out the lights, then stopped by the door. His eyes moved about the apartment, Hilary’s space. Full of light and color, but something was missing. He stood still, eyes darting around. It wasn’t long before he realized…the walls were covered with artwork, but there were no photographs. No pictures of loved ones. Curiosity and a touch of sadness hit him as he exited, ensuring the door was securely locked behind him.