Chapter 25
MILLIE
Shade blows casually into the cup of apple cider in his right hand a few times before handing it over. He falls back to my side, and we continue through the rows of pumpkins.
I take a cautious sip to make sure it isn’t going to burn my tongue, but it’s the perfect temperature.
My pulse flutters slightly at the easy way he thought to blow on my drink like that.
He doesn’t so much as look at me for any sort of reaction to the sweet gesture, as if he truly doesn’t think it was a big deal.
It was.
“Do you always carve pumpkins for Halloween?” I ask, trying to distract myself.
“Fuck no. Not since I was a kid. But Daisy’s got this new fixation with starting traditions, and I guess we drew the short straw with this one.”
“Traditions aren’t your thing?”
“I don’t mind traditions. If I get to choose them,” he says.
“I’ve never had any. I don’t think this one would be all that bad.”
I feel his attention fall over me. “Not even one? How is that possible?”
“My parents weren’t much for family time. That’s what traditions are about, aren’t they? Spending time with those you love?”
“In a way, yeah, I guess they are.”
“You should enjoy having people who want to start something like that with you, even if it is just carving pumpkins in the fall,” I encourage softly, this dull ache appearing behind my ribs.
“Alright, so join us, then.”
My heel catches slightly in the dying grass, and I stumble forward just enough for Shade to reach for me, a steadying hand around my elbow. “I think Daisy just invited me to be nice.”
“And now that you’re here, I’m telling you to join our tradition.”
It’s impossible to hide my smile as it takes over my face. Even as my cheeks pulse with a blush, I look up at him and nod just once. He winks, releasing my elbow to palm my back. His hold is firm, as if he’s nervous I’ll trip again.
“Alright. I’ll join. But if Bryce kicks me out of the group, I’m going to kick you right back.”
“You got it, princess. She won’t do that, though. I think she likes you more than she’s let on.”
“Because she hasn’t made me run for the hills yet?”
He chuckles under his breath. “No. Because she didn’t veto Daisy’s invite for you to come today.”
I let that settle, thinking it through as a giggling little girl comes tearing past us. She bumps into my arm as she avoids being caught by the boy chasing after her. He’s a bit more aware of his surroundings and leaves a gap between us and him.
“Jenny! Get back here, please,” a woman calls weakly from behind us.
I twist, catching who I assume to be the girl’s mother rolling her shoulders forward and shaking her head. Yet despite the obvious exhaustion she’s showing with her daughter’s antics, she has this twinkle in her eye still. Adoration, maybe. Gratefulness.
My heart twists violently.
Sipping on the cider, I try to school my expression and turn in the opposite direction. My heels nearly dig into the ground with every step I take away from the scene. There’s more open space on this side of the field anyway. More room to breathe.
Shade’s spiced cologne gets picked up on the chilled breeze as he follows me, his steps heavy but even. I avoid looking to see how close he is behind me and how much time I have before—
“You want to talk about whatever it is that upset you just now?” he asks, his voice kind enough to encourage me to open up.
I sigh, flicking a gaze over my shoulder, finding him only a couple of inches away. “That depends on how much of my childhood trauma you want dumped on you today.”
“Well, am I allowed to talk shit about your parents afterward?”
“I’ve never been asked that before,” I admit, almost smiling at the bluntness of the question.
“I’m not going to overstep, but I know already I’ll have a few choice words to say after you tell me what’s going through that pretty head right now.”
“There isn’t really much I’m thinking about, Shade. It’s more just a mess of feelings.”
“Which ones?”
We turn down a path between two patches of fat, misshapen pumpkins. Their bottoms are flat, and their stems are long and thick, curled slightly at the tip. I almost like them better than the perfect ones that are displayed at the entrance to the patch.
“Resentment, jealousy, anger. The trifecta,” I say.
He snorts a deep laugh. “What about that girl back there brought those feelings out?”
“Do you ever miss anything?”
“Not when it comes to you,” he says bluntly, dropping that like it means nothing. I’m starting to realize that’s the Shade specialty. “So, tell me.”
There are a couple of worn benches at the end of this patch, along with a photo booth and a few bare apple trees with an excess of rotten apples littering the ground.
It’s a shame they weren’t picked while they were fresh.
Now, I guarantee a few are home to worms and food for the animals that must stalk these fields at night.
