Chapter 13 #2
So I hum in assent and settle myself against the table, avoiding stepping on a box of oatmeal.
Then I grin. “I thought it was time to move out of my father’s house.
Maybe even get a big kid job of my own.” The words are casual, as I mean them to be, but they don’t stop the faint resentment that rises inside of me as I speak—resentment at myself for waiting so long. “One step at a time, I guess.”
Aurora nods. Her face is neutral, but her eyes are curious as they dart over me and then return to their vague exploration of the old-fashioned kitchen.
“Ask,” I tell her when her gaze darts surreptitiously back to meet mine.
“What?”
I nod at her. “You have questions, don’t you? Didn’t I tell you I’m an open book? So ask.”
Her eyes narrow thoughtfully, her brows furrowing, but it only takes her a second before she shrugs. “Fine. What’s been stopping you, then? From moving away or doing something else?”
“Absolutely nothing,” I say automatically.
The words taste unpleasant on my tongue, but I go on, spitting out the thoughts I had about myself earlier.
“Cowardice. Or laziness? Some unflattering combination of the two.” Then, my voice still casual, I add, “You always ask the questions with ugly answers.”
Another shrug, and now she crouches down and begins picking up random food items from the floor. “Sorry.” She dumps a few bottles of vitamins into the cardboard box on the table.
Amusement leaps in my chest at this, an authentic reaction that feels good. “No, you’re not.”
Her eyes dart up to mine as she bites back a smile. “Maybe only a little.” She tilts her head, gently picking up a bag of rice. “So what did you study in school? If you do something else, what will it be?” She pauses and then goes on, “For that matter—what is it you do now?”
“I go where I’m needed, mostly,” I say with a shrug. “I fill in here and there, like spending a few weeks at Soul2Soul. This isn’t my dad’s only company; he started this one himself, but he’s an investor in several other companies, too. He always finds a way to put me to work.”
Aurora hums, looking interested. There are a few strands of silvery-blonde hair stuck to her forehead, I notice for the first time, and my hand twitches with the impulse to brush them away from her skin. I shove that hand into my pocket to make sure it behaves.
“And if you worked somewhere else?” she says, now gathering up the spices that have rolled away.
I shoot her an amused glance, grateful for the distraction but already steeling myself for her reaction. “Are you ready?” I say.
She winces. “That bad?” When I shrug, she sighs. “All right. I’m ready.”
“I’d probably do something in finance. Banking. Investing.” I let the words out in a gust. “I believe a modern term might be finance bro.” Pausing, I glance at her. “Do people still say that?”
She smiles then, a rare, full smile, and something in my chest stutters at the way her eyes seem to laugh. “You’re asking the old lady in the room,” she says. “You’d know better than me.”
My shoulders twitch into a shrug. I shouldn’t care what she thinks, but somehow I do. “Regardless. I’d probably be one of those guys. Loud and obnoxious and conceited. Full of himself, high on the fumes of his own perceived intelligence.”
A burst of laughter escapes her at this, the sound ringing through the kitchen, bouncing from the windows to the linoleum floors to the metal handle of the fridge. It grows and expands and does unexpected, inconvenient things to my pulse, and I’m not sure if I love it or hate it.
“Don’t say that,” she says when her laughter has died.
The echoes are still in her expression, though, a breathless smile and brows quirked in challenge.
“Whatever you’re going to do, own it. If it’s not something you want to own, do something else.
Either way—don’t cower.” She pauses. “It doesn’t suit you. ”
“I keep telling myself that too,” I admit. The words escape before I can stop them, and although I want to pull them back, Aurora simply jerks her chin at me.
“Try again, then.”
My lips twitch as a strange lightness enters my chest. I take a deep breath, meet her expectant eyes, and nod. “Fine. Okay.” Then, clearing my throat, I say, “I studied finance. I’m good at business and investment. So I’d probably do well as some sort of investment banker.”
She claps a few times, and I raise my brow at her.
“Happy?”
“Proud of you.” Then she gestures to the cardboard box. “You should put that stuff away unless you want to pay me to do it for you.”
Only then do I realize the floor is completely clear again, and I blink in surprise. “I’ll pay you to do it. Thanks—” I say, but she’s already on her way out of the kitchen again, not bothering to excuse herself.
I just watch her go. The shadow of Tyler’s house seems to have vanished finally; she’s brighter, more buoyant, more relaxed.
Maybe she’s forgiving me for seeing her in that holding cell, too. Maybe she’ll let me approach her now, hand outstretched with food like she’s a feral cat.
The only question is…do I want to?