Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
T he Havens’ garage door lets out a deafening squeal. In my head, I hear the words: Abandon all hope ye who enter here.
I try not to grit my teeth as I turn my car key, cutting off the engine. My dentist hates it when I take my stress out on my molars. And, unfortunately for the both of us, I have a lot of stress.
Tossed in my backseat is a single duffel bag stuffed to the brim with nearly every piece of clothing I own. I blacked out, I think. After ending my call with Rose, I was on a warpath. Anything with lace or frills was haphazardly thrown into my bag. Semi-sheer leggings and unlined bras have the zipper bursting at its seams. Regret started its slippery descent into my consciousness about five minutes into my drive.
But it’s too late to turn back now. The Havens’ gate will lock down in about sixty seconds. I’m stuck with all my bad decisions. At least until tomorrow.
In an off-brand stroke of luck, Taylor’s SUV isn’t parked on the street. I creep up the Havens’ stairs, listening for any sign he’s already inside the house. But all is still. I grin to myself. This gives me the first pick of guest rooms.
I head straight for the second floor, dragging my duffel behind me as I climb each tiled step. The Havens have three guest rooms that I know of. The largest of them all sits across the hall from their master suite. Naturally, it’s the one whose door I swing open and claim with my arms open wide.
The guest room is gorgeous, of course. Dark blue wallpaper depicting woodland creatures frolicking among winged sprites surrounds me. A four-poster bed is pushed against the rightmost wall, a grand wooden dresser standing opposite it. I toss my luggage onto the plush Persian rug, sighing as I turn in a full circle.
Despite my sworn enemy living within the same walls, maybe this week won’t be so bad after all.
I make it halfway through unpacking my suitcase when I hear the telltale creak of the front door opening. I duck down, hiding despite the fact Taylor isn’t anywhere near me. And, okay, maybe I’ve been hoping his tardiness would get him locked out. In which case, I was ready to avoid my phone for the rest of the evening so that any and all of his attempts to reach me would go mysteriously unanswered. It only figures Taylor would find a way inside after the cutoff time. He never lets me have any fun.
I kick my duffel beneath the bed, throwing my laptop onto the quilted duvet. Stuffing my headphones into my ears, I tell myself this evening is no different from all the ones that came before it. Who cares that my worst rival will be spending the night under the same roof? Not me! If I can’t hear him, he can’t hurt me. I sink into my pillows, chanting my new favorite mantra as I put on my favorite historical drama. And all is well.
For exactly two and a half episodes. Until my stomach lets out a pitiful growl. Apparently, stalking the exes of my celebrity crushes while drooling over Darcy-esque men in waistcoats works up an appetite.
When the growl is accompanied by a genuine hunger pang, I know it’s time to venture downstairs. I take the steps in twos, keeping to my tiptoes so Taylor won’t hear me coming. The very last thing I want to do is run into him. The sweatsuit I’m currently wearing is comprised of the last two pieces of sensible clothing I packed for the next fourteen days. And I fully intend on milking this outfit for as long as humanly possible. The less Taylor sees of my scantily-clad body, the better.
The kitchen gods must have heard my prayer, as no sulky six-foot-tall bullies are waiting when I scurry into the Havens’ kitchen. Despite the $500 grocery bill they rack up on a weekly basis, their fridge is surprisingly empty. There’s a glass bottle full of a substance I can only assume is milk, and a shelf where organic veggies have apparently gone to die.
I open every drawer, peer behind each condiment…but there isn’t a single processed item in sight. Either I’ll have to survive on a diet of baby carrots and bean sprouts, or a trip to the grocery store is in my very near future.
I’m halfway to the front door when the reality of my situation comes crashing down around me. I can’t just go…not without securing a way back inside. And that security is currently sulking somewhere deep within this labyrinth of a house.
I’m not sure whether it’s hunger or dread curdling my gut as I creep down the hall. The Havens’ second and third guest rooms are located at the end of this corridor, tucked away in the quietest part of their abode. It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest to find Taylor’s plain black suitcase perched outside the first door on the right.
“Do it,” I whisper, trying to peer-pressure myself. “Do it, you wimp. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
I have to wrap one hand around the other, forcing myself to reach for his door. Wincing, I rap against the wood three times. Stepping back, I brace myself for Taylor’s scowl.
But the door doesn’t swing open. After a minute of waiting, I lean forward, listening for sounds on the other side.
But there’s nothing. Nada.
Letting out a breath through my nose, I knock again, a bit louder this time. He is here, isn’t he? I mean, his suitcase definitely is. And it’s not like I heard him go back out the front door. There was no trace of him in the kitchen. I didn’t see his shadow in the office. All signs point to Taylor sitting inside his room…avoiding me.
“Hedlund!” I turn my fist sideways, basically punching the wood as I holler his name. “I need to go to the grocery store! Will you be here to let me back—”
The door swings open without warning, forcing me to jump aside. I’m sputtering, lips already parted to give Taylor a piece of my mind when he fills the doorway.
And then my lips part for a different reason.
His broad shoulders are bulging out of a ratty tank top, the sides cut down to his waist. I trip over the exposed swath of tanned skin before my gaze shoots back to his face.
