Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
BASH
“I can’t believe the day you picked to invite her back is one I have to work.” Ingrid pouts and crosses her arms across her black waitress uniform. And here I thought you were starting to become considerate.”
“I am considerate. I considered that Romilly might enjoy the treat you made, didn’t I? And it’s also her only day off this week. I think she’d work all seven if God didn’t command a day of rest.”
Ingrid huffs, snatching her keys off the counter. I sink back into my chair at the table, opening my phone to a text from my agent.
Max
Have you seen the comments on Munera’s latest post? No one thinks you can beat Connor Stronghold next week.
Me
thank you for the confidence boost, mate
Max
As your friend and agent, it’s my duty to keep the fire lit underneath you. Otherwise you might start slacking.
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I do need to focus. I’ve been so obsessed with Romilly I haven’t been giving training the attention it deserves.
“Bye,” says Ingrid before walking out the front door.
“Bye,” I mutter, opening the post on social media Max is referring to. I expand the comment section, seeing several that make me clench my fists around my phone.
FightFan24:
I bet Bash the Smasher will be too worried about ruining that pretty face to get his hands dirty.
grappling.junkie:
I heard he’s from high society…what the heck is he doing in the ring?
spar_ton:
Just because he won his debut match doesn’t mean he can stand a chance against this guy.
Adrenaline races through me. I need a smoke. But I press my hands against my temples to calm myself. God, help me.
Reaching for my fidget spinner, I try to ignore the pressure I’m experiencing.
Deep breaths, Bash. You’ve got this. You’re going to prove to your parents this wasn’t all for nothing and you’re not the embarrassment they think you are, and ? —
A soft knock sounds on the front door. I freeze. Romilly is here.
I was excited to see her, but now I feel like a mess.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror hanging on the entry corridor and wince.
My hair is chaotic. The white shirt and grey sweatpants I’m wearing felt like pajamas only moments ago—perfectly appropriate for breakfast. But now, they make me feel rumpled and underdressed.
Another knock. I open the door.
Romilly smiles from the other side in a pink sweater and black leggings. Her hair is in a loose braid, draped over the front of her shoulder. Seeing her does something to calm my racing heart, and when I swallow hard, her brows draw together in concern. “Are you okay?”
How does she know already? Is it that obvious, or does she just know me that well? “I’m fine. Come in.” I step aside so she can enter, my hand finding her lower back without my permission as she crosses the threshold.
I expect to touch her sweater, but my hand meets warm skin because the garment is cropped. My entire body feels like it’s been singed as her soft skin slides against my fingertips, so I jerk my hand away.
When we’re in the kitchen and she sets her bag on the counter, she glares at me. “I know something’s wrong. Tell me.”
“So bossy, pumpkin. We’re not at work, you know.”
She crosses her arms, but her mouth twitches like she wants to smile. “First of all, you’re right. That was bossy, and I apologize. Second, I?—”
“I know, I know. You’re not my pumpkin.”
“Actually, I was going to say I can tell something’s wrong and I’m willing to listen.”
Of course she is. Because no one can resist doing a good deed like Romilly.
“Sit, and at least let me get you some loaf before I start unloading all my problems onto you.” I pull out a chair for her, and a blush covers her cheeks as she sits.
“Thank you.”
I serve us both a slice and pour coffee into mugs, adding cream and one stevia leaf sweetener pack into hers, just the way she likes.
I watch to make sure she takes a bite. I know we aren’t at work, but who knows if she’ll actually nourish her body anyway? I have her pattern memorized—take care of everyone else first and Romilly last. And if it were up to her, this morning would be no exception.
We eat in silence. Soon, I’m on my third slice before she’s even halfway through her first, and as she chews, a faraway look enters her eye.
“I’d love to know what’s going through your mind.
” I pop another bite into my mouth as I gaze at her from across the table.
Even here, in her simple pink sweater and black leggings, she manages to look beautiful.
Romilly somehow owns every space she’s in.
It’s like the world bends to accommodate her rather than the other way around.
She smirks. “I was just wondering if you eat everything sweet you encounter in one bite or in two.”
I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest with mock offense. “Romilly, do I look like the kind of man who doesn’t savor his carbs?”
“Yes.”
