19. Winona #2
Declan thinks I’m beautiful. I can see it in the way he’s looking at me—his eyes roaming over my face and down my hair as if he’s brushing through the strands with his fingers.
Then, as if he didn’t say the sweetest words a man has said to me in years, he pivots to bring me cream and sugar, and I busy myself fixing my coffee, taking a sip as soon as it’s stirred.
“So, you’re meeting dogs?” Declan stands next to me, leaning back on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.
He’s close enough that I can smell his warm, early-morning scent.
“The owner wants me to walk them and occasionally dog-sit,” I say. “She says I need to meet them so she can tell me their idiosyncrasies.” I smile over the rim of my mug. “Her words.”
“I can’t wait to hear about this one,” he says. “But no animal could possibly have more idiosyncrasies than that goat.”
We both laugh.
It feels so natural, just sitting here in Declan’s kitchen, drinking coffee and laughing.
The memories of our kisses float in the air between us, in the lingering glances, the way his eyes crinkle up more than usual when he laughs at something I said. We’re talking, but underneath our conversation a thread tugs between us—new and taut.
Declan smiles. I smile back at him. He’s leaning toward me again and I think he’s about to kiss me when the doorbell chimes through the hallway.
The vacuum cleaner turns off and Darlene shouts, “I’ll get it!”
Declan leans back, grabbing his crutches and propelling himself across the kitchen. He stops short just before running into a red-haired woman who’s dressed in a tight cream T-shirt and designer jeans. She’s wearing heels, but Declan still has a good six inches on her.
“Can I help you?” Declan asks, backing up slightly.
“Declan? Didn’t your mom tell you I was coming?”
She pauses, waiting for his recognition. He doesn’t seem to remember her.
“I’m Snow. We met at the Thunder meet-and-greet during preseason.”
Did she just say her name was Snow?
“No,” Declan says, all humor absent from his tone. “My mom did not tell me you were coming. Did she give you the gate codes?”
Declan’s voice is clipped, but not rude. Snow doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn’t care. She also doesn’t notice me—not yet.
She just keeps talking, walking into the kitchen as if she’s an invited guest. “Your mom did give me the codes. So sweet of her. She thought you might be lonely.”
It’s at this moment that Snow’s glance canvases the kitchen and lands on me.
Hi. He’s not lonely. I’m here. That’s what my face says. Or at least what I hope it says.
My face is having a hard time keeping it together.
Snow is stunning. Not the weather, though that can be beautiful too. Snow the woman. She’s tall enough to be a supermodel. And her rich copper hair and porcelain skin contrast perfectly with her flashing green eyes, giving her an almost exotic look.
The words out of my league float through my head—not exactly float—it’s more like a stab.
I hop off the stool, carrying my mug to the sink and dumping the rest of the coffee down the drain before rinsing the cup.
“So, uh …” I walk toward the doorway, dodging around Declan and easing past Snow.
Her eyes land on me, scanning over the numbers on the front of his jersey and narrowing into a derisive squint.
“I’ll be back at one to take you to your appointment,” I say, looking past Snow at Declan.
“You don’t have to go, Winona,” Declan says.
His one-word invitation from last night echoes in my ears: Stay.
“I’ll be back at one!” I say, my voice bright as I hurry to grab my things out of the guest room and practically fly out the door.
Am I being ridiculous? Maybe.
Declan didn’t invite Snow to his house. I know that.
We were having a moment in the kitchen. And if Darlene hadn’t been there, it might have even been more than a few innocent good morning pecks on the cheek. But that’s not the point.
I hop in my car, tossing my purse and clothes into the back seat, jumping into the driver’s seat and tugging the door shut with more force than necessary.
I’m driving toward the gate when I see the front door open behind me.
Declan’s large figure fills the frame. His dark brows are drawn low, that divot between them deep.
I have to go meet the dogs. I have a job to do.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I pull out through his gate and down the street.
I’m calling Cass before I even hit the second gate.
I look down at myself briefly. I’m still wearing his jersey and his mom’s yoga pants.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Declan: I didn’t want you to leave.
I push voice-to-text and say, “I’ll be back. Gotta get to work.”
I don’t. I have a few hours before I need to stop by to meet the dogs.
He texts back instantly.
But Cass answers the call I had already started to her, so I don’t read Declan’s message.
The neighborhood passes outside my car windows. Massive estates that could comfortably fit four houses the size of mine inside them.
“Win! You’re alive?” Cass’s concerned voice comes through my car speakers.
I pass through the first gate.
“I am. I’m alive,” I say.
I approach the next gate, waiting for it to swing open and let me out.
“I wasn’t worried. Not really.” Cass pauses.
I leave Declan’s neighborhood and begin driving the familiar streets of Waterford—through nondescript neighborhoods with craftsman and ranch-style houses.
“It’s not like you to not check in,” Cass says. “Did you forget to charge your phone?”
My heart feels tight and overworked.
“No. I was with Declan.” My mind flashes on our night together. On this morning. On Snow.
“After I called you, he asked me to stay since the rain was still heavy. Then … I fell asleep. I’m on my way home now.”
I picture Declan, framed in his doorway, and a part of me considers pulling a U-turn. But my hands grip the wheel and I drive on.