Chapter 9
9
Poppy
It was a peace offering.
Food. His food specifically.
Not a challenge.
Not meant as an insult.
Not even a rejection of the menu items he chose for us.
I don’t know how long I stand here, but long enough for it to turn awkward. Fairly certain he’s not coming out of that bedroom, I set the bag on the counter. Digging through an end drawer, I find a pen and scribble a message on it for him with a doodle. Not my best artwork, but it will do.
It’s probably best if I don’t deliver it in person. If he reacts like that to a food offering, who knows how he’ll react to a thank you.
He’d go bonkers.
I just need to accept that he has no interest in being friends, a new start, or any contact whatsoever. So why am I still standing here like he might ?
My head tells me to get out quick. A swell in my chest tells me to stay.
“What do I do?” comes out on the end of a breath.
“The temperatures are dropping.”
When I look up, I’m met with the same blues that demand attention, but a sadness has permeated them since we met. “In here or outside?”
“Both could be said.”
“True,” I say, pushing the bag across the counter toward him. “A dish best served cold.” Can’t blame me for trying for humor. Selfishly, I’d love to see his smile that I got a sample of in the truck.
He looks down, and even though the only light is the moonlight sneaking in, I can see his grin. Although he is trying his best not to share it with me. Is a restrained smile his version of an olive branch? “Make sure the heat’s on, or you won’t survive the night out there.” Forget the smile. I’m going with the caring gesture he just offered.
His moods are whiplash-inducing, and I don’t want to trigger him back to the other side of the pendulum. It might be best to accept the win he said I won earlier, but I still have no clue what he meant, or I would.
“I will.” I still can’t force myself to leave, though.
The island divides us, but something bigger than what I’m aware of is taking up the space. He’s a big guy, at least six-three if not more based on hanging around Marina’s brothers so much growing up. So it could be just him, but I don’t think that’s it.
He remains where he is at the entrance to the hallway. He’s not wearing the flannel shirt he had hugging his broad shoulders, but the T-shirt and jeans are still in place. And he’s stripped his socks off, and his hair sticks up all over the place. I’ve seen him push his hand through it, but he went to battle this time. Poor sexy, messed-up hair. God, I’d love to run my fingers through it.
I look at the counter, knowing I shouldn’t have thoughts like that about Jerkface. Yet I just did. I should know better than to fall for the bad boy, but it’s easy to do when they look like he does.
Since I’m not in a place in my life where I’m choosing to redeem an asshole, I thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to go.”
A stare that holds a thousand emotions wrapped in one devastatingly dark package is all I’m gifted for the voyage toward the door. Even I can’t stand the heat in this kitchen any longer and step around the island. One step in front of the other is torture when you want someone to ask you to stay.
Why do I?
I was almost killed because of him.
He teased me about bears. Like who uses bear snark in the middle of the woods? I roll my eyes and pick up the pace. It would be stupid for me to stay anyway. I think it’s natural to assume a woman in his past has burned him. No one is mean like he is for no reason.
I grab the handle and am about to tug it open when he asks, “You know where the thermostat is, right?”
That's not exactly how I saw it playing out in my head, but he’s cracked the door open. Over my shoulder, our eyes meet once more, and I reply, “I do.”
His lips part, and the blue of his eyes is briefly shadowed. He’s not someone who hides his emotions. They play out right there on his face for everyone to see. There’s something so real about him, but I still can’t put my finger on why he feels familiar .
“I heard you say that in my head a million times, but it never sounded so sweet.”
“What do you mean?”
His expression hardens, a tic in his jaw returning before he sucks in a breath. “It was in another lifetime. Forget it.” He goes for the bag, and as the crinkling fills the air, I release the handle, too stunned to move after that admission.
How can I leave when that’s been put out into the universe?
As if I can forget he said them . . .
As if I never heard him . . .
As if I’ve ever had something so beautifully devastating said to me before. The words lay heavy with longing between us. “I don’t know what that means.”
