Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
COLE
Natalie D’Amore is sitting on my counter like a fever dream. Or maybe a hallucination conjured by that blow to the head on the ice. Of course I’d dream of her. When don’t I?
Truthfully, I probably did take a nastier blow to the head than I want to admit if I’m talking like this.
Still, I can’t believe she’s here, finally, without Caden.
And she’s warm. Giggly. Wearing my long-sleeve shirt and looking at me for maybe the first time like I’m not the worst thing that’s ever happened to her.
After her shower, she twisted her hair into a braid, and it’s draped over her shoulder now.
She’s sitting on the countertop with crisscrossed legs and everything about this feels exactly as it should be, like for the first time this apartment feels like a home.
Does she feel that? How cozy we could be together?
A wisp of steam from her hot cocoa curls between us, rising like a spell about to bind us.
It’s too late. I’ve been pathetically hers for three years.
“So anyway,” she finishes a long-winded diatribe about the Salem Witch Trials, “that’s why Giles Corey deserves more accolades and less weight.”
“Fascinating,” I say, checking the cookies I put in the oven twelve minutes ago, at the start of her Salem Witch Trial drunk history lesson. “Two more minutes.”
“They smell delicious,” she hums, taking a long savoring sip of her Bailey’s with a splash of hot cocoa. “So was the grilled cheese, by the way.” She drops her cup to reveal a whipped cream mustache coating the top of her upper lip.
Suddenly, I’m a moth to flame and I can’t help myself, even if I know the touch will likely burn me. “You’ve got some…” I lean in and swipe my thumb over her lip.
She freezes. A slow pink creeps over her freckled cheeks that drive me absolutely wild.
“Thank you,” she whispers, breathless and dazed.
With a darkened stare, I wrap my mouth around my thumb, and slowly drag it out. Shameless. That’s what she’s made me.
Her pupils darken, and I savor the look of want on her face as much as the whipped cream melting on my tongue. Natalie’s attracted to me, that’s not a problem between us. The problem is ninety-nine percent of the time, I don’t know what I’m doing around her.
Sugar and cream dissolve on my tongue. It’s sweet, but fuck, she tasted so much sweeter.
I’ve dreamt of kissing her since freshman year when we first met.
The day that rewrote my entire biology. Of course, she thinks she met Caden first and me two days later.
She doesn’t know I was the one who held her, who gave her my clothes.
And she definitely doesn’t know I felt something ignite so fast and so deep inside me it simultaneously terrified me and brought me to life.
A fire that’s been haunting me ever since.
Tonight, when she asked if Caden had lied about anything else, I thought about telling her.
Thought maybe, finally, it was time. But then I saw how much the small white lies shook her and lost my nerve.
If that messed with her so badly, the big lie—that three years ago Caden decided to pull the ultimate prank on me, and it backfired—might destroy her.
She’s happy thinking Caden was who she met in the bathroom.
Would she be happy knowing it was me? The anti-social grumpy one?
The one who stays at home, studies game tape and textbooks instead of going to parties.
The one who could never match her whirlwind of energy.
It’s one of the reasons I’ve never told her, because the truth is, Caden is better suited for her.
He’s the sunshine. He’s the fun one, and usually, I don’t give a fuck, but when it comes to Natalie it fucking ruins me to think about.
The timer for the oven goes off and I grab a mitt and pull the cookies from the oven. The scent of melting chocolate and warm brown sugar fills the kitchen. “Why do you know so much about the Salem Witch Trials?” I ask.
When she doesn’t think I’m looking, I catch her trailing her finger over her lips in wonder, like they’re still humming from my touch and she can’t explain it.
I hide my smile. For the past three years, all this woman has had to do is be in the same room as me and my body hums alive. It’s about damn time she feels some part of the connection that’s tortured me for so long.
“My family was a key player in the trials, actually,” Natalie says.
“Cassandra Leighwell. She was having an affair with Phillip Proctor. He outed her to save himself, said she bewitched him. Before she was executed, she tried to cast a spell—something to bind her soul to his and make it so he was pathetically and torturously in love with her long after her death. But she did it too fast, and instead, she bound her bloodline’s souls to their one true love. ”
She looks away. “It’s a ridiculous story, I know. But when I was little, my dad used to play along. Said he didn’t come alive until he met my mother and then he was tortured by love until she told him she loved him and she was his. I thought it was romantic.”
My body stills. It’s not ridiculous. Not to me. To me, it’s an answer I’ve sought for years that explains this cruel, unrelenting tether I have binding me to Natalie.
The first time I saw her, it felt like the deepest, most hidden parts of myself recognized her. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think about anything else for days. I’ve grown used to carrying the ache, but it’s still there.
“You don’t believe in the story anymore?” I ask.
She shrugs again, smaller. “I thought Caden might be the one. I have a sort of big crush on him if you hadn’t noticed.”
“You don’t say,” I say, clenching my jaw. “Could have fooled me.”
She snorts. “Yeah, right. I don’t know, now though. I swear there was a connection when we first met that I hadn’t felt before. But after everything…I think it’s more dangerous to believe in something like that than not.”
Once again I have an opening, and a very large part of myself wants to scream to her that she wasn’t wrong about the spark because I felt it in the bathroom too. Suddenly, I didn’t know who I was, or where I was. I just knew Natalie. She was the person I needed to take care of. I was marked. Hers.
Of course, I was the idiot who forgot to ask for her name or number. Anything that could have helped me track her down, really.
The next few days, I searched for her everywhere, even when a blizzard blew in.
Caden gave me so much shit, saying I was wasting my time trying to find someone who probably didn’t feel the same way about me.
