Chapter Four #2
Walking across the square, I dodge a three-person yoga class and a young boy with his dog playing fetch. It seems like an odd thing to be doing at 7:30 in the morning, but who am I to judge?
I push open the door to our office, setting my coffee and my bag at my desk before heading to John’s office. He looks up from his paperwork when I walk in, smiling brightly at the brown bag in my hand.
“Ah! Muffins?” he asks, extending a hand. I open the bag, passing him one of the large blueberry treats.
“Yeah, Bennett said to tell you good morning.”
John makes an appreciative sound, setting his breakfast on top of a napkin on his desk. “A good man, that Bennett.”
I don’t say anything to this; instead, I begin diving into what I really came in here to talk about.
“So, about Rowan Alexander,” I start, and John raises his brows, peering at me curiously as I take a seat. “As you know, I went to see him yesterday.”
“Yes,” he agrees, leaning back in his chair. “Sorry, I was gone by the time you returned. I went out to the elementary school to interview a few teachers for Teacher Appreciation Week. We’re doing a spread.”
I wave him off, clearing my throat before saying, “It’s fine. I went to see him, but he slammed the door in my face.”
John is quiet for a moment, staring at me with a blank expression. Then, as if a switch flips, he bursts out laughing.
“Really!? Dear lord, he wasn’t even that freaked out when I went out there a few months ago!
” I try not to glare at him as he laughs at me, but I know I’ve failed when he stifles his next fit and clarifies: “I just mean that you must have rattled him. He’s a weird guy, and a lot of the locals don’t like him because of it. But he’s not mean.”
My brows furrow. “I didn’t say I thought he was mean. I’m actually going to head back over there this morning and see if I can’t get him to talk.”
“Really?” John asks, assessing me with a new expression. One I cannot decipher.
“Yeah. Is that fine?”
“Sure. I hope you’re able to break through to him. I think he could use a friend.”
Ignoring that last comment—I am not friend material—I nod my head and take my muffin to my desk.
After I devour the award-winning muffin, I gather my belongings and my notepad full of interview questions and prepare for the twenty-minute drive.
“I’m leaving,” I call to John, hiking my bag over my shoulder.
“Drive safe, Eli.”
The drive really isn’t that bad—in fact, it gives me time to prepare for the disappointment of feeling nothing when I look at the handsome stranger—or the pain of feeling everything.
I’m not sure which scares me more.
And of course, no amount of preparing will matter if he doesn’t open the fucking door. But we shall see.
As I pull up to the house, I see his truck parked off to the side and take that as a good sign. At least he’s home.
I straighten out the white collar that is poking out from the top of my green sweater and make sure the material of my black slacks is wrinkle-free. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady.
Scaling the front steps of the porch, I knock on his door. I hear the sound of shuffling, of a door moving from inside the house—but no one answers. I deliver three more sharp knocks, tapping my foot against the wooden planks. This motherfucker.
Right as I’m on my third round of knocks, the second knock in, the door swings open—and I know instantly which outcome I fear more: the pain of feeling everything, or rather, the pain of feeling.
It crashes over me in waves, and I find myself struggling to breathe around each assault.
I’m being ripped to shreds; I’m being bitten into and torn apart.
Touched with cruel, gentle hands and brought to the brink of ecstasy with a single look.
Dizzy against the feeling of it all, I find myself loving every second of this burn.
All I can smell is the overwhelming fragrance of something floral. Something sweet and light.
Rowan speaks first, which is probably for the best. I can’t seem to form a rational thought.
“Stop banging on my door. There is no Elijah here.” His voice is incredibly soothing—deep and rich. If I thought Bennett’s voice was nice, Rowan’s is like straight honey and sex—
Wait—what? I stare for a moment, dumbfounded. And as he goes to shut the door again, I throw a hand out, stopping it.
“Wait!” At the sound of my plea, he startles, and I’m just now realizing that this man looks like he’s seeing an alien. He looks more out of sorts than I feel. “I think there is a misunderstanding. I’m Elijah.”
“Uh.” Rowan looks around for a moment, peering over me to my car and back behind him into his house. Eventually, those cold eyes fall back on mine. “Sure.” He does not look convinced.
I clear my throat, taking a second to gather myself. If I want this interview, I can’t stand here gawking at him all day. I have to work around these incessant feelings and talk to him like a normal fucking person.
“I work for the Fort Myers Post,” I start, watching his eyes narrow slightly. “I’m here to ask you if you’d participate in an interview covering your recent national win.”
“Oh.” As realization dawns on him, Rowan becomes even more closed off, closing the door another inch. “No, thank you. I’m very busy.”
“You don’t have ten minutes?”
“No.” His voice is stern, cutthroat. And fuck, if I don’t want to topple him off that high horse. Nothing gets me off more than conquering a dominant man.
“Well,” I give him a bright smile, watching as his eyes widen slightly. God, he’s so hot. “Then I’ll be back tomorrow to check again.” I watch the horror flash across his features, the panic settling in.
“Hold on, I don’t–”
“I look forward to seeing you again, Rowan.”
“I…” He says nothing else, as if he cannot find the words. So I turn around and head to my car.
This is fine. I’ll spend however long it takes, slowly wearing this man down. It’s a perk for me anyway. The longer he stalls, the longer I get to be around him.
And my body has never reacted this way to anyone else before. It’s intoxicating. As if I’ve just woken up—as if I’ve just been taught how to access my emotions.
So I’ll take the good with the bad. Even if it means that waking my body and my soul also means inviting in the worst that the two have to offer: uncontrollable desire and inconsolable sorrow.