Chapter 30
J ericho
I feel the tightness in my shoulders ease as Cheryl gets up to leave.
I know why her presence unsettles me so much, but admitting it even to myself would mean that I’m still scared of my past when I vowed to myself that I’m over it.
That I’ve outgrown the years I’d rather forget.
But being in such close proximity to Cheryl, a police officer and Nora’s sister all in one, makes me sweat.
Coming here and laying such a loud claim on Nora probably wasn’t such a bright idea, but I acted on emotion. Especially when I saw that town inspector clearly antagonizing her. She didn’t come here for a meal. She came here for Nora. And I feel responsible for that.
Cheryl nods to Nora, says something about catching up later, then turns to me with a look that lands somewhere between amusement and warning.
“Nora’s got claws,” she says.
I grunt. “ Noticed.”
She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. “All right then. Don’t cause trouble, Jericho.”
“No promises,” I reply, glancing at Nora and letting my guard down for a second so Cheryl can see how I really feel when I see her sister.
Cheryl snorts and walks off toward her cruiser. I don’t miss the way her watchful gaze lingers on me for a second longer than necessary—like she’s still trying to figure me out. Maybe she is.
I glance back at Nora. She’s moving around like a hamster on a wheel without pausing for a moment. It’s what she does when she’s trying to avoid something; I’ve already figured that much.
“Nora,” I call softly without any reaction from her. So I repeat a bit louder, “Nora.”
She finally pauses. Standing a few feet away, with arms crossed over her chest like she’s shielding herself; she looks guarded and a bit lost. Did I overdo it with my actions? Have they come at the wrong time? Or are they just unwanted at all?
There’s something else there too though—an edge, maybe. Like she’s waiting for me to say something wrong so she can go back to the old us . Or maybe she’s hoping I say something right.
Hell if I know—I’m the worst person to make this kind of decision in a relationship, especially one that’s just started forming.
“I should get back,” I mutter, jerking my chin toward the street. “Still got some plowing to finish before it gets icy.”
She doesn’t respond at first, just watches me. Her eyes are doing that searching thing again. It makes my skin itch.
“Yeah,” she replies automatically, glancing around the room. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth, making her look almost shy.
“I’ll see you around,” I add, softer this time .
Her expression flickers. She gives me a tiny nod. “Yeah. Sure.”
That’s all I get. That’s all I need, I guess. So I walk away without looking back, feeling like we’ve been thrown back where we started.
But I feel her.
Every step I take back to my truck feels heavy. Like I’m dragging her with me somehow, even when she’s standing perfectly still.
I work for a few more hours before heading back home. The snow has subsided, and I haven’t slept for nearly two days at this point. I need to shut my eyes and my brain off.
The porch of my house creaks under my boots. The accumulated snow over the last several hours can wait for later when I have enough energy to deal with it. I open the door, step inside, and let it close behind me.
And then I just… stand there. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I hate this. This almost . This tightrope I keep walking with her. And I almost hate her.
She’s chaos in a sundress. Fire in a tea kettle. Always boiling under the surface, always one spark away from burning me alive, and the worst part is that she doesn’t even know it.
And I want to let her know. I’m fucking tired of sitting in the quiet shadows, waiting for life to pass me by because I’m too scared to poke my face from the darkness and possibly get burned.
I kick off my boots, toss my coat over the chair, and walk into the kitchen. I’ve got leftovers, half a sandwich, and zero appetite. The house is too quiet. Too still. Everything feels like it’s holding its breath.
I move through the living room, ignoring the creak in the floor I still haven’t fixed, and drop onto the couch like it insulted my mother.
Why did I even say that? I’ll see you around .
What am I? Twelve? Stupid.
What I meant was: Please come over. Please say something, anything, that makes me believe I’m not alone in this madness.
But I didn’t say that. I never do. Because I don’t know how.
Instead, I sit here like a damn mountain. Silent. Stubborn. Stewing in my own mess and not knowing how to climb out.
I think about her. The way she looked standing outside her house in the morning, passing me the cup with her lipstick on the rim. The way she always smells like something sweet and flowery and always looks like sunshine even when dark clouds follow her around.
I also remember that she was going to marry that douchebag.
I don’t care that he was her ex.
Okay. I do care. A lot.
