Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Lola
What are you doing up here, Firebird? You’re supposed to be resting.
I thought maybe it would help me remember.
Did it?
No. The whole evening’s a blank.
- Conversation between Roman, age 25 and Lola, age 18
A few days after my dramatic meltdown I get a message from Roman asking me to come to the orchard and I immediately start spiraling.
“What if he wants to back out?”
Skyler looks up at me, metal parts in hand, from where she’s figuring out how to set up the newly arrived coffee machine. “Yes, because that’s often what people who give you motivational speeches turn around and do,” she deadpans.
I push away from the counter and cross my arms. “For once in your life would it hurt you to be as neurotic as I am?”
“I’m sorry, you’re right. He doesn’t want to work with you anymore.
He’s probably figured out you’re still hopelessly in love with him and he wants to see you to let you down gently.
He’ll tell you he’s moving to the other side of the world to get away from the crazy girl who he sees as nothing more than an annoying little sister. ”
I pick up the coffee filter and point it at her. “I hate you.”
“Say hi to Roman for me,” she calls as I head to the front door.
I give her the finger.
Her cackle follows me out of the shop and onto the street.
Henry is up on the ladder, painting the panel above the shop window, his shirt tucked into his pocket because it’s twenty-six degrees out.
He grabs his water bottle off the top step of the ladder and pours it over his head.
The droplets run down his chest and over his abs.
From an objective standpoint Henry is very attractive but I think Skyler might be right about me still being in love with Roman because seeing Henry unintentionally put on a show fit for a Baywatch episode does very little for me.
I can tell myself working with Roman will be fine so long as I keep things professional but if I keep having to see him, if he keeps turning up when I’m falling apart and putting me back together…
I’m halfway in love with Roman already, I’m not sure I’ll survive falling all the way and still not having him notice me.
If I had any sense, I’d message Roman back and say I can’t come over but maybe I’m still as reckless as everyone thinks I am because my desire to see him wins out.
“Hey Henry,” I call, “if I buy you lunch, will you give me a lift over to the orchard?”
Henry balances the paint brush on top of the can and climbs down the ladder. “Sure thing, boss. Thanks.” He uses his T-shirt to dry off before slipping it over his head then nods at the front of the shop. “This is the last coat by the way, then it will be ready to go.”
“That’s great,” I say but my smile is strained as I look at the pale blue panel running along the top.
Henry follows my gaze and shifts on his feet. “Any luck with the sign?”
I close my eyes as they water and tilt my head back a little. Crying in front of your contractor really doesn’t give strong, capable businesswoman vibes. “They’ll send a new piece of driftwood, even offered me a discount, but it won’t get here for another month which is two weeks too late.”
“Ah.” Henry grimaces. “That’s not so good.” He squeezes the back of his neck and shifts his weight again.
Henry’s awkwardness is endearing, and I decide to put him out of his misery. “So, the orchard?”
“Right, yeah.” He grabs his keys from the pocket of his shorts. We hop into his van and a few minutes later we’re pulling up outside the orchard.
Roman walks up the drive as we approach, his face shadowed under his cowboy hat as he glares at Henry through the windshield.
Henry grips the steering wheel and leans over to me. “Do I lose macho points if I admit he intimidates me a little?”
I tip my head back and laugh. “You’re good Henry. Pretty sure your fiancée loves you just how you are.”
He grins, warmth lighting up his eyes at just the thought of his wife-to-be. My chest aches. To be that in love.
I jump when my passenger door is yanked open. “Jesus, Roman.”
He stares Henry down for a weighted moment before shifting his scowl to me. “Are you ready? I don’t have all day.”
I screw up my face. Is he mad at me? Roman doesn’t get mad. Not even when I was an annoying little kid who insisted on playing with him and Mase and messing up their games. He’d just sit me next to him on the couch and patiently show me how to kill zombies.
Not quite sure how to deal with an angry Roman, I turn my back on him and smile at Henry. “Thanks for the lift,” I say. “I’ll grab some lunch for us later.”
Henry looks over my shoulder at the scowling grump behind me. “Sure, no problem.” Wariness plays in his eyes. “Uh, what time do you want to be picked up?”
“I’ll drop her back,” Roman snaps.
Henry lifts a brow and checks in with me. “You okay with that?”
I can practically hear Roman’s jaw popping. I roll my eyes and unclip my seatbelt. “It’s fine.”
I climb out of the van, crossing my arms and blinking at Roman in disbelief as he glowers at Henry till he drives away. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
Ever so slowly, he looks down at me. “Charming.”
Even looking angrier than I’ve ever seen him, Roman still manages to alight more feeling in me than I can logically justify. After six years of keeping my distance and dating around he shouldn’t still be able to make my heart flip just by looking at me.
So what if the cowboy hat tilts just right on his head? Or if the rolled-up sleeves of his checkered shirt reveal suntanned, muscled arms that have me wondering what it would be like to be held by him.
