Chapter 23
WHAT THIS WOMAN WANTS
Ginny
Ten minutes later, Adelaide is back upstairs to take a shower in case she decides to join us for ribs, and I’m standing on the concrete deck beneath Heath’s porch, knocking at the glass sliding door of the basement apartment.
My mouth is dry and my fingers are tingling and my heart is trying to set a record for most beats per minute without causing a heart attack.
Cricket’s chickens are clucking happily in their little pen nearby. The distinct sound of a hockey announcer calling a game drifts through a cracked window.
Flow whines, and an overwhelming urge to hug her settles deep in my gut.
And then the door lock clicks and slides open, and there’s the man who’s haunted my every thought in the past two weeks, bending down to grip Flow’s collar as she tries to push past him.
He’s in loose black shorts and a faded University of Minnesota T-shirt, and he freezes as he looks up at me.
“Hi,” I blurt, holding out the bag. “The delivery people dropped this off at the house. It happens all the time. I mean, not all the time. Heath doesn’t order takeout very often, but anytime my brother stays here, he orders something and it always ends up at the main house.
But that might be to annoy Mabel. He gets under her skin.
Which isn’t a surprise once you know my brother.
He’s good at getting under people’s skin.
And he leans into what he’s good at, so he does it a lot. ”
I pause and take a breath, finally listening to the voice in my head telling me to stop talking and just hand the man his food.
To ignore the way Declan straightens, his gaze sweeping over me like he’s making sure I’m still in one piece.
Legit thing to check.
I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.
And it doesn’t help that his hair’s damp like he just got out of the shower, and he smells like salon shampoo and fresh sheets dried in the sun, and he hasn’t shaved in days.
If pirates played hockey, they’d look like Declan right now.
And I suddenly have a thing for pirates.
A very big thing.
“Sorry about the mix-up,” he says. “You didn’t have to bring it over.”
“Alley-oop shoots and ooh, right off the pipes, that one nearly went in,” the announcer says on the TV inside.
I flinch.
Can’t help it.
Alley-oop.
That’s Alex’s nickname.
Declan’s watching his old team play. Watching Alex play.
“It’s all here.” I hold out the bag, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here. “I didn’t open the bag.”
“Would’ve been okay if you did. Delivery fee.”
My gaze drops to Flow, but not just Flow.
I’m also eyeing Declan’s legs.
The peek of distinct thigh muscles above his knee, the slender but muscular calves, the skinny ankles—he was always one of the bigger guys on the ice, but he has skater’s legs.
And I shouldn’t be looking.
Leave, Ginny, I order myself.
Myself ignores me, and as soon as Declan has hands on the bag, I drop to my knees.
“Hey, Flow,” I say to the dog as her whines get louder and overpower the sound of the game inside. “Did you have a good trip?”
I know she did.
I saw every video Declan posted while he was gone.
Rewatched every livestream.
Listened to a podcast he recorded sometime before he arrived here.
Looking for the catch.
For glimpses of him slipping.
Letting down the face he shows to the world.
The face he shows me.
Knowing I wouldn’t find it because the guy he is on his channel, the guy he is on podcasts—that’s the same guy I saw when he was with his teammates and friends.
“She got spoiled,” Declan says as I take kisses and rub all over her fur.
“So, a normal trip then?” I ask between licks.
“Yeah. A normal trip.”
It sounds like he’s smiling, but I don’t want to look.
I don’t want to know.
Sometime in the past month, Declan’s smiles became dangerous.
Attractive.
The word I haven’t wanted to say.
To acknowledge.
If I acknowledge it, I have to deal with it.
“And another zinger by Alley-oop, this one barely deflected by Nashville’s goaltender,” the guy on the TV says.
“It’s hard to believe we were sitting here two years ago, asking if Alex McMaren would be able to play as well without his best friend on the ice with him,” the other guy says.
Declan reaches behind the door as I dart a glance up at him, but I don’t ask what I’m thinking as the first guy starts talking again. “If anything, Alley-oop’s been even—”
The sound cuts off.
I glance at the bag of food he’s holding. “Shrimp fried rice and crab rangoon?” I ask.
It was the meal he’d have every year when their team was kicked out of the playoffs. The meal he had when his grandfather died. The meal he had when a sixth sponsorship opportunity in a row fell through.
Most of the time, he prioritized healthy eating.
But when he’d had a particularly bad day, it was shrimp fried rice and crab rangoon.
He quirks a half smile at me. “Yep.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t need it if you didn’t listen to guys who are rude to you.”
“Not rude if they’re right.”