And I hate that I do. That I think about her wearing white for him.
My jaw tightens until it hurts. She was going to marry him. At one point, she gave that man her heart, her body, her future.
I rake a hand through my hair and tug, trying to pull the jealousy out by the roots.
She’s not mine. We’re not anything. Yet. I’m worried that after today we might never be because I acted like a moron and told her that I’d ‘see her around.’ Maybe she got confused because I wasn’t forward enough? Maybe I am the one giving the mixed signals?
Still—
If Dick ever shows up on this street, I can’t guarantee I won’t put him through a wall.
Regardless of his past intentions of marrying the woman I’ve set my mind on, he acted like a douchebag and clearly scared her.
She was like a deer caught in headlights when I saw them in the parking lot that one night, and that’s not like the Nora I’ve come to know.
Is he the reason for her behavior or was there something else?
I sit like that for too long. Just staring at the floor. Listening to the wind rattle against the windows.
The porch light is still on. Part of me is hoping she’ll walk over to resolve how I stumbled at the end.
That hasn’t exactly been our arrangement up till now though.
I’m usually the one who meets her on her porch.
And we’ve never been inside each other’s houses, which is odd.
I know how her mouth tastes and yet I don’t know what colors the walls of her living room are.
And not for the lack of trying—I tried peeking through the window a time or two while I was fixing things around.
Not in a creepy way but just to get a glimpse of who Nora is inside her environment.
But their curtains do a good job of guarding the lives of those in the house.
To be fair, I’m not exactly the welcoming type either. I’m built of cement and bad decisions she doesn’t know about yet. I don’t flirt—even though I’ve tried with her. I don’t play nice, so it’s no surprise her common sense would prevail when mine failed.
I get up and walk around the first floor, staring at the front door.
But my legs don’t move closer. My hands stay clenched. My eyes trained on the door.
And then—footsteps. How the hell I can hear them from behind the closed door is beyond me, but I do. The footsteps are there.
Soft. Fast. Familiar.
Before I can take a deep breath in and walk to the door, there’s a knock.
Two taps. Hesitant.
I approach. Slow. Careful. I open the door.
And there she is. Holding a plate covered in foil.
A plate that looks like one from the diner.
She’s wearing pink leggings and an oversized orange sweater that almost swallows her whole.
The storm has passed, but it’s still so cold outside, and she has no jacket.
My initial reaction is to grab and drag her inside so she doesn’t get cold, but I stop myself just in time.
I already acted like a caveman before, and it went very awkwardly.
Maybe I need to dial down my caveman style a notch.
“Hey,” she says, swallowing loudly.
My voice doesn’t work at first. When it finally does, it’s rough. “Hey.”
She lifts the plate a little. “Got you some food. From Roman,” she adds quickly. “He asked me to bring you that.”
“Sure,” I reply without moving a muscle, scared to spook her with more of my fantastic lines.
She sniffles, looking anywhere but at my face. “Here.” She pushes it into my chest.
“Thanks.” I take it while accidentally brushing her hand with mine. She jerks it back as if I’ve just stung her.
My chest tightens. Damn emotions. I was doing just fine without them.
“Welcome,” she replies, biting the inside of her cheek.
“Thanks,” I repeat like a fool.
Her lips twitch with a light smile. “You already said that.”
“Yeah.” I shove my hand into my hair and brush it back because I don’t know what to do with it. One is holding the plate, it’s busy. It’s good. But this one is just hanging by my side and wanting to grab Nora and pull her closer. So I have to make it busy too.
“So-o-o,” she singsongs. “I’ll just go then.” She points both her thumbs toward her house.
“Yeah.” I nod.
“Okay then.”
“Okay,” I parrot.
She turns away and takes the first step, about to leave me here with all my uncertainty, when I finally discover my balls again and call out to her, “Wanna come in? ”
She moves so fast, she pretty much flips in the air. “Yes!” Then her eyes go round. Maybe it’s because she replied too fast and too loud, but I’m fucking okay with both.
I move to the side and pull the door open wider. With a shy smile, she walks in, carefully passing me by and trying not to touch me.
I close the door and follow her to the kitchen, noticing how she steps over a particularly squeaky footboard, which gives me an odd feeling that she might have been here a time or ten, because this is how long it took me to remember to walk over that board.