Chapter 10 Lucy
His card. Shit.
I completely avoided him the past few days he turned up. Making excuses not to serve him, or be anywhere he was, and now I’m realizing he was probably only here for his card.
I should have known that’s why he’d show up here again, this time so early I’d have no choice but to see him…
Yet something about the way he’s looking at me makes me wonder if that’s really all he came here for.
I can sense the mutual curiosity, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him.
He’s solid, and with the gray that’s streaked through his hair, I can’t say he’s not alluring.
“Shit–uh right. Give me a second,” I say, holding up one finger. I head back into the kitchen where my ingredients, and the stupid ass bag of flour that burst all over the prep table this morning, still rest. I need to clean that before I start making my pies for today.
My to-do list runs through my mind, and I can already feel the overwhelming sense of frustration filling my eyes with tears.
I left my purse in the office with a note to remind myself to order inventory for the next month.
Walking over to the office and then looking back at the mess I have to clean, remembering everything I have to do, the tears threaten to spill.
Pausing over the note in my purse, I grip the edge of the desk and ground myself. Repeating the same mantra I’ve been repeating since my parents died in a car accident on the way to my graduation.
The sun shines brighter after the rain.
Footsteps sound on the tile of the kitchen and I rustle through my purse to find his card before he can see me like this. Vulnerability is a privilege, and I don’t know anything about this man.
Wrapping my fingers around the plastic that’s caused me a mountain of anxiety, I clear my eyes and strut out of the office. He’s stopped at the flour explosion, eyeing the kitchen as if he’s never been in one before.
“Need a hand?” He asks, and that’s… not what I was expecting him to say, and the relief that runs through my body makes me pause.
“What?” I blurt.
He just looks at me and raises one eyebrow, the corner of his mouth turning up.
What a presumptuous, pompous, preening…prick. Proud of that alliteration I hold his gaze and scoff.
I could definitely use a hand since our cook called in sick this morning, but from him? Swallowing down the urge to say yes, I throw out my hand with his card between my fingers and shake my head. “I’m fine, but thanks.”
He reaches out to grab his card but his eyes never leave mine and my breath catches in my throat.
“It’s okay to ask for help sometimes, Goldie.” His words hit an insecurity deep inside me that has me biting the inside of my cheek to keep the tears from building.
I nod and break eye contact, unwilling to tell him I never charged him for the flowers in fear that the tears might flow over instead.
“I’ve got nothin’ else to do today,” he says, head tilting down as he pulls out his wallet, slots his card in place and shoves it back down into his back pocket. “And no offense but your kitchen kind of looks like a disaster.”
At that, my eyes snap back to his, and I’m ready to tell him off except I’m struck stupid. I expected the same cocky smirk from earlier, but this smile is different and it shouldn’t be so damn endearing. I don’t know him for God’s sake. He could be just as bad as his brother.
Charming in disguise.
“You don’t know me,” I state, “and I don’t know you.” He could be a murderer or kidnapper for all I know. “Fool me once, shame on me and all that. I learned my lesson the first time.”
“I’m nothin’ like my brother, Goldie,” his teeth are clenched so hard his jaw outline’s stark.
“I didn’t say you were,” I acknowledge.
“Yeah, but you’re face sure did,” he turns, takes a few steps and then turns back around. “I can’t imagine how you felt after learnin’ everythin’ about Levi,” he says, hesitantly continuing, “but I can tell you how I felt.”
He pauses, giving me the option not to hear him out, and I respect it, but I want to know.
No, I need to know, whether I’m alone in feeling fucking terrified that I could trust the wrong person again. I nod for him to continue.
“I threw up when I heard what he’d done,” he starts, his stormy blue eyes locked on mine and I can feel his pain as he continues.
“I’ve always felt disconnected from him.
By age, by parentage, but when I heard what he’d been doin’ to women I felt rage, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
I was so damn angry with him, with my mother, Yates, as if they could have known. ”
He pauses, and wipes a hand over his face, rubbing his beard and looking away before he looks back at me. “I didn’t go to the funeral. I couldn’t bring myself to watch my mother cry over the boy she loved so much who turned out to be a horrible man.”
His admission is like a knife to my gut. I did go, and I did watch her cry. I wanted to scream at her, to make her stop. He didn’t deserve her tears. He deserved what he got.
“I–” I cut myself off before finishing my thought, it just doesn’t feel like enough. Not when this almost stranger just told me something so… intimate. When I don’t continue he clears his throat, turns back around, and walks out the kitchen doors.
My stomach tugs and I sigh.
“Wait,” I shout, sprinting to the door that’s still swinging shut and running into him.
His hands reach out to steady me, his grip light, but firm.
An impossible feat, and as I look up he looks down.
Our faces are separated by the thinnest veil of air, and I swallow watching as his attention moves to my throat, and back up to my eyes in a fraction of a second.
So quick I would have missed it if I’d blinked.
I might regret this, but I could use the help. Plus, he’s got my attention now, and maybe a hint of respect too.
His lips pull up into a smile, and though I’m steady on my own two feet he doesn’t remove his hands. This close I can smell his sweet and spicy scent with an undercurrent of something bitter.
He’s looking down at me, his eyes flick between my lips and my eyes.
My chest seizes as my senses kick in and I step away.
His hands fall away, and my body shivers at the lack of them.
The heat where his hands were feels like a brand on my skin, and in spite of my better judgement, I want to feel it again.