Chapter 8
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my contemplation of the food stuffed in the fridge.
Ryan would probably accuse me of not having a fun day, but the truth is I had a great day.
It may have been spent doing adult things, like grocery shopping, but the fact that I was the one who got to do it? I couldn’t be happier.
Letting the fridge fall shut, I make my way to the cottage door. After exploring town yesterday and most of today and being introduced to a handful of people, it could be anyone.
But opening the door I can safely say she wasn’t in the top five people I expected to find on the other side. Especially after the way she ran away from me this morning—literally.
“Hey.” It’s simple, but I really don’t know what else to say. It seems we’ve both been struggling with whatever we’re feeling toward each other.
“Hi.” Her eyes fall to the plate in her hands, her feet shuffling slightly before she takes a deep breath.
“I wanted to apologize. I’m normally far more professional than I was this morning, but this”—she gestures to the space around us, balancing the plate on one hand—“is new and unexpected. Not that it’s an excuse. ”
“You really don’t have to apologize. I can’t say I would have acted any differently if the roles were reversed.”
One eye falls shut as she studies me, and I can’t help but think how cute that is. “I don’t know how true that statement is, but I’ll just say thank you.”
“Good call.” I chuckle, stepping to the side and pulling the door open. “Would you like to come in?”
She hesitates, but only for a second before she nods and steps over the threshold, her eyes traveling around the room.
“So, you play guitar.” There’s no inflection to her tone, but it still feels like a question as her gaze lands on the instrument propped against the couch.
“You really have no idea who I am?” I ask, then immediately regret it. “That sounded conceited, didn’t it?”
“Maybe a little.” She laughs, her eyes continuing their perusal of the space around us. “But the way I understand it is you have every right to be a little conceited.”
“Oh, so you do know something about me?”
“Not really,” she rushes to say, turning to meet my eyes. “Your name is just really well known. There hasn’t been a single person I’ve talked to who doesn’t know who you are.”
“Hmm,” I hum, stepping forward to take the plate from her hands and moving into the kitchen. “At the risk of sounding like an egotistical asshole, how is it you’ve never heard of me?”
“I’m weird.” The words are so simple but they have me spinning to look at her, curiosity etched across my features. “I like the classics, in every sense of the word. Movies, music, books.” She shrugs, like she’s used to people judging her for her preferences.
“That’s not weird.” I place the forgotten plate on the kitchen island, putting all my focus on the intriguing woman standing in my living room—well, in her living room, in a way.
“It’s fine.” She waves me off. “My mom likes to say I have an old soul.”
“How old are you?” I blurt, my stomach knotting at the words. But now that they’re out there, I’m curious.
“Twenty-eight,” she answers, no hesitation.
A ten-year age gap isn’t a big deal, right?
Wait. Why the hell does it matter how old she is?
Giving myself a mental slap across the face, I focus back on the conversation. “Your parents may be right, but that doesn’t make you weird.” I scoff, offended on her behalf. Who told her she was weird? “The classics are what started everything. We wouldn’t be the society we are today without them.”
“I’m not gonna argue that with you.” She smiles and it lights up the room.
“Anyway, I just wanted to drop off some dinner. I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to make it to the store yet and I made extra, so…
” Her words trail off, nerves seeming to take over as her eyes bounce around the space, looking at the things she’s already seen.
“I was just staring at the fridge, having no idea what to make when you knocked, so this couldn’t be more perfect. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing special, just some chicken, rice, and green beans.” She fidgets with the hem of her sweater, and it’s another thing to add to the endearing column of all things Madison.
“Have you eaten already?” I ask, wanting her to stay so we can talk more.
“Oh, um, yeah. I ate a while ago.”
If the plate hadn’t been so hot when I took it from her and she hadn’t swallowed so hard I could see it from feet away, I might’ve believed her. But there’s a reason she didn’t tell me the truth, and I don’t want her to be uncomfortable.
Spending more than five minutes in each other’s presence is something we’re going to have to work on.
I nod, not really sure what else to say. I don’t want her to leave, but I don’t think she’s ready to stay.
“I’m gonna go.” She gestures over her shoulder toward the door, but doesn’t make a move to leave.
“All right,” I say, staying exactly where I am.
“Again, I just wanted to apologize and drop that off.” She still doesn’t move, and neither do I.
