Chapter 7
Mariah
“Think about it my ass.”
I keep the caramel cake—that is clearly way less tempting than I thought—balanced on one hand as I stomp my way across the frozen ground. I probably should have driven here, but I need to work off a little aggravation, and physical exertion seems the easiest way to accomplish that.
After all our notes back and forth, I genuinely thought Titus might finally come downstairs.
But he couldn’t even be fucked to come down after I went to bed, and when I woke up this morning, the caramel cake was just as untouched as it was last night.
Now I have to make good on my threat or I’ll seem like I’m all bark and no bite.
So I’m giving it to Walker. Hopefully he’s more personable than his brother.
The air is cold, but it feels good against my skin, reinforcing my decision to walk. I was all prepared for a decent hike, so I’m a little surprised at how quickly Walker’s house comes into view.
At least I’m assuming it’s Walker’s. I stayed on the same path Deidre used to bring me here, and she did say Walker was my closest neighbor, so hopefully I’ve got this right.
Regardless, whoever answers that door is getting this fucking cake, because Titus’s ass isn’t getting a freaking crumb of it.
For a minute there, I thought maybe he wasn’t a total jerk. Just busy. Possibly super introverted. It felt like we were building a sort of friendship with our back-and-forth notes, and I thought maybe he would feel comfortable enough to venture out of his crypt.
Nope. And I like peace and quiet as much as anybody, but I’m starting to go a little stir-crazy sitting alone in the house all day. That means Walker is about to be my new friend.
Whether he likes it or not.
I’m breathing heavily by the time I reach his front porch, so I take a couple seconds to catch my breath, pushing my hair off my slightly sweaty face before reaching out to ring the bell.
My finger doesn’t even hit the button before the door opens and I’m faced with one of the best looking men I’ve ever seen.
I stare at him, speechless, because he’s not at all what I was expecting. I’ve had plenty of time to imagine what Titus might look like—and smelling him on that blanket the other night was certainly inspiring—but I kind of assumed Walker would just be some normal-looking dude.
Instead, I’m facing down an Adonis. He’s tall and broad shouldered, with enough of a beard to make him look a little rugged. His hair is slightly wavy and combed away from the kind of forehead a Greek god would kill for.
Am I into foreheads? I might be.
Piercingly blue eyes focus on me a split second before snapping to the cake in my hand. He angles a brow before meeting my gaze. His voice is a deep rumble as he says, “You must be Titus’s new chef.”
“Yes. Uh-huh. Yup.” Great way to start this introduction. Maybe Titus isn’t the only one who’s a little socially awkward. “I’m Mariah.”
Walker steps back, jerking his chin toward the interior of his house. “Come on in, Mariah. It’s cold out there.”
“Okay.” At least my feet seem to work—better than my mouth anyway—and I follow him into a beautiful, bright, and masculine space. The differences between Walker’s house and Titus’s home are vast. Not structurally, but in just about every other way.
It’s clean, for starters, but it’s also clearly used.
There’s furniture in all the rooms. A few knickknacks are situated across tables to make it feel lived-in and comfortable.
There aren’t even curtains on the windows, so every bit of outside light streams in, warming surfaces and breathing in life.
After seeing Titus’s house, I’d come to the conclusion that growing up with a mother who probably kept the world’s most immaculate house led to her sons leaning in the opposite direction. Maybe out of defiance. Possibly because they never had to think about keeping a house, so they don’t know how.
But Walker’s home is making me rethink that assumption.
It’s also leading me to do nothing but stand in his entryway, staring at the place like a weirdo. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until he shoots me a smirk, pointing at the cake I forgot I carried over.
“Is that for me?”
“Oh.” I hold it up higher, presenting it. “Yes. I wanted to come introduce myself, but didn’t want to do it empty-handed.”
Walker’s smirk slowly works its way into the kind of smile that has probably made more than its fair share of hearts skip a beat. “You could have come empty-handed, but I gotta say”—he relieves me of the caramel cake, looking at it the way no man has ever looked at me—“I’m real glad you didn’t.”
Why is his house so hot? Am I sweating? I think I’m sweating.
“Come sit down, Mariah.” Walker turns, carrying the cake as he leads me through his house.
It’s laid out in a similar way to Titus's, but his kitchen is positioned a little differently as it meets the great room dominating the back of the first floor. Where Titus’s kitchen and great room almost form an L-shape, Walker’s is more of a square.
Outside of that difference, the design of it is strikingly familiar, with rich wood floors and beautiful marble countertops that are almost identical to the ones I wipe down three times a day.
He even has the same barstools as Titus running up the side of his island.
“Your home is beautiful.” I continue taking it in as he sets down the cake and starts pulling out plates and utensils.
