Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Elodie
I stuff all my tubs of cookie dough into the freezer. I have the options uploaded to my website. Checking the time, a full-body zing goes through me. I’m covered in flour dust and I’m in my frumpiest of sweats. I need to go from a chambermaid to a princess as quickly as Cinderella.
The back door dings open, and Clem wanders in, her hands full of envelopes. “Hey, El. I see you have your car back. That’s awesome. I came to help.”
I haven’t had a chance to drive it since Lane dropped it off this morning. Uncle Karl’s coming by tonight to get the loaner.
“Hey. Yes. The car is great.” I love seeing Clem, and I treasure the times she comes in to help me, but I haven’t told anyone about my . . . date.
My belly’s going wild, like I turned the standing mixer inside of it to high. I never meant to enter the dating world again. I had too bad of an experience, and I have way too much on my plate. Even more now, thanks to that previous experience. Damn him.
She stops and frowns, glancing around my sort of cleaned-up kitchen. She probably expected a mess. “I thought you’d be a whirlwind in here after how much dough we were moving.” She winks.
I ignore one of the many dough puns she’s made over the years. “I have something planned.” I shove a thumb over my shoulder. “I’ve gotta go get cleaned up.”
Tossing my mail on the table, she very much does not leave. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I could use your help later though.”
She flips a few invoices over and slaps an envelope on top. “Why are you getting mail from Colorado Correctional Center?”
Cold washes through me, and I dig my fingernails into my palms. Damn him. First, his brother calls me and Cruz overhears me yelling. Now he’s writing? I thought Dwayne would give up when I never wrote back. “An old friend.”
She wiggles her finger at me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
So damn much, and I’m not going to start now. “Listen, I’ve got to get cleaned up. I’m going to lunch with a friend.”
“Campbell?”
“I have other friends.”
“Jamison.”
“God, Clem. Why are you so nosy?”
Unrepentant, she crosses her arms. “Since you cut me off for years. It didn’t do any good to give you space then.”
It did her a lot of good; she just doesn’t know it. Nor does she leave. “It’s Cruz,” I mumble and only to get her to drop the topic of Dwayne.
She cocks her head. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I thought you said it’s Cruz.” When I don’t correct her, her eyes fly wide. “He finally asked you out?”
“What do you mean finally?”
“That guy is into you.”
“He’s into every girl.” Just saying it feels wrong. I’m getting to know him and the falsity of the statement bothers me.
“No, he’s nice to everyone. He watches you.”
The pleasure that rises like a first proof is embarrassing. “He does not.”
“At the crochet club last week? He totally did. Until you kicked him like an eight-week-old puppy.”
“I’ve never kicked a puppy!”
“Where ya going?” she asks in a singsong voice.
“The new Mexican place.”
She gasps and claps her hands. “Like a real date!”
“I haven’t been on a real date in years,” I whisper.
“Then go.” She shoos me. “Go get ready.”
I start for the stairs, but stop. “Can you come back tonight and help me make tomorrow’s specials?”
It was a long weekend and fatigue would bowl me over if my adrenaline wasn’t pumping about the date.
“Yes, and you’re going to tell me all about it. Now go. Wear something cute that shows your legs.”
I start up the stairs and stop. “Don’t tell anyone. Okay?”
She scrunches her face up. “What is it about you keeping your life a secret?”
“It’s not a secret. It’s just not something to be proud of.”
“I see,” she says quietly. “Seems like that’s the stuff you should be able to talk to someone about. I know you’re worried about Mom—”
“Exactly. If she thought I was in therapy, she would blame herself just like she did with the accident. Besides, I don’t have time.” I give her a small smile and rush up the rest of the stairs.
My small studio apartment above the bakery has sloped ceilings and wood floors that echo through the whole place.
I frown at my dresser. It’s covered with loose pants, sweats, and oversized shirts. When I moved home, I swung in the opposite direction from the style I’d been wearing.
Should I show off my legs? I’d rather wear something that’s halfway flattering, and perhaps I’ll catch Cruz looking at them again.
I pick a snug white shirt with a lace bottom. Rifling deeper in my closet, I find a pink pair of high-waisted jeans that should cover what my top doesn’t. It’s too hot for nice shoes, so I grab some strappy sandals.
Once I’m dressed, I stare at the hummingbirds tattooed across the top of each foot. Tattoos aren’t exactly scandalous, but no one’s seen mine. I haven’t wanted to field any questions about my time away from Montana, and since my ink is tied to a litany of bad decisions, I just keep them covered.
