Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Elodie
My throat is raw, and my eyes ache from squeezing them shut while I sobbed. It’s a good thing I didn’t go off the road, and my sunglasses hid the worst while I drove through town.
My cousin left me a message that he didn’t see any guy hanging around, so I buzzed right into the bakery and collapsed at my little table.
Cruz was cooking for me. Waiting on me. Asking me about my day and my business. He was also holding back. That guy saw right through my defeated demeanor, but he peppered me with casual questions like he knew I’d shut him out and bolt if he delved in further. Which I did anyway.
I wipe my eyes. The skin around them burns like I sandblasted my face. My nose is stuffy, but I sniffle and toss the tissue.
My stomach has the audacity to rumble. That steak I fled from smelled so damn good. And that pasta salad? I hardly make savory food anymore and he had a whole stockpile just for our date.
I rest my arm across my gut. I can make myself eggs.
Tears pop back up in my eyes. No. I’ll remember how I made an omelet for Cruz, and how appreciative he was, and how satisfied I felt watching him eat my cooking.
The way the muscles in his jaw clenched while he chewed and how his gaze softened with the first bite. I missed a whole night of that.
A hot droplet streaks down my cheek. Followed by another.
Here comes another bout of crying. I should just head to bed and try to get some rest before my alarm goes off at three.
I’m alone instead of sitting outside on a gorgeous night eating damn good food with even better company.
I shudder out a hard breath. That’s not for me.
There’s a knock at the door.
Fucking Damon. I told him to leave me alone. He’s worse than a rotten, stinky egg.
“Go away!”
Another hesitant tap.
Does he think I’m going to tolerate constant interference? I might not have a choice, but he doesn’t know that. I rise to my feet and stomp to the door. Whipping it open, I pour all my hostility into my greeting. “I told you I would get you the goddamn money—”
My jaw hits the floor. Cruz’s brows are to his hairline, and his hands are full of food containers. My stomach grumbles again, ready to invite him inside while I grab two forks and dig in. I’d eat that steak like a renaissance fair drumstick.
“What are you doing here?” It comes out as more of a shriek. I look over his shoulder and around him as much as I can. No Damon lurking in the corners of the other buildings.
Cruz glances behind him. “Expecting someone?”
Dreading him, more like. “No.”
He waits a moment, but when I don’t elaborate, he smiles, but his concerned stare brushes over my ravaged face. I must look like hell. “We can at least be friends, right? And friends gotta eat? I brought dinner here.”
I fight the urge to grab the food like a feral raccoon and run. The smell of the perfectly charred meat reaches me, and I want to sit with that bowl of pasta salad like it’s pudding and keep scooping until it’s gone.
He packed all of it like he plans to stay. I’m too wrung out to figure out a reason why this is a bad idea.
“Have a seat.” I push the door open farther and go to the counter to grab plates and silverware.
He spreads everything out and a small frown forms on his lips.
I set my items down and my heart lurches in my throat.
The envelope with the words “Inmate Dwayne Miller” and “correctional facility” on it sits on top of my mail pile.
I gather it with the rest of my bills and hide it in a drawer at my island.
That letter can get lost among my favorite cookbooks.
“You didn’t have to do this.” I plop into a seat but dig into his offerings in case he comes to his senses and realizes I’m not worth the effort.
I bite back a groan when the burst of perfectly seasoned steak hits my taste buds.
I can cook a five-course meal, but it’s been forever since I’ve made a robust dinner for myself.
I nibble and taste so much throughout the day, and work even more, that it’s not often worth the effort.
He loads his plate before he pauses. “I know you’re a private person, but you don’t have to go through everything alone.”
“I talk to Clem.”
“When she’s not working all her jobs. Whatever reason you’re staying away from me is also putting distance between you two.”
I sigh. “I wish I could explain it, but I made a lot of mistakes, and I wish I could leave them in the past.”
“Do your parents know what’s going on, at least?”
I shake my head and cut off a hunk of perfectly done rib eye. Stuffing it in my mouth, I spin through ways to tell him something he won’t understand. We eat through all the amazing food. He lets me ponder as long as I need to before I brave speaking again.
“I’m not proud of what I did,” I finally say.
“I’ve tried to make amends, but sometimes it just doesn’t feel like it ever goes away.
My parents were doting—they still are, but when I was younger, it was stifling.
One time, I got into an accident with Mom in the car.
She beat herself up about it because we’d been bickering.
I broke my arm and cut my forehead, but I healed just fine.
But she still gets bouts of vertigo and migraines—and also continues to feel awful about it.
