Chapter Four #3
I wanted to roll my eyes. I wanted to remind her that I wasn’t back for long.
But as we split the last mozzarella stick, I had to admit that it was kind of nice being home—where the fries came with Old Bay on them and your best friend was there to make facing the man who broke your teenage heart just a little more bearable.
—
The house was quiet when I got home. Mitch was gone from his spot on the couch; Mom must have taken him to get his ankle checked out.
I breathed a sigh of relief that the Faire shenanigans were over for the day, but I was wary: Simon’s car was still in the driveway, along with a white panel van I didn’t recognize that must have been Alex’s ride.
Surely Mom hadn’t taken them all to the doctor?
I pictured three grown men buckled into Mom’s SUV like toddlers and allowed myself a snort.
The mystery was solved when I headed into the kitchen to make a half pot of coffee, and I caught sight of Simon and Alex in the backyard.
They must have needed a larger rehearsal space than our living room floor.
I lingered by the kitchen window, watching them circle each other before Alex tried a lunge.
Then they stopped to talk for a minute before trying again, Simon doing the lunge this time.
Still miming weapons, the whole thing looked a little ridiculous, but I’d been around rehearsals like this long enough to know that it was best to get the blocking right before you added steel into the mix. Dull blades could still hurt.
I’d just laid down a layer of brown sugar oat milk creamer in the bottom of my mug—this was still a self-care day, dammit, I was allowed sweet coffee—when I heard footsteps coming into the kitchen. Probably Simon.
“Hey. Looking good out there.” I tossed the words over my shoulder before looking. I really should have looked.
“Thanks.” I froze as Alex breezed by behind me as though he had every right to be in my kitchen. My heart thumped hard in my throat as Alex opened the fridge. “Simon said there were waters in here?”
I swallowed hard, putting my heart back where it belonged, before I turned around. My lunch with Nina today had tempered my attitude toward him a little, but that didn’t mean I wanted him here. “Really. He said that.” I crossed my arms and leaned a hip on the counter. Honestly, the audacity of men.
My sarcasm was lost on Alex, whose head was still in the fridge as he rooted around.
“Ah. Here we go.” He emerged with a couple bottles in one hand, bumping the door shut with his hip.
The subtle twist of his body hit me in the solar plexus, and I pressed my lips together hard.
“It’s a hot one out there,” Alex said conversationally as he rolled one of the bottles on his sweat-damp forehead, oblivious to my discomfort.
“In Maryland in July? Shocking.” Good job, self. Be deadpan. Don’t give anything away.
He huffed out a laugh, but then he really looked at me for the first time, taking in my expression, and my pulse leapt. It felt like everything I’d said about him at Jackson’s was tattooed on my face. My mouth went dry as his face softened.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry. When Mitch invited me over, I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“It’s my house,” I snapped. “Where else am I supposed to be?” I sounded like a bitch, but I was holding on to this conversation with my fingernails.
“I know,” he said in a placating tone. “I didn’t do the math; I forgot that Mitch and your mom…”
The gentleness in his voice brought me back into myself, while at the same time it did something to the base of my spine. He used to talk like that to me a lot, back when I’d first fallen for him. There was a part of my lizard brain that responded to that tone. That wanted more of it.
I bit back a sigh as I pushed off the counter, brushing past him to put the creamer back in the fridge. “It’s fine. We can be adults about this.”
“Adults,” he repeated. A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. He hadn’t had that furrow the first time we’d known each other.
“Sure. I am an adult now, you know.” Even though everything inside of me was shaking, I reached for the carafe like confronting the man who’d ruined my whole concept of relationships was something I did every day.
I concentrated hard on pouring, watching the liquid in the mug turn from the white of the creamer to milky light brown.
When I looked up he was still looking at me. I needed him to stop doing that.
“Did you mean what you said?” he finally asked.
“About being an adult?”
“About me. Being the reason you don’t love Faire anymore.”
“Oh.” So much had happened since yesterday morning; it felt like a lifetime ago.
A lick of shame overpowered my remaining defensiveness.
It was easier to be angry and bitter about him when he wasn’t standing here in my kitchen, looking at me with regret in his dark eyes.
“I really did take your head off yesterday, didn’t I? ”
“It’s okay,” he said quickly, waving a hand as though all was forgiven. “I know emotions were high, and—”
The hell? “I didn’t say I was sorry,” I said quickly. “Of course I meant it. That’s a side effect of having your heart broken. You find yourself not wanting to hang out at the scene of the crime.”
That shut him up. Which, good. Sure, he was still hot, but that didn’t mean I wanted anything to do with him.
I blew across my mug before taking a sip. “You should probably get back.” I nodded toward the backyard. “Simon’s a real taskmaster.”
“I heard that.” Simon had come in through the French doors that led to the deck, just in time to hear me. “Oh, great,” he said, oblivious to the tension here in the kitchen. “You found the water.”
“Yep.” The word came out gravelly, and Alex cleared his throat as he handed the other bottle in his hand to Simon. He uncapped it and took a long swallow.
“Thanks.” He nodded toward the backyard. “Ready to get back to it?”
“You got it.” Alex gave a little salute. “Taskmaster.”
I snorted, and Alex grinned at me. Simon rolled his eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile as he went back outside.
“Don’t worry,” I said as Alex turned to follow him. “I’ll stay out of your hair.” I had things to do anyway.
“It’s okay.” He paused at the door. “I’ve missed having you in my hair.”
“Whose fault is that?” If I’d had time I might have come up with a cleverer comeback, but something about him still got under my skin, like a splinter. And I didn’t have any tweezers.
A small, melancholy smile lifted his lips. “Mine,” he said, so softly I could barely hear it over the air conditioner that had just kicked on. “Mine, for sure.”
Then he was gone, and I was in the kitchen with a cup of hot coffee, when what I really needed was a bucket of ice water.