“Well, for your information, I take at least three bites per slice. I’m practically a gentleman about it.”
A laugh bubbles out of her. “I didn’t know you could be a gentleman about anything.”
“You should feel special that I shared with you,” I say, leaning in a bit closer. “I don’t do that for anyone, you know.”
She rolls her eyes. “It all makes sense now when you complain about me not eating enough. Look at your standard for enough .”
“Exactly. And for your information, you only seem to eat enough when I feed you myself.”
She fails to stop the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet, here you are. Sharing this loaf with me.” My voice drops. “Spending time with me.”
The warmth in her gaze catches me off guard, like she’s peeling back a layer I didn’t know I was hiding behind. And then she looks away, pretending to focus on her coffee cup. “You’re surprisingly easy to tolerate these days, I guess.”
“Oh, come on. Admit it. You want to be with me. You like me.” My words come out wobbly, the playful edge I was going for lost under the weight of my racing heartbeat.
Partly because like isn’t the word I want from her—not at all.
It’s not enough for how I feel about her, at least. Not for the way every moment with her consumes me.
Not for the amount of space she takes up in my thoughts.
“I can tell you’re trying to distract me, you know. So you won’t have to talk about what’s bothering you.”
My stomach flips. I wasn’t trying to distract her. She’s the one who distracted me, but the reminder makes my dread return. I lean back in my chair. “As you know, my next fight is approaching.”
She nods. “It’s two weeks away.”
“Right. Well, it seems no one thinks I’ll win.”
She tilts her head at me. “What do you mean?”
I slide out of my chair and sit right next to her so I can show her the comments. This close, I can smell that delicious lavender on her skin again. It steals my thoughts away the same way it did on the hot air balloon when she was wrapped in my arms.
Focus, Bash.
I clear my throat, handing her my phone with Munera’s social media page pulled up. “Take a look.” I press my hands to my temples again. “Read the comments.”
She’s silent as she does. I can’t bear to look, watch her expression change when she finds out no one, absolutely no one, has any faith in me. In my ability to win this or make something of myself.
It’s my parents all over again.
Suddenly, Romilly’s hand is on my shoulder. “Bash, these comments don’t mean anything.”
“They mean everything. ”
She shakes her head. “They don’t. Not at all.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because these people don’t know you. They’ve never even met you.
They haven’t seen the drive, the determination I have in you since the day we crossed paths.
You’re smart. You’re brave. You’re—” she swallows as her gaze sweeps my arms, my shoulders, “—you’re strong.
Important. And usually much too confident. ”
“Confidence is my specialty.” I smirk, but it falters away as my eyes search hers, trying to memorize this moment and the way she’s looking at me. “Would you…would you maybe want to come, Romilly? Just to support me. You can say no, and please don’t feel pressured to?—”
“I’ll be there,” she says simply. “Of course I will.”
My heart catapults right into my ribcage. “You will? It’s in Boston. We could drive there together. ”
She nods. “Okay.”
“What about the dogs?”
Her expression brightens. “Paige got back to me this morning. Elena is going to cover The Paw Spa in The Meadow Bee. Which means I’m one step closer to getting Agatha back, if all goes well, so I’ll reschedule the dogs for your fight.
It won’t be the first time I’ve let down my pet parents, right?
” She winces, and I know she’s remembering the same thing I am—the night she overbooked herself and cried when I called the remaining clients to come back on different days.
“Congratulations on the feature. But I know you still don’t want to let your customers down, so I won’t be upset if you stay here.”
She frowns like I’m not making sense. “But it would be so much worse to let you down.”
My stomach flips. The feeling in my chest is now too warm, too bubbly to endure. With unspoken, forbidden words practically on my lips, I lean toward her, taking her face in my hands.
She bites her lip, brows drawing together like she’s nervous. Like she might not want me to kiss her. “I’ll, uh, be right back. I need to use the restroom.” She escapes my grip and goes down the hall before I can utter another word.
Lord, am I smothering her, or is she just afraid? If it’s the latter, please show her I’m not going to hurt her if you want us together. I’m about to ask Him to give me confidence for my fight too, when a key unlocks the front door.
I frown. Now, who could that be? Ingrid is at work.
My brain scrambles to process why on earth the door is unlocking, and then I’m on my feet in an instant.