So when I left home, I got the freedom I craved.
I got more than I asked for, and I spent years evading their calls and avoiding them.
They blamed themselves instead of me. Uncle Karl said Dad would start to cry.
” I won the World’s Worst Daughter award.
“I can’t have them find out how bad things got for me. ”
I take a steadying breath and gather our dirty plates.
He jumps up to do the same with the plastic containers.
Pressure pounds at my temples, urging me to tell him everything.
I haven’t talked to my parents. I haven’t opened up to Clem.
I work so much that my friendships are as shallow as a kiddie pool.
A dull thud starts at my temples, and worse, the tears are threatening to return. I dump the dishes by the sink. “I’m also afraid no one will forgive me. I did things I’m not proud of and stood by while worse was happening.”
I squeeze my eyes closed. God, that was embarrassing. But I can take a full breath again and my sudden headache fades.
Cruz gently turns me around, his fingertips warm, and tilts my chin up. Tingles and heat spread over my skin from his touch. I open my eyes and I’m looking directly into his warm gaze.
“People do forgive and I’m proof of it,” he says in a low voice.
He told me about his mom, but her actions aren’t his. “You said you were angry, but, Cruz, that’s not what I’m talking about. And you were a kid. I mean, look at you. You’re a stand-up citizen. A regular Huckleberry Springs paragon.”
Emotions play over his face. Deep regret to indecision. The heat in his eyes intensifies, and he lowers his head. Warm, firm lips claim mine, and his warm citrus smell is in my nose.
A surge of desire overwhelms me. I throw my arms around his neck and rise to my tiptoes.
Cruz is the best-looking man I’ve ever seen, and I’ve thought that since I first laid eyes on him.
He’s sexy and rugged and that flirting of his worked on me more than I’ll ever be able to admit.
My attraction has only grown stronger the more I’ve talked to him.
His hot tongue strokes against my lips, and I open for him. No hesitation. He delves deep, and I cling to him, letting him do whatever the hell he wants.
My ass hits the counter, and he lifts me onto it. Plates clink against each other, silverware clatters, but I don’t care. I wrap my legs around him and hook my ankles together. I taste him, his arms are banded around me, and I want to be swallowed by him. Consumed whole.
He splays his hand across my neck, tilting my head back so he can dominate my mouth.
And he does. His tongue dances with mine and I’m struggling for breath.
My pulse hammers through my veins and beats hard through my pussy.
I’m not snugged up against him like I want to be, but I’m close enough that the monster ridge behind his jeans can’t be hidden.
I shamelessly grind closer to him. If I keep doing this, I could come. I’ve wanted him for too long. Someone who can take charge and make me feel safe.
I’m safe right here, in Cruz’s arms.
But he’s not safe from the trouble following me.
I stiffen and pull back, but not far enough to break us apart. He kisses a path down my neck while stroking his thumb against my fluttering pulse point. The throb between my legs pounds stronger.
“Cruz,” I say with a groan. “We shouldn’t.”
He lifts his head, taking his lips off me. I feel the loss deep in my bones. “Because we’re friends?” His voice is so damn deep. Gruff. I made him that way.
“Friends don’t kiss.” I sound breathless, and I want him to steal all my air and hold it for me.
“Some friends do.” He rests his forehead against mine.
I fist my hands into the front of his shirt. “I . . . can’t.” All the air leaks out of me and I slump. My hands fall away from him.
“I understand.” He feathers my hair away from my face. “We’re still friends though. Right?”
I nod because I’m not strong enough to say no. I spent all of an hour after I ran out on him crying, and I was miserable. I don’t care to experience that again.
He takes a step back and adjusts the front of his jeans, wincing. I look away to keep from getting caught staring, but damn. I was so close to getting that. I would’ve stripped down in this kitchen, hygiene standards be damned.
“I’m here if you want to talk to me about what’s going on.
” When I shake my head, he gives me a quelling look.
“I haven’t always been this guy, sugar. I might’ve been a kid for most of my trouble, but I fought, I stole, I vandalized.
I thought I was so damn smart and that my cockiness was a good trait.
” He swaggers to the door while I’m stuck in a puddle of shock.
“I was a delinquent, Elodie. I would’ve stayed that way if Myles hadn’t come into my life.
The first time I met him, I was being an asshole at the funeral home after my mom died. ”
Not Cruz. This guy would not be a dick in a funeral home.
He opens the door and pins me with so serious a gaze I have to believe he was once on the wrong side of the law. “The people who love you, the ones who really matter in your life? They’ll forgive you.”