I bite my lip as I study him. “Did you guys—you and Alex—have problems?”
He shakes his head. “Just that he deserved a better defensive line than what I could bring to it.”
I bristle.
Can’t help it. It’s habit.
Because even when he was a jerk, I rooted for him as a player with everything I had.
I would’ve defended any of Alex’s teammates.
“He did,” Declan says. “I was good enough to go pro, but I didn’t have the same raw talent and instincts as most of the other guys in the league. Just a fact.”
“Alex always said the best teams were half chemistry.”
“Chemistry only gets you so far.”
My vagina would like to argue with that. “Two years—you retired two years ago?”
“One. Got traded two years ago. Option came up at the end of the season while I was down with a broken wrist, no one wanted me, so here I am.”
Flow’s flopped onto her back and is panting happily, tongue lolling out, as I rub her belly.
Declan opens the bag, then pulls out a smaller white bag from inside, opens it, and holds it out to me. “You wanna steal one and pretend it wasn’t you?”
“Excuse you, I always owned it when I stole your food.”
He smiles.
He doesn’t look at me, but he smiles as he rattles the bag, inviting me to steal a bite. “And sometimes when it wasn’t you.”
“I still do that,” I murmur.
His smile softens. “This is my shocked face.”
I take one of the dumplings, feeling like it’s something much bigger than a fried wonton wrapper around cream cheese and crabmeat.
Like it’s a peace offering.
Like he’s giving us another chance to start over.
Be friends.
Or something.
I start to tell him these are better with sweet and sour sauce, but he’s already handing me a packet.
“Zander has a show in San Francisco next weekend,” he says. “If you wanted to go, take your friends or something, he’d love to see you. Get you backstage and all that.”
I blink at him. “Are you going?”
“Maybe. Depends on filming here and a few other things I have feelers out for.”
“You’d risk your brother’s wrath if you don’t show up?”
He smiles again. “You ever seen him riled?”
“No.” I only met Zander a few times, but I doubt his wrath is scary.
Funny, yes.
Scary, no.
“If you go, tell him you found a dealer for a knockoff Birkin bag and ask if he wants you to get him one.”
I choke on a laugh. “I thought you were leaving me alone, not wishing for my death.”
“He wouldn’t kill you over that. He’d probably kiss you once he got done ranting. He gets inspiration for new material once he starts ranting.”
“Have you said that to him before?”
“No, but he’ll probably suspect me.” Declan cocks his hip, plants a fist on it, and adopts a drag queen voice.
“Did my brother tell you to say that? He’s dead to me.
Dead to me. Huff. Snort. Huff huff snort.
My god, you people are going to give me cholesterol.
Where’s my lipstick? It’s so horrified, it just fled my lips. ”
Flow growls at him.
“And then he’ll write a new song on the fly and inform you that you get zero credit for the inspiration because you’re a cunt,” Declan finishes in his normal voice.
Flow’s still glaring at him.
“I’m done,” he says to her. “No more Zander impersonations.”
She snorts and huffs at him, and I crack up.
Can’t help it.
Zander’s hilarious, but Declan—he’s funny too.
He glances back at something inside the apartment.
Sounds like scratching and a meow.
But not a cat’s meow.
A little girl’s meow.
“That’s Lavender,” I say. “But I haven’t heard her meow in months. She’s been more into being a dragon slayer than a cat for a while now. And I thought she was out in the barn.”
He leaves the sliding door open while Flow looks at me like she’s saying you see what I have to put up with?, and he crosses to the door that opens to the staircase leading upstairs.
Those shorts are doing good things for his—
Nope. Never mind.
Not going there.
There’s no point to it.
I can’t see Lav, but Declan drops to a squat. “Oh, no,” he says. “A stray kitty.”
“Meow meow meow?” Lav says.
“A hungry stray kitty? Where’s her papa kitty?”
“Meow.”
Declan mock gasps. “She doesn’t have a papa kitty? Oh, that’s terrible. I’ll have to find her a new home.”
“You’re supposed to offer to adopt me,” Lav stage-whispers.
Declan scratches his head. “I don’t know if my dog would like it if I adopted a stray kitty.”
“Your dog loves me, even if she’s still not as awesome as a cat,” Lav says, again in the stage-whisper. Louder, she adds, “Meow meow meow.”
Flow looks up at me and heaves a heavy sigh that makes all of the fluffy black and white and orange fur around her mouth wave in the breeze.
Declan shoots a grin at Flow, then looks back at Lav again. “Does your dad know you’re here?”
“I live here.”
“But he’s in the barn with Cricket and all of the other ladies.”
“How do you know?”