But there was this undercurrent in my bones that whispered if I could just find her, every frozen finger and toe would be worth it.
A few days into my search, I got a text from Caden saying, “Come back to the room, I have a surprise.” I sprinted back. When I got there, Natalie was there, sitting on my bed, waiting for me.
Everything in my chest that had been screaming for the last few days quieted.
Until the plot twist that ruined my world.
Natalie thought Caden was the person she ran into in the bathroom, not me.
He looked at me, a twinkle in his eye like the annoying two minutes younger fucker he was, as if to say I told you.
She can’t even tell the difference between us.
My heart sank. She didn’t feel the connection. For her there was no magnetic pull. Not like there was for me anyway. There could be a room full of burnt-fiery copper haired women, freckles slathered on their cheeks copies of Natalie and I’d know my Natalie every time.
I gather the cookies and my courage.
But when I turn, she’s already sliding off the counter.
“I need more alcohol,” she says, stumbling slightly. “I’m still having feelings.”
I catch her before she can fall. One hand under the plate of cookies, the other around her waist. She smells like sugar, cocoa, and my ruin.
“Easy, killer. Couch,” I say, my voice rough. “I’ll get us some beers. We’ll need them to finish this movie.”
I nod to the screen where Salem Wish Trials is paused on the screen for our brief cookie hiatus. Natalie was eye-fucking a batch they made in the movie, and suddenly I was overwhelmed with the need to get some for her.
Natalie peers up at me beneath her long eyelashes. “You still want to hang out with me? Even with my terrible movie taste and long-winded history rants?”
God yes, I want to watch terrible movies with you for the rest of my life.
“Yeah, D’Amore. I like hanging out with you.”
Her eyes widen. “You do?”
I shrug and dip my head into the fridge. “Don’t know why that’s a surprise.”
“Because you hate me,” she says, a hiccup breaking her words apart.
“Pretty sure that’s always been a one-way street.”
When I turn, she’s impossibly close.
“Wait, you’ve never hated me?” she asks.
I meet her eyes, slow and steady. “Nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Oh. Right. That makes total sense.” She takes the beer from me and chugs it. “Grab some paper towels or something. I think my brain might actually explode.”
“Hopefully the movie will quiet your mind.” I nod and walk to the couch.
She follows me. “Are you aware you have an incredible ass?”
I blink. That last beer caught up fast.
“Thank you,” I say. “I was wondering when you’d notice.”
“I had. Before. But the hockey game made it… obvious.”
I motion for her to sit and tuck her into the blanket.
“Ah, suddenly you attacking my face makes perfect sense.”
“You kissed me back!” She shrieks pointing an accusatory finger at me.
“So I did.” I smile down at her before sitting on the other side of the couch and pressing play on the TV.
Thirty minutes later, we’re both suffering.
To start, the plot—a movie about a witch who has to work with the ghost of Christmas present to help people find the true meaning of Christmas, so she can get her own magic back—was thin at best. But now there’s a love triangle between the ghost, the witch, and a grumpy single dad.
“The ghost is clearly her soulmate,” Natalie says through a mouth full of cookie. Crumbs fly wildly from her lips as she stuffs another one in there.
“Not the grumpy single dad?” I ask. “I like him better.”
“No way. She’s sunshine. Sunshine belongs with sunshine. Dark clouds hide the sun’s rays.”
“Maybe the grump just needs a good kissing,” I say, sulking, arms crossed.
“Oh really?” she arches a brow, sending me a dangerous look. “Has that been your problem all along?”
Yes.
I swallow. Before I can backpedal, she’s moving from under the blanket and crawling towards me on the couch.
“You do seem extra sunny tonight. What would happen if I kissed you again? How bright would you shine, Cole?”
Too fucking bright.
Her legs slide over mine, hands curl around my neck. Wisps of her breath brush my cheek and ignite every neuron in my body at once.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hey, D’Amore,” I choke out, barely breathing.
She runs her finger along the collar of my shirt in a slow, agonizing tease. Over my chest, up my collarbone—heat follows wherever her finger goes.
My breath stutters.
A smug little grin tilts her lips. “You okay there, big guy? Feeling less grumpy?”
My hands shake at her waist.
God. She’s going to kill me.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth. The bone deep pain I’ve carried for years suddenly intensifies. I want to kiss her so badly it’s excruciating—
Gathering all the strength I have, I gently push on her shoulder to stop her from doing the one thing I want most. “Don’t. You’re drunk.”
She frowns. “I’m tipsy.”
“You’re not sober. And I’m not kissing you unless you are.” I lift her and slide her off my lap.
She looks wounded. “I thought you wanted this.”
I cup her cheek. She’s so pretty my chest aches just looking at her. “You have no idea how much I want this. But not tonight. Not when you might regret it in the morning.”
A single tear rolls down her cheek.
I could make it go away. Kiss her until she forgets. But I won’t. Not like this.
“Fuck, Natalie. I—I can’t do this right now.”
I stand, trying to breathe, trying not to lose my mind.
“I’m going to take a shower. You can have my room.”
She doesn’t answer.
When I come out, she’s fast asleep on the couch, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other wrapped in the blanket
I pick her up gently and place her in my bed.
Two weeks. That’s all I have to show this woman how much of me she owns.
I can feel the tug, it’s so fraught with tension it’s going to snap soon. I don’t know what that means, but at least I know what I’m working with now.
Natalie might not believe in soulmates and her family’s curse, but I’ve been living within the pages of her family folklore for years. After these next few weeks, heaven help me, she’ll be living in them too.