Taylor’s cheeks are flushed, sweat dotting an arched brow. Crimson gym shorts hang low on his hips and I nearly do a double-take. The gold hem takes me back in time to a spring day in a crowded gymnasium, where I sat watching boys in uniforms identical to the one Taylor’s wearing now.
He flickers before my eyes, and all of a sudden, I’m standing before the Hedlund of a decade ago. The one with longer hair, lither limbs. Smile lines bracket his eyes and I lean in, waiting to hear a string of his infectious laughter. But all too soon, the image fades. And I’m back to the present, standing across from a man who’s regarding me like I’ve sprouted two heads. I have no idea how long I’ve been staring. But Taylor’s expression tells me it’s longer than I can explain away.
“I’m heading out,” I say, a bit thickly. “To the grocery store. Do you, ah, need anything?”
My brow furrows with the question I did not mean to ask. But Taylor’s taking out a headphone, clearly having missed every word.
“What was that?”
“Do you need anything from the grocery store?” I ask again. Like an idiot.
I wait for a brush-off, but it doesn’t come. When I check Taylor’s face, I find his brows raised in surprise. The man who’s always confident, so sure of himself, is looking at me like he doesn’t know what to say. And that moment of indecision throws his face into a brand new light.
When they aren’t pulled into a tight line, his lips are pleasantly full. His hair isn’t slicked back like it often is for work, but hanging over his forehead. He looks youthful and maybe even a little bit kind. Maybe that’s why when he eventually says, “No,” it doesn’t sting like I thought it might.
I lift a shoulder. “Will you be here in an hour? I need someone to let me back in.”
Taylor is silent for another moment, face strangely blank. But he dips his chin, and I guess that’s good enough.
“All right. Well. If you think of anything you need, just text me.”
For fuck’s sake! I turn on my heel, shaking my head as I go. I don’t know where all this goodwill is coming from, but it’s certainly lost on Taylor. He doesn’t say a word, but I feel him watching me as I backtrack down the hall. The weight of his gaze trails me long after I turn a corner, following me all the way into the Havens’ garage.
I shiver, trying to stifle the gooseflesh that’s risen on my arms. What the hell is going on with me? Taylor is many things, but a concern of mine should not be one of them. It’s only night one at the Havens’ and I’m already letting him get under my skin. He’s stealing valuable space inside my head. Space I should be using to think up ways to secure my attendance to that Italian retreat.
I reach for the switch by the side of the wall, anxious to escape this place. I just need some fresh air, a distraction—something to banish the image of Taylor in his jersey from my mind.
I flip the switch and wait for the garage door to groan. After a moment, I try it again. And again. But the door doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch.
“Shit!” I turn in a circle, feeling like I’m seconds away from absolutely losing it. I’m hangry, I’m tired, and a stupid crush from a decade ago is haunting my waking nightmares. I need to get out of here. I need to—
“Montes?”
I whirl around, dreading what I know I’ll find.
Taylor is peering down at me from the top of the stairs. Even from here, I can tell his jaw is drawn tight. “Are you okay?”
I nod. Then shake my head. “The garage door is broken, I think.”
He’s by my side in an instant, fiddling with the switch. His lips thin when he realizes what I have. I watch him make his way over to the garage door. He kneels down, eyeing the metal tracks. After a moment, he lets out a sigh.
“I don’t think we can force it up. Not without potentially damaging it. We’ll need to call a handyman.”
I swallow, another hunger pang making me clutch my stomach. “It’s 10:30.” I check my phone to confirm. “No one’s going to be able to make it tonight.”
His pinched look says he agrees.
“Perfect,” I mutter. “Okay. Fine. Yeah, I’ll call first thing in the morning.” I start to trudge back up the stairs, resigned to make some horrid salad out of the Havens’ rejects. But Taylor’s voice calls me back.
“I’ll take you. I’m parked out front.”
I rub my ear, sure I misheard him. But when I turn around, Taylor’s watching me expectantly.
“I’ll grab my keys. Hang on.”
He goes to pass me and I lift a hand. “Hold on. It’s after eight…we can’t both leave. Unless you want to try breaking in again.”
Taylor blinks. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean?” Has he somehow forgotten about the automatic locks?
Taylor rifles through his pocket, pulling out a simple keyring. “Victor gave me his.”
My mouth drops open.
“You thought we’d be staying here for two weeks without keys?”
“Adoria didn’t offer,” I choke out. And I hadn’t bothered to ask. She’s never been great at sharing. I figured Taylor and I would end up taking shifts—switching on and off for who would wait at the house. I’m not sure whether I should be relieved Victor has spared us the inconvenience, or if it’s a bad sign he clearly cares more about his assistant than my boss does.
Taylor’s mouth twitches, almost like it wants to smile. But he turns his cheek, sidling past me into the hallway. “Meet you out front in five.”
“Wait, can’t I borrow your car? I can just go on my own. I know you don’t need any groceries…I don’t want you to have to chauffeur me.”
The ghost of a smile slips from his face. “I’m not letting you wreck my car.”
Okay, ouch. “I’m a good driver!”
“I’m going now.” Taylor turns, leaving me to follow after him like a lost puppy.
“I’ll be careful,” I swear. “C’mon, don’t let me interrupt your workout.”
“I’m done,” he says crisply. “And I need shit, too. It’s not a big deal.”
With that, he heads back to his bedroom. Closing the door behind him with a firm click .
End of discussion.