He looks at the bag, and even from where I stand, I can see him reading the message I left for him. He turns back to find me across the room. His chest is full from a deep breath. When he exhales, he says, “You don’t have to thank me for letting you stay.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I wasn’t going to leave you out in the cold.” He sounds so confident as if he’s never doubted how the night would turn out.
“So it wasn’t about the bears?”
“I know what we said, but hypothermia would get you first.” He glances at the bag again and then adds, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. I never doubted you. I was just . . .” What am I saying? Is it for him or me to walk away with a clean slate? I need to protect myself—professionally and personally—and my heart races from the sudden intimacy of the situation. “I don’t think we’re meant to be friends.”
“No,” he replies quick enough to hurt my feelings. “We couldn’t make it work the first time, so no use in prolonging the inevitable.”
“Why did you draw this?”
I should duck out of here and put some separation between us, move on with my life in a different direction from him. I don’t always make the wisest of choices. I take a step forward, wondering if I’m making a mistake by exposing a part of me that I keep hidden from most. Yes, that’s probably best, so I flip the script, aiming the spotlight in his direction. “I saw it on your chest earlier.”
“Did you think I’d have it removed?” His gaze trails to the floor, and I see the slightest shake of his head. “I kept it because it’s a symbol now.”
I cling to every syllable because this is the closest I’ve gotten to an explanation for my tattoo. “What does it symbolize?”
“The brokenhearted.”
“The brokenhearted?” I’ve never once thought it meant anything other than a greatness in life—a promotion, an accomplishment, even a romantic notion. But with the absence of what truly happened those two days in Austin, I suppose I’ll have to take his word for it. “I’ve never heard anything sadder in my life.”
“I have.” Hearing the certainty in his tone has me believing he has.
“I’m sorry.” I suddenly feel foolish standing so far from him in the middle of a conversation, but I’m sure it’s inappropriate for me to be here. So I suppose I need to take my own advice and let him have his night back.
I turn, this time opening the door. He says nothing, so I leave without another word. He’s right about one thing. It’s freezing tonight—he and the weather. It makes me wonder if he ever warms up to anybody or if it’s the particular hatred he holds especially for me.
Wrapping my arms around my chest, I hurry through the wind and trees. The lake catches my attention briefly, but it’s too cold out to admire. I hate the fear that zips through me from being alone out here. I felt safe in the main house even though there was tension.
After locking the door, I double-check the thermostat to make sure the heat is in fact on. It’s warm in here, but it’s good to make sure. Looks good, so I go about getting ready for bed. My phone is charged, so I send a message to Marina that I’m back on the property. I don’t expect a reply since it’s late, but I know she’ll appreciate knowing I’m safe in the morning.
With the lamp on, I climb under the covers fully dressed because the chill from the main house still lingers in my veins. I’m not sure why he’s gotten under my skin, but I can’t seem to stop replaying everything that happened tonight in my head. “What is it about him?” I mumble to myself.
I don’t know him, but an urge inside me wants to. His eyes are piercing to the point of boring a hole into my chest as if he wants my soul to pay for the damages I caused him.
Opening my phone again, I pull up the email with the contract and scan it for any personal information about him. The lamp flickers, causing me to glance at the side table, and then it goes black.
My phone is a torch in the outage. I’m so glad I charged it.
But then I realize it’s not about my phone. It’s about the heating system. “Oh no.” I flip the covers up and set my feet on the cool wooden floors. As soon as I shine my phone light on the thermostat, a banging on the doors startles me into next week .
“Oh my God.” My heart thunders in my chest, my fears surfacing, though I know it’s going to be him outside and not a maniac. Well, not the murdering kind.
“Hello?” I call with the door closed.
“It’s me.”
If only he’d said his name. No such luck. I’ll still try to get it out of him, though. I crack the door open, not wanting to let the cold air outside sneak in. “Me who?”
He shifts with his hands in his pockets, never looking as charming as he does right now. When his eyes land on mine, he asks, “Do you really not remember my name?”