Chapter 5 #2
He doesn’t shrug off my question, nor does he laugh it off. His expression is solemn when he says, “Many times. I was an insufferable dick.”
This time, I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Did your flirting get you in trouble?”
“My anger.”
Oh. My spine straightens as questions pour into my head. Was he violent? Did he hurt someone? How did he lash out?
“I should amend that,” he says and takes the paper holder off from around his silverware and napkin.
“My anger made me an insufferable dick. I had a smart mouth and I wasn’t afraid to be a pain in the ass with it.
Lane was better, but it was also like I had permission to be even less responsible when he was around. ”
He’s not giving me details, but I feel like he’s giving me more than he gives anyone else. I need to return the favor. I’ll use his same vague storytelling style. “I was a good girl growing up.”
His lips curve up. “I’m not surprised.”
“I went wild after I left home, but no one really knows. That was the allure, you see. The anonymity. In Huckleberry Springs, I was Bob and Patty’s daughter. Pastor Karl’s niece. Everyone knew me wherever I went, and they expected the best.”
“But you didn’t always want to be on your best behavior.”
I lift a shoulder. “I guess? Sometimes I can’t figure it out, and I’ve never told anyone the things I did.” I roll my lips in. I can’t believe what I’m going to say next, but the words push out anyway. “I never even talked to my family about the guy I was seeing, and we were together for years.”
His brows lift. “A big part of you must’ve known he was bad news.”
“That was the draw,” I say with a sigh. “I was so . . . Ugh. Young and dumb.”
A divot forms between his brows. “Don’t blame yourself for someone else’s bad actions.”
I give him a small smile, but my stomach sinks. I might’ve dated a bad boy, but for a while there, I was also a bad girl.
Cruz
I can’t pinpoint when Elodie closed off on me again, but we went from talking about our pasts to idly chatting about our jobs.
It’s amazing I can talk at all after seeing her pink-denim-clad legs, and fuuuck, her painted toes with the hummingbird tattoos.
Her rigid posture is keeping her little shirt from playing peekaboo, and it’s killing me.
I have to keep focused on our light conversation.
Otherwise, I’ll do nothing but obsess about that strip of skin at her abdomen.
“So you split equally and there’s no arguing?” she asks. Our plates are stacked to the side. While I loved her running commentary of how the restaurant brought out a smoky flavor and pulled back on the heat to create a delectable beef dish, I want to dig into Elodie Palmer. In so many ways.
Only she’s been asking about me, and if getting to know what I do each day makes her more comfortable, I’m happy to share.
I’m also pleased that her interest seems real.
I’ve been on dates before where I wasn’t the topic of interest as much as my bottom line.
I’m doing financially okay now, great even, but for most of my adult life, I wasn’t.
What I had was someone else’s, and I cared for it. Before that, I had nothing.
“There might be some bickering,” I say, “but no, we all get along pretty well. The Hennessys are chill. Lane can be uptight with me, but he isn’t with them.”
“I guess I’m the same with Clem. I’m so glad I have her, so I don’t have to hire anyone.” Elodie’s gaze goes out the window. “I would like to have more than the part-time staff, but it’s just not in the cards right now. The bakery’s doors are open, so I’ll be content with that.”
“You deserve to have some help. It’s what I learned from my brother.”
“Lane?” she asks.
“Myles. He wouldn’t have been able to start Foster House without a big investment from Darin Bailey. He fostered with them for a while.”
Interest fills her face. I don’t normally discuss my family. My brothers, yes, but not like this. It’s hard to separate our personal business when it’s so entwined. Odd since we’d been separate for so long.
“It’s how Lane and I started with the Baileys. We didn’t grow up with Myles. He didn’t even know about us until our mom died.” I swallow hard when sympathy fills her eyes. This part is also hard to explain without airing all my dirty laundry, but then I’ve never told anyone about it before.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs and reaches across the table to put her hand on mine. My skin warms as energy tingles between us.
“Thanks.” Most people know Myles was in foster care.
He doesn’t keep that part a secret, since it’s woven into the brand.
Foster House isn’t just about our last name.
“Myles’s dad passed when he was little, and our mom struggled with addiction and would clean up sporadically.
She met my dad, and he drove her back to using. ”
Her brows lift, but her fingers tighten over me. “Shit.”
“Yeah. We don’t talk to him.” I clear my throat before the rest of the story comes out.
That my dad and Lane have minimal contact, and he wants to stay in touch with me.
I want to tell her how I can’t bring myself to talk to him.
I blame him for so much. My mom had a metric ton of issues, but the best and worst thing that man did for us was leave.
“Mom never married him and that’s why we have the same last name as Myles, but we’re only half brothers. Otherwise, I’d be Cruz Lawson.”
The corner of her mouth tips up and my stomach acid calms down. “From the way you talk about him, you’re not half anything with Myles.” She draws her hand away, and I wish we were on the same side of the table.
Warmth fills my chest like it always does when I think of the family I never thought I’d have.
“I might’ve been nineteen when I went to work for Mae, but she became the mom I never had.
And all the rest of the Baileys kicked me and Lane into shape, especially the guys.
It was a weird mix of father figures and bossy older brothers. ”
She laughs. “I asked my dad once if he ever wanted a son, and he said that Clem and I came out so perfect, how could he ever ask for more?”
“I knew your dad was a cool guy.”
“If small talk was an Olympic sport, he’d be a five-time gold medalist.”
“Just so happens, I’m a competitor as well. But I liked him.”
“He liked you.”
