18. Cassidy
CASSIDY
I woke up with a mouth so dry it felt like I’d swallowed a handful of sand. My head throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a dull, relentless pounding that made me groan as I shifted on the couch.
Cracking one eye open, I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling for a moment before turning my head. The faint scent of leather and wood polish tickled my nose, and the realization hit me. I was in Harle’s living room.
Oh. God.
The memories trickled back, slow and unwelcome. The bar, the dancing, the song that gutted me, and… the bottle. Heat crept up my neck as flashes of my breakdown flooded my brain. I groaned again, burying my face in my hands.
What the fuck had I been thinking?
After a few agonizing moments of wallowing in my shame, a more immediate need shoved its way to the forefront of my mind. I had to pee. Badly.
Swinging my legs off the couch, I sat up, immediately regretting the sudden movement. My head protested with a sharp spike of pain, and I winced, pressing a hand to my temple.
Dragging myself to my feet, I tottered toward the bathroom. A flash of movement outside caught my eye and I turned toward the picture window. What I saw had me frozen in place.
Harle.
He was in the lake, his back to the house and his hands locked behind his head. He’d never looked more like a Viking god, with the morning sun painting his hair and bare shoulders in golden light. Water droplets glistened on his skin. I couldn’t look away.
Swallowing hard, I was torn between embarrassment and a strange, quiet awe. Even at a distance, he looked solid, like nothing in the world could shake him. Not the mess I’d made last night, not anything.
I glanced down at myself. Rumpled clothes, hair that probably looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge backward. Sigh. If I wasn’t already mortified, this would’ve done the trick.
Harle turned around and made his way to the shore. I watched, absolutely fucking mesmerized, as he neared the beach, and stood in the shallows, water streaming down his body. My mouth went dry for an entirely different reason now.
Because, oh. Oh fuck. He was naked! And I guess the water wasn’t that cold, because, um…yeah.
I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. He reached for a towel he’d left draped over a nearby rock, clearly with no clue that I was at the window. He ran the towel over his face and hair, then down his torso, his movements casual and unselfconscious.
A hot flush crept up my neck and into my cheeks. This was inappropriate, wasn’t it? Yes! Of course it fucking was! Ogling the man when he didn’t even know I was there! But as I watched him dry off, memories of our kiss by my car flashed through my mind, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine.
I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to get a grip on myself. This was exactly the kind of complication I’d been trying to avoid. And yet...
Harle turned slightly, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought he’d spotted me. I jerked back from the window, my heart pounding. What would he think if he caught me staring like some creep at his window?
I stepped back and headed for the bathroom once again. I’d deal with Harle, and my humiliation, once I was feeling more human. If that was even possible.
When I came back out of the bathroom, the scent of freshly brewed coffee teased me, making my stomach rumble despite the lingering ache in my head.
Harle stood in the kitchen, fully dressed in a simple gray t-shirt and jeans that hung low on his hips. His hair was damp, beads of water sliding down the back of his neck. He was fiddling with the coffee machine, his movements steady and unhurried.
“Morning,” he said without looking up, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet. “You like bacon and eggs?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah.”
“Good. I’ll cook. You set the table.” He glanced over his shoulder, his face calm and unreadable. “You know where everything is.”
That was it. No mention of last night. No pointed questions or awkward attempts to hash things out. Just bacon and eggs and setting the table.
I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say or do. Part of me expected, maybe even wanted, him to bring it up, to drag me through the embarrassing details so we could clear the air. But another part of me, the bigger part, was so fucking relieved I could’ve cried.
“Okay,” I said finally, my voice a little hoarse.
Grabbing two plates and a couple of glasses, I carried them to the table by the window. The sunlight streaming in made everything look softer, and I focused on that instead of the knot of shame twisting in my gut.
Behind me, Harle moved around the kitchen, the sound of sizzling bacon soon filling the space. It was oddly domestic, almost peaceful.
He set a steaming mug of coffee on the counter for me. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
With a small nod, he turned back to the stove, whistling softly under his breath. I watched him for a moment, biting my lip. He seemed so relaxed and unbothered, while I was a roiling, confused mess.
I took a seat at the table, running my finger over the rim of my coffee mug. Maybe this was his way of telling me it was okay. That I didn’t need to explain or apologize. Or maybe he just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Either way, I wasn’t going to push. Not when he was making me breakfast.
Harle set the plates of bacon and eggs down on the table, the savory aroma making my stomach growl loudly enough to be embarrassing.
“Juice?”
“Yes, please.”
He returned with a glass of orange juice and placed it beside my coffee mug before settling into the chair across from me. “Dig in.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, the clinking of cutlery and the occasional scrape of a chair leg the only sounds. The eggs were perfect, the bacon just crispy enough to make my teeth hum with satisfaction, though my churning stomach protested each bite. The coffee helped clear some of the fog from my brain, but also amplified the drumbeat in my temples. Fuck, this was why I hardly ever drank. But the food couldn’t distract me from the growing tension twisting around my heart.
With every bite, I felt myself shrinking into the chair, waiting for him to bring it up. Last night. The bottle. The mess I’d made of myself. My heart raced as my mind spun out possible scenarios, each one worse than the last. The greasy bacon that had seemed so appealing now sat like a lead weight in my stomach, and I had to breathe through my nose to keep it down
Harle finally broke the silence, his voice low but firm. “Don’t do that, darlin’.”
I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth. “Do what?”
“Tie yourself all up in knots.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those steady blue eyes of his. “It’s not necessary. I’m not going to ask you to talk about whatever got you so het up last night, unless you want to. So don’t stress about it. Just eat your eggs, and I’ll drive you home.”
His words flowed over me like a warm breeze
“Oh.” I stared at him, my fork still suspended mid-air. I just didn’t know how to process his calm, matter of fact acceptance.
He raised an eyebrow. “Eggs are getting cold.”
That small hint of humor, the gentleness behind his words, eased some of the tension in my chest. I set my fork down and reached for the juice instead, taking a slow sip as I tried to process what he’d said.
“Okay. Thank you, Harle.”
“You’re welcome.” He returned his focus to his plate, eating like it was the simplest thing in the world, like I wasn’t still a giant ball of nerves sitting across from him.
And somehow, that made it easier to keep eating, too.