I’ve been with attractive guys before, but they didn’t make me want to melt into a puddle just by tracing their gaze over my collarbone.
They didn’t make me feel so much that I worry sometimes my chest can’t contain it.
That all the need and obsession and lust will burst out of me, and I’ll do something stupid like kiss him again.
I visualize a shield forming over my heart, packing all of those feelings away and focusing on his anger in the hope it will distract me from everything else.
“What’s your problem with Henry?” I ask, hands on my hips.
Roman stiffens. “No problem.” He shrugs but it feels forced. “Just figured he should be working on the shop not chauffeuring you around.”
It hits me then what this is, and my hands slip from my hips. “Are you… jealous?” A tendril of hope curls inside of me, rising up towards my heart like smoke till Roman douses it.
“No,” he states. “But as a business owner you should consider using your employees more wisely.”
The smoky hope hisses and dies and hurt lances through me. I keep my face blank and stride past Roman.
He sighs and follows after me towards the stables. “Lola–”
I cut my hand through the air. “No, you’re right and it’s also irresponsible of me to leave my shop unattended so why don’t you just show me whatever I’m here for and I’ll be on my way.”
Roman catches up with me and snags my wrist. “Lola.”
I try to tug my arm free but he just tightens his grip. I fall out with my body for the way my core clenches.
“Firebird.” The nickname trips off his lips, and I stop struggling. My heart hurts with how hard it beats for him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m an idiot and getting a lift from your contractor is perfectly reasonable.” He slides his hand down and twines his fingers with mine.
I let him lead me past the converted stables and out onto the patio.
The last time I was here the patio was filled with pickers lounging on the log benches. Now, those benches have been pushed aside, and a large tarp is spread out over an uneven surface.
“Did you murder someone?” I ask. “Am I here to help you bury the body?”
A bemused smile tilts Roman’s far too tempting lips as he looks down at me.
“Why is it always dead bodies with you?”
“I guess I just like to find the excitement in life.”
He raises a single brow.
My hackles rise and I pull away from him. “If you call me reckless, I swear to god—”
“Hey, hey,” he cuts me off and grabs hold of both my hands, pulling me in towards him. “I can’t believe I’m having to say this but it’s not a dead body.” He tilts his head towards the tarp. “Go take a look.”
Curiosity piques inside of me, cool water against my fire.
I detangle my fingers from Roman’s and go over to the tarp mound.
The material crinkles under my hands as I pull it away.
It drags against the surface of whatever is underneath it and I get a glimpse of pale brown wood.
My brows dig together and then I pull the tarp clear and my world tilts. “Oh my god, Roman.”
I tremble as I throw the cover aside and raise my fingers to my lips.
Lying on the patio before me is a gorgeous driftwood sign, my coffee shop’s name—Bean There…—burned into the surface in bold calligraphic letters. “How did you even…” I can’t get the words out. I just look over at him, torn between gazing at the beautiful sign or the beautiful man.
Roman shrugs like it’s nothing. “Found the wood on the beach, it was easy enough. Great name by the way.”
My smile is a thing of light. “The words ‘done that’ will be burned onto the front of the coffee counter. Bean there… done that…”
“You’re really fucking smart, you know that Lola?”
Maybe I am. Smart enough to know he’s lying about it being easy. He’d have to clean the wood then treat it and let it dry before he could burn into it. It must have taken the whole three days since he found me crying in my shop.
I run my fingers over the smooth wood and walk over to him. “I can’t believe you made me a sign.” I loop my hands together behind his neck more out of instinct than anything else. For once in my life I’m not thinking about holding back from him.
My body is tingling from the pure joy cascading over me, and I just want to be close to the man who spent hours crafting to make me happy.
Roman’s shoulders stiffen under my arms and the feeling freezes but just as my heart’s kicking up a fuss and I’m about to pull away, he drops his hands to my waist. Hesitant at first. Then firmer.
My chest opens up and birds fly out of it. I am soaring.
He dips his head and I tilt up my chin. Kiss me. Please, please kiss me.
His breath rushes out of him, rippling over my face. He closes his eyes.
Then he lets go of my hips and takes a deliberate step back.
I think someone just took a shotgun and killed my metaphorical birds. They fall to the bottom of my stomach, battered wings and broken bones.
I stumble back and turn my face away from him.
“Lola, I’m sorry. We can’t.” His voice is rough.
I stare at the patio, grinding the toe of my sandal into the stones as I try to breathe without crying. “I know.”
He sighs and I wonder whether his throat feels like it’s closing too.
“Are we good?” he asks.
I can’t fall apart, not here, not in front of him. I pull my shoulders back and flash him a bitter smile. “Relax, I’m not going to go running off with a shady biker again.”
I think I’m playing it cool, but Roman’s face turns to stone. His eyes flare and his voice drops deadly quiet. “What the fuck did you just say?”
I freeze. I’m so caught up in the mess my stupid, emotional heart just made that it takes me a moment to figure out why he’s mad.
Then the penny drops.
Oh shit.