“It’s not needed, but apology accepted. And thank you again for the food.”
“Sure.”
It’s like we’re locked in a trance. I don’t know why she’s not moving, but I’m afraid if I do she’ll leave. Even though I know that’s exactly what she wants.
None of that matters, though. The sound of a door closing outside makes both of us jump, and Madison is moving so fast I’d think I imagined the whole thing if it weren’t for the plate of food sitting on the kitchen island.
At a slower pace, I follow Madison out the door, curious who’s visiting our corner of the property.
Finding the sheriff’s SUV parked out front isn’t what I expected, but considering he’s the one person I’ve talked with most—other than the woman who just ran away from me, again—over the last couple days, I’m not all that surprised.
What shocks me is the car seat in the back of his police cruiser and the small child waiting patiently to be let out of his seat.
I don’t know why I’m so shocked by it. I only met the man yesterday when he was seated at the table next to mine at Liberty Tavern and we talked briefly this afternoon at Cobble & Cup Cafe when we ran into each other, but we didn’t share our life stories.
There’s plenty we don’t know about each other.
“Big brother,” Madison rasps, giving me another piece of information I didn’t have until now. A piece of information that has me questioning exactly why Aiden showed up. “What are you doing here?”
“Do I need a reason to visit my baby sister?” Aiden says as he helps a little boy from the back seat, his gaze quickly moving to me where I stand on the cottage’s front porch.
And with those words, I have a pretty good idea why Aiden is here. Not waiting for him to address me directly, I make my way toward them.
“Don’t start with that baby sister crap,” Madison whispers, most likely trying to keep the little boy from hearing her.
“Aunt Maddie!” the little voice calls, clinging to his aunt’s leg.
“Hey, little man. How are you?” She smiles, the irritation from her face melting away instantly as she bends to lift him to her hip.
“Good. Missed you.” His head falls to her shoulder, and I have to admit, she looks good with a kid in her arms, cuddled close.
“Beckett,” Aiden rumbles, pulling my attention away from his sister. “Good to see you again.”
“You too.” I offer my hand in greeting, anticipating the tight grip well before it happens.
Having grown up with guys who have younger sisters, I’m used to the overprotective brother type.
Even if it’s normally reserved for people trying to date their sister.
While Aiden clearly knew more than he let on during our conversations, I never once brought up Madison or exactly where I was staying at The Lantern Inn.
I may have been thinking about Madison in a way that warrants the look he’s giving me now, but I don’t know why he’d assume that until showing up here this evening and actually seeing us interacting with each other.
“Who’s that?” a little voice calls, bringing everyone’s attention to the little boy in Madison’s arms.
“That’s Mr. Stone,” Madison tells him.
“Oh, that’s too formal. You can call me Beckett.” I smile. “What’s your name?”
He looks to his father, waiting for the slight nod Aiden offers before looking back at me. “I’m Jackson. That’s my dad and this is my aunt Maddie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jackson. I actually met your dad and aunt yesterday.”
“Really? Where?” He wiggles in Madison’s arms, trying to get down.
“All right, bud. We don’t need to interrogate our new friend.” Aiden reaches for Jackson, swinging him up before letting him down to the ground in front of him.
“But I want to know.” His little brows furrow as he looks up at his father.
“Jackson,” Aiden chides. He doesn’t need to say anything else, the simple word is enough for Jackson to move on from his train of thought.
He’s clearly disgruntled when he turns back to his aunt, but asks something else all the same. “Aunt Maddie, do you have cookies?”
A light laugh sounds from her throat and I swear I can feel it in my bones. “Don’t I always?” She reaches out a hand, waiting for him to take it before they head toward her house leaving Aiden and I standing on our shared driveway.
“How old is he?” I ask in the silence that follows as the two of them disappear through her front door.
“He turns four in a couple weeks.”
“He’s cute.”
“Thank you.”
All of a sudden, I understand exactly why Aiden is in the field he is. Without asking me anything, I feel like I need to confess to some imagined crime I haven’t even thought of. I fight the impulse to open my mouth and the drive to look away from him, trying my hardest to wait him out.
Unfortunately for me, I’m not strong enough.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking—”
“Not many people do,” he interrupts, crossing his arms across his chest.