“It means a lot to hear that.” There was a time I would not have been the man dads wanted around their daughters.
I wasn’t a cheat, but I could ghost a girl like a haunted mansion.
Now’s not the time to cop to that. I want her to like me, not distrust me.
“I guess you don’t grow up with a mom like mine and not have some issues. ”
“You haven’t carried any of those issues into adulthood.” She’s not earnest, just matter of fact. “You didn’t throw away everything the Baileys taught you.”
“Once Mae made us dinner, I was hooked. Ain’t no way I was giving up three solid meals a day.”
I’m chuckling, but compassion fills her eyes. “You weren’t getting fed?”
My stomach churns hard around the fajita I just ate.
I opened the door, and suddenly I don’t want to go through it.
If I delve into my childhood, will the last fourteen years vanish like they never happened?
Will I finish scaring Elodie off? If she knew what I was like in the pre-Bailey years, she’d tell me to have a good day and order me not to hit on her again.
But in order to keep this thing between us open and growing, I have to share something from the part of my life I don’t like to remember.
She shakes her head. “Oh my gosh. It’s not my business. I’m so sorry.”
“No. It’s fine. Food could be . . . sporadic.” Low-quality shit that the bugs sometimes wouldn’t touch. “Don’t worry about prying. I try to be an open book.” Mostly.
“I can’t say the same.”
Damn. She’s honest. “I’m a patient man.”
“What if I’m not worth it?” She’s not asking playfully.
“You are.” Who would make her think otherwise? I’m not at all sorry for her to know that I’m not giving up. “I’ve learned to be patient when it’s important, and when you want to tell me something, you will.”
“You speak as if we’re going to be doing more of this again.” There’s a hint of a smile on her face.
“I’d like to,” I say honestly. “What if I cook for you?”
Her eyes widen. “Cook for me?”
“Yeah. You said you don’t like to have to cook for anyone, so let me give it a shot. I have a smoker and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“I’m a vegetarian,” she says.
Didn’t she order carne asada? I’m rolling with it. Whatever she wants. “Smoked eggplants.” I’m only half joking. I’ll try it. Scouring my brain for nonmeat ideas for the smoker and grill, I snag one. “Grilled pineapple and banana?”
She laughs and her eyes twinkle. “I’m kidding. While that sounds good, I haven’t become a vegetarian since we had lunch together.”
Her smile is Cupid’s arrow straight to my chest. I’m hooked. I made her laugh, and it’s going to become my hobby for the rest of my life. I just have to convince her of it. “It wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Yes, it would. I’m a Montana girl born and raised, and I can’t drive past all these ranches and not think about a good fillet and all the things I can do with it. Plus, I can’t grow a single vegetable.”
This is the most open she’s ever been with me. Before, anything I learned about her seemed to be despite her best efforts. “Mae taught me how to garden, collect eggs, and prune the rosebushes. Need any of that, I’m your man.”
“Mae sounds amazing.”
“She is. I owe her everything.”
She leans on her elbows on the table. “You don’t strike me as a guy who only takes. What did she get from you? You were more than labor at the Baileys’. I can tell when you talk about them.”
She’s paid that close of attention?
There’s so much more to Elodie, but I wasn’t wrong. There’s something between us, and she tried to ignore it. I don’t want to be a pain in her ass, but I want her. All of her. All the tastiest parts that no one else gets.
That means I should give her all of me, but I’m not ready to give details about what a little shit I was.
A kid who had nothing and had to fight for what he did have can end up that way.
But yeah, I’ve learned gratitude since then—because I was overwhelmed with it when I moved to Bourbon Canyon.
“I gushed over her food, and for Mae, that’s important. Feeding people is her love language.”
“She loved your compliments?”
“That and I ate every leftover there was.” I think back to my years working for the Baileys.
“I was a hired hand, but I lived with Mae. I did whatever she asked me to, and for once in my life, I did it so someone could be proud of me. She expected the best from me and I gave it to her. Before that, no one could get past what my mom said or did to think I was capable of anything. Lane was forced to be more responsible, but we were both rough around the edges. His were just honed a little more.”
She contemplates me while chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I bet Mae’s really proud of you.”
A lump grows in my throat. Damn. That hits me in the feels. “I hope so.”
She’s looking at me like she’s never seen me before. “I was, unfortunately, very wrong about you.”
“Unfortunately?”
“For me, yes.” A small smile lifts her lips a moment before she shoves her chair back. “I need to get back. I have a lot to catch up on, and Clem’s coming by later to help me get ready for the week.”
“When can I cook for you?”
She hesitates. Damn. I thought a second date was a sure thing. “I work every day.”
But the bakery closes every evening. There’s got to be some window of time—as long as she’s willing, and that’s what I’m not sure of. “Friday at six?”
“Isn’t there some big rafting-and-tasting thing this weekend?”
A delighted smile spreads across my face. “Sugar, are you keeping tabs on me?” I drawl.
She rolls her eyes, but a smile dances along her lips. “I have an order for the rafters, but I think Clem’s looking forward to the distillery being flooded with strapping men roughly her age.”
I shudder. “It’s like hearing a little sister is dating someone.”
“Now you know how I feel!” She chuckles and falls quiet, lifting her purse to her lap. I’m facing the aloof Elodie who used to wait on me.
She’s going to change her mind. She’s still not sure about me or about dating. Some cocksucker screwed her over and she’s going to continue to be the one paying for it.
She lifts her gaze and shyly meets mine. “It’s a date.”