Shade follows my gaze, pressing his palm steadily to my back and heading to the bench beneath a few overhanging branches. We sit, not bothering to leave distance between us. His thigh presses to mine, offering me some of the limitless strength he has leaking from his every pore.
“I’ve never experienced the type of relationship with a parent where they can be frustrated with you but still let you see how much they love you.
Honestly, I don’t know what the latter feels like at all,” I explain, letting the words fall from my lips without trying to shove them back in.
“I was raised in a dynamic that feeds off of power. My entire existence has always been about how I can give my parents more of it. The friends I had were selected for me and had to be from families of equal success as mine. My entire dating life has been planned for me since I was an infant, I’m sure. ”
“Which explains the shitty fiancé,” Shade mutters.
“Chadwick is from a family with almost more money in the bank than mine has. His father owns the biggest investment firm in Western Canada. Our families have been shoving us together for as long as I can remember.”
Shade’s thigh tenses. “That’s a lot of power for one man.”
“You’d hate mine, then,” I say with a bitter laugh. “I’m pretty sure he was born with his chin already pointed at the sky.”
“You’ve never told me that your father does. What makes him think he deserves the world served up on a silver platter.”
“He owns nineteen ski resorts spanning through British Columbia and Alberta. Name one and it’s his.”
“Christ.”
I lean against the back of the bench, nodding. “My first few nights here, I thought I’d wake up and he’d be at the door to my cabin, ready to haul me home. But he hasn’t, and the longer I stay, the more I’m realizing he’s waiting for me to break and return on my own.”
“Do you think he knows where you are?” Shade asks tightly, the gruffness in his voice drawing my eyes.
“Without a doubt.”
He clenches his jaw, and I watch closely as the muscles flex and pull. “How badly do you want to stay here?”
“Bad enough that I’m tempted to ask Shelly to swap me cabins every few days just in case he’s been having someone watch me.”
“Stay with me instead.”
I pinch my brows together, blinking slowly. “What?”
“Is it that surprising?” he teases, releasing the tension in his thigh.
“Honestly? A little.”
“Well, don’t let it be. I have an extra room that I’ve already offered to you before.”
“You can’t honestly want to share your place with a woman. It’s so . . .” I trail off.
His smirk is feline, dangerous on so many levels. “So what, princess? Out with it.”
“It’s a bachelor pad. You’re okay with sharing a bathroom with me?”
“Do you think I’m scared of tampons or something?” he asks with a low laugh.
I knock my knee against his, rolling my eyes. “Maybe! I don’t know. Have you ever lived with a woman before?”
“Only my mother for eighteen years.”
“That’s so not the same.”
“Tell me what it’ll be like with you, then. I’ll decide after you’ve tried to scare me away.”
It’s a ridiculous push. I know that once I get past my initial surprise, I’ll find the real reason behind my doubt. Even now, it’s obvious it isn’t because his place has a weight rack in his living room or posters of beer models on the walls.
“For starters, I take twenty-minute-long showers every day,” I say.
He quirks a brow. “Any particular reason why?”
“Nope,” I half lie. His soft laugh makes it clear he doesn’t believe me, but I push to my next point without giving his curiosity any more attention. “I burnt Kraft Dinner the other day, so I can’t guarantee I won’t burn the place down by accident.”
“Fuck, you’re something else,” he muses, draping an arm along the back of the bench. I don’t move away when he strokes my shoulder. Not when it warms me on a level I refuse to analyze right now. “So, I’ll keep you away from the kitchen. Problem solved.”
“Shade.”
“Millie,” he drawls. “I don’t care what you do to the place. We’ve already established that I’m more than comfortable sharing my space with you. Stop trying to make me take the offer back. I don’t give a shit about the faults you believe are bad enough to have me changing my mind.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It is, and I’m sorry you’ve been treated so poorly in the past that you’ve learned to second-guess the validity of kindness when it’s offered to you.”
I suck in a sharp breath. An invisible hand squeezes my throat. Suddenly, it’s too hard to look at him.
“Your parents sound like pieces of work, princess. I’m glad you got away from them,” he adds, his tone gentler now. “Let’s forget about them for a bit. How do you feel about a distraction?”
I follow his line of sight to the photo booth between the trees. It looks worse for wear, old enough that it leans slightly to one side. There are scuffs on the side where the generic samples of different photo layouts are, and I can only imagine what the inside looks like.
“Is that thing even safe?” I ask, nose crinkling.