“Adults know things. It’s such a burden.”
I angle so I can see her squinting at him.
“Do you think adults are annoying?” she asks him.
“A lot of them are.”
Lav spots me, and her face lights up. “Ginny! Ginny, where have you been?” She darts through the apartment without asking permission, tackling me with the human equivalent of the greeting Flow gave me.
“Working,” I tell her as I hug her back.
“That’s dumb. No one has to work because we’re making wine and so we’re rich.”
“Who told you that?” I ask.
“Leland. He said anyone who makes wine is rich.”
“Leland sometimes gets his facts wrong.”
“Foxy, would you please tell Ginny that she’s the one who’s wrong?” Lav says.
Declan’s jaw works as he tries to hide another smile. “I have a rule against getting between two ladies when they’re having an intellectual debate over anything.”
Lav rolls her eyes. “He likes dogs and he’s useless in debates. Why is he even here?”
“To remind you of how good you have it when I’m not here,” Declan replies.
“Is your dad here with you?” I ask Lav. “Did he come back for something?”
She grumbles something under her breath.
“Cricket?” I ask.
“Is Cricket ever where my dad isn’t?”
“Yes. Frequently. And whenever you get old enough to want to date someone, you should have your own interests and hobbies and be your own person outside of your relationships too.”
That’s my problem.
It was always my problem.
I made my entire personality about making sure that I was lovable and did everything my boyfriends wanted me to do and was everything they wanted in a partner.
Boyfriends.
All three of them.
The first dumped me because I was too clingy, I dumped the second when he started talking about doing a reality show together since I had connections—definitely not safe anymore after that—and then there was Alex.
Lav’s shaking her head at me like I’m hopeless. “Ginny. You know I’m never dating.”
“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t, but stranger things have happened when little girls grow up.” I squeeze her hand. “C’mon. I’ll take you back to the barn. Otherwise, you’ll miss dinner, and a hungry Lav is a cranky Lav.”
She looks at Declan. “You heard the woman, Foxy. You’re gonna miss dinner.”
“I have dinner here,” he tells her.
“Put it in the refrigerator and eat it for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Crab rangoon isn’t good cold. Or microwaved.”
“That’s why air fryers exist, my man,” Lav replies.
Declan looks at me. “She’s seven? For real?”
It’s impossible to not smile at his question. “You get used to it.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Lav tells him. “My dad’s making ribs, and Mabel says you can’t put a price on that man’s meat.”
I almost choke on my tongue. “When did Mabel say that?”
“Yesterday.”
She doesn’t fill in any more details, and I make the logical assumption that Pip told Lavender Mabel said that, and that Pip got her facts wrong.
Declan’s turned around and has his head angled down, hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking like he’s stifling a laugh.
“You heard the lady,” I say to his back. “You’re missing dinner and a show if you stay here.”
His gaze slides toward the TV.
“You’d miss Heath’s meat for a hockey game that you can replay later?” I ask. “Get your shoes on and come with us. I insist.”
I do.
I want him to come with us to dinner.
Maybe this is me being bad.
Maybe it’s me being brave.
Whatever it is, I don’t want to go to the barn and wonder what Declan’s doing. I want to see him. To watch him. To talk to him and try to find a new normal between us.
Warm brown eyes meet mine, and something new tickles my breastbone.
Something that feels like the hope frosting on top of the starting over cupcake.
“Bring the crab rangoon,” I add. “You can order more with your breakfast tomorrow.”
“Okay then,” he says softly. “Can I change?”
“No.” Lav grins at him. “You men always take too long to get ready.”
“Your dad is literally the only other man around here, and he never takes too long to get ready,” I say.
“Have you ever watched the man’s morning routine?
He takes foreeevvvvvvvveerrrr. It’s a shower and then coffee and then sitting on the deck and then pulling the cat out of the cat door when she gets stuck, and that was before he started making Cricket’s coffee and helping Cricket with her showers and being Cricket’s chair on the deck.
Get your shoes on, Foxy. This train’s leaving with or without you. ”
Declan looks at me once more.
It’s like a final are you sure?
I nod.
He nods back.
And soon, the three of us are making our way across the fields to the barn for the post-harvest party.
With Fluffy, Lav’s very aptly named calico cat, walking alongside us on a leash, same as Flow is.
And I pretend my heart isn’t beating far too fast for a leisurely stroll through the grapevines, that I don’t feel a spark when I accidentally brush hands with Declan as I reach into the crab rangoon bag the same time he does, that I’m not looking forward to watching him with my friends tonight, and that I don’t want to find out what would happen if I kissed him again.