“I wish I could take credit for it, but my aunt handled most of the design choices.” Walker slices into the dessert, cutting off a reasonable serving before dropping it onto a plate. “She picked the finishings for most of our houses since she’s the expert.”
I tip my head, trying to make sense of his words. “Your aunt?”
“Deidre isn’t my mom.” Walker goes back to the cake, cutting off a chunk that’s nearly a quarter of the thing. “She and my mother were sisters.”
I don’t miss the qualifier he added. Were. Deidre and his mother were sisters. I’ve got lots of questions dying to find answers, but it doesn’t seem like the time, so I just smile.
After plopping the giant chunk of cake onto a plate, he slides both across the island, lining them up with two of the barstools. “Milk?”
“That would be great. Thank you.” I wasn’t expecting to have a sit down cake session with Walker, but I’m not going to say no.
Someone is finally talking to me, and I’m going to take full advantage.
Even if the thought of putting cake in my stomach makes me want to gag. “So that means Titus is your cousin.”
“Technically.” He turns my way, setting a glass of milk beside my plate. “But even before I moved in with them, we were always together, so brothers is probably a better descriptor of our relationship.”
That has my brows lifting. “So you’ve actually seen him then?”
Walker stops mid step, large frame going still as he eyes me. “That jackass hasn’t come out of his room yet?”
I shake my head. “Not while I’m awake. At first I just thought he was really busy, but I’m starting to take it personally.”
Walker’s eyes drop mine, resting on the floor as he rounds the island and comes to take the stool next to me. “You shouldn’t take it personally. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
I wait for him to offer up an explanation, but Walker gets distracted when his cell phone buzzes from a few feet away.
He stretches to pick it up, scanning the screen before huffing out a little laugh.
Then he cuts off a gigantic forkful of caramel cake, eyes fixing on a spot across the room as he shoves it into his mouth.
I lean closer, wanting his attention back on me. “If it doesn’t have anything to do with me, what does it have to do with?”
Walker’s gaze stays on that random spot a second longer before it comes my way. “Titus has been through a lot, and seems to have come to the conclusion that his life will be easier if he lives it entirely alone.”
What could have happened to make him this committed to isolation? And how far-reaching is it really? “But he sees you.”
“Not often. We all have a Zoom chat about the business once a week, otherwise I’d probably go months without seeing his face.”
So he doesn’t even come out of his rooms for his family? “Does Deidre see him?”
Walker takes another bite of his cake, eyes flicking across the room again. “She probably sees him more than anyone, but it’s only because he’s scared of what will happen if he ignores her the way he ignores everybody else.”
“What would happen?” I’m kind of curious. Maybe it’s something I can use to scare him into seeing me.
Walker takes another bite of his cake, shooting me a smirk. “She’d probably hire him a private chef.”
So I’m a punishment. For some reason, that stings.
Walker’s phone buzzes again, dragging his focus back to the screen. He smirks as he reads whatever message just came in, then lifts one hand, holding up his middle finger toward the same spot he keeps looking.
What the hell is going on?
I squint across the room, feeling a little dumb when I finally figure out what he’s been looking at. Seems like there’s yet another similarity between Walker’s house and Titus’s.
The security system they use.
Tucked in the corner, almost totally hidden thanks to the way the sun casts shadows around the room, is a camera just like the ones I covered up.
I stand from my seat, feeling a little bad that I didn’t even touch my cake.
But based on how quickly Walker inhaled his piece, I doubt he’ll be upset.
“I should probably get back. I need to start lunch.” Especially since I was so annoyed when I saw the untouched cake, I decided to skip making breakfast.
I also need some time to think. To mull over this new information Walker has given me.
Walker stands with me. “Why don’t you let me drive you back? It’s cold, and if something happens to you on the trip from here to there, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
I smile a little bit at that. “Are all of you scared of Deidre?”
Walker rests one hand on my upper back, glancing behind us as he directs me toward the door. “Not sure how that fits into this, but yes.”
The trip back to Titus’s is way warmer and less exerting in Walker’s side-by-side, so at least when I walk inside, I’m not huffing and puffing or sweating under my coat.
I am torn though, because I’m feeling a tiny bit bad about pressuring Titus to do something he’s clearly not comfortable with.
But since I couldn’t figure out a way to ask Walker all my burning questions, I still don’t know why Titus is not comfortable with it.
When I reach the kitchen island, I feel even worse.
Sitting in the center of the counter is a note like the ones he sends out with his empty trays. I have to think it’s what I would have seen if I’d made him breakfast.
Mariah,
I’m sorry.
Titus
With a sigh, I march over to the kitchen camera and pull off the masking tape I used to block it. I give the lens a stern look, holding up a single finger as I say, “You get one.”