Maybe it was the busy weekend, or the anxiety of the date and what it means—if it means anything—but I’m tired. So exhausted trying to create a clean slate, only for my past to muddy it up again. Clem is right. It’s been hard not to talk to someone about everything that went down.
I twist my hair into a clip and take stock of the reflection in the mirror. A woman who looks like the Elodie Palmer from long ago gazes back, and dammit, it’s good to see her again.
I rush down the stairs, and as soon as my feet hit the bottom, there’s a knock. I almost sprint right back up. Before I can think too hard, I fling the door open. There’s no going upstairs to change now.
Cruz, dressed in his normal jeans, boots, and a tight green T-shirt, smiles. “Hey.” His gaze lazily runs down my body and heat blooms stronger in his eyes. “Goddamn, sugar. You’re looking downright lickable.”
Shock hits me just as I want to preen at his compliments.
“Aw, Elodie.” He surprises me even more and drops to a squat. He runs a rough fingertip over the top of my foot. “I’m trying hard to be a gentleman, but this is like a peek at my birthday present.”
A nervous laugh leaves me. “They’re just tattoos.”
“That’s more skin than you’ve flashed me since I’ve known you.” He rises, and the smile on his face is nothing like the teasing one he throws at everyone else. It’s full of promise. He cocks an elbow. “May I take you out?”
The flirting I got so defensive about? That was some superficial shit. This Cruz? Charming and intense. This Cruz is the one not everyone sees.
But I get to.
I tuck my hand into the crook of his arm, and he leads me out and loads me into his pickup. His cowboy hat is on the back seat, but he keeps his hair neatly combed for our lunch.
“Do you clean this every day?” I ask when he climbs behind the wheel.
He pauses for a moment. “I give it a quick vacuum on most days.”
“Most days? You’re a rancher. They have dirty pickups.”
“This gets dirty.” His smile is more distant than I’ve ever seen. “I just clean it more often. How’s your car?”
The subject change is deliberate, but I’m a closed book with him, so I can’t call him on it. “I haven’t driven it yet, but Lane got it here, so that’s a good sign.”
He chuckles and drives off. When he parks in front of the new restaurant built on the edge of town, he insists I wait for him to open the door.
My feet hit the ground. “You don’t have to open every door for me.”
“Mae taught me right.”
Mae Bailey. He said a lot in that short sentence, and it wasn’t my mama taught me right. What happened to his mom?
Like many others in town, I’ve paid attention whenever anyone talked about Cruz.
When he was out of high school, he worked for the Copper Summit Bourbon family, ranching in Bourbon Canyon.
Then his oldest brother brought him into the Foster House fold, and now he’s here in Huckleberry Springs.
Bourbon Canyon’s loss is my town’s gain.
I push all my questions aside as we walk into the restaurant. Half the tables are full with tourists and locals, and the smell of grilled meat fills the air.
“How ya doing?” Cruz says to a loan officer at the bank as the hostess leads us to a table. “Afternoon.” He nods to a family around the table closest to us.
We’re seated in a booth right by the front window. A tendril of dread swirls through my stomach. It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with Cruz. He seems like a good guy and he’s respected in town, but I’m allergic to anyone being in my business.
He’s sitting across from me. I’m out with this man. My belly does a dive and swoop. He almost kissed me the other night. I feel like a teen again, experiencing those first heady moments of connecting with a guy.
I’m not an inexperienced girl. Not nearly long enough ago, I was in a committed relationship. But this moment, it’s all new again. Scary. Exciting. Unknown.
And that’s the part I’m having trouble with.
“Have you eaten here yet?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t get out much anymore.”
“But you used to?”
I nod and bite my lower lip. “Too much.”
“I hear ya.”
Before I can follow up with questions, the server swings by, delivering chips and salsa. I order a water, and Cruz gets a root beer. When we’re alone again, I study the menu to keep from making small talk. Have I gotten that bad at it?
No. Chatting was always a skill I excelled at until I weaponized it. My dad could talk to an empty park bench and make its day, and I used to take after him.
Cruz sets his menu aside. I knew what I wanted before I stepped through the door. I always order the carne asada if it’s available. I set my menu down and brace for the questions.
“You’re nervous,” he says.
“Yes.” Admitting it takes some of the weight off. “But not for why you might think.” Well . . . “A little for why you might think.”
“I think you’ve been burned before.”
I lick across my dry lower lip and his gaze clocks it. “Yes, but I’ve also done the burning. Have you ever done anything you’re ashamed of?”