Chapter Fourteen
Gwen
“H ey,” I said, wiping my dusty hands on my shorts as I strolled toward the door.
“Hey,” Truett replied without making the first attempt to hide his gaze as it perused my body.
Normally, I would have called him out on such a blatant appraisal had I not been doing the exact same thing.
Holy hell, the man was downright edible. Dark jeans hung low on his hips, and a gray Henley hugged his muscular shoulders. His thick biceps waged war against the fabric while his abs tapered down to a trim waist. He’d trimmed his beard. Not a shave by any means, but it was now short enough to reveal the sharp angles of his jawline.
Truett had already been gorgeous, so this was like gorgeous squared and I did not have the mental capacity to compute that. For a mere mortal like myself, it was overwhelming and a bit unfair. Wearing braided pigtails and cut-off denim shorts, I looked like I should be starting my farm chores, while he was obviously on his way to audition for the next superhero film.
Something was off though. This wasn’t just something he threw on for a casual Wednesday at his favorite diner. Nobody could pull off jeans and a T-shirt like he did, and from what I could tell, that hadn’t changed over time. This was different though. His jeans were dressy, lacking signs of everyday wear and tear, and his shirt was far from upscale elegance, but his chiseled body made it red-carpet ready. It was the same with the boots—classic yet intentionally rugged.
Oh, yes. Truett had dressed up for someone .
The pang of jealousy that hit me was absurd. What did it matter to me if he was meeting up with someone? Truett’s personal life was none of my business or concern. He hadn’t been mine in nearly half my life. I’m pretty sure the dibs I’d called on him in eleventh grade had expired by now.
And yet, even as I told myself all of that, I still blurted, “You look nice. You got a date later?”
His lips twitched as he stepped deeper into the room, his boots thudding softly against the unfinished floor. “Not that I’m aware of. I don’t meet a lot of women in my living room.”
Damn, that was sad, and it shouldn’t have felt like a relief. “Shit. Sorry.”
Ignoring my apology, he picked up a stray tile spacer from the floor and turned it in his fingers. “What about you? Some lucky country boy taking you to the hoedown?”
“Yep, Billy Bob’s picking me up on his tractor and everything.”
He smirked. “So tractors are what’s doing it for you these days?”
“Psh. Actually, nothing’s doing it for me these days. I’m kind of on an expedition of self-discovery right now. Men suck. Present company included.”
“Fair assessment.” Still turning the spacer between his dexterous fingers, he wedged his other hand into his back pocket. “What does this ‘expedition of self-discovery’ include? Are we talking incense and crystals or LSD?”
A laugh bubbled from my throat. “Neither. This is more the kind where you get a divorce, pierce your nose, dye your hair, and spend your life’s savings on a run-down restaurant. Though, now that you mention it, it’s not often a person can say LSD would have been the smarter choice.”
His smile.
Dear God, the smile that stretched across his mouth was yet another exponent to the sexiness equation I couldn’t compute.
And worse, why did I suddenly want to?
“You cut your hair too,” he stated, a slight tilt of his head giving his words a playful edge. “I like it.”
I hit him with a side-eye. “You liar. You used to beg me not to cut my hair.”
He pressed his palm against his chest, feigning innocence. “What? I never.”
“Oh, really.” I propped my hand on my hip. “You once bribed my hairdresser to cancel my appointment and then replaced all the scissors in the house with safety scissors.”
“First of all, the safety scissors happened to be on sale. And hello, Coupon Queen, I thought you liked it when I was thrifty.”
I rolled my eyes, fighting to suppress my smile.
“Secondly,” he continued. “It wasn’t a bribe.”
“So you just happened to send her husband a gift card for a couple’s massage that had to be used on the specific day of my appointment or it expired?”
“What was I supposed to do? I missed Kyle’s birthday.”
“You never met Kyle!”
He erupted into deep, rich laughter and I couldn’t help but join him. It was nice to remember the good times. It hadn’t all been doom and gloom with us. Once upon a time, our lives had been full of laughter and sarcasm. We’d poked at each other relentlessly, until one of us got annoyed. Then we made love, slow and tender, ensuring nothing was ever taken to heart.
We’d had a good life.
A beautiful life.
It was easy to forget how incredible we’d been together when our relationship had met such a tragic demise. Hate was easier. Or at least I missed him less when the memories were tainted with anger and resentment.
When we sobered, there was a moment of silence, both of us staring at each other, grinning like a pair of fools.
For once, he was the one to speak first. “I wasn’t lying about your hair. You look amazing, Gwen. Head to toe.”
“You too. If more women knew about that shirt, there would probably be a line in your living room.”
Great. Now I was flirting.
With my ex.
More specifically, Truett.
Outstanding.
I cleared my throat and ignored his wolfish grin. “Anyway, come sit down. Sorry about the mess. I left you a path to the booth.”
He glanced around at the floor’s half-completed state. From the center of the room, smoky porcelain tiles spread outward, giving way to bare, gray concrete closer to the walls. Tools lay scattered, and little spacers stuck up from between tiles like a garden of plus signs.
“You did all this?” he asked, a hint of pride in his voice.
“Yep. A few friends came by earlier and helped me lay out the pattern, but they had to get their kids from school. So it’s just been me for the last few hours.”
“What’s all that?”
I didn’t have to follow his gaze to know what he was asking about. In the mouth of the hallway, beside my rented power tool, was a small mountain containing at least $200 worth of rubble.
A wry smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Most people cut tile the boring way, but you know I like a challenge, so I made it into a game called ‘How Many Tiles Can I Break While Learning to Work a Water Saw.’”
He did a slow blink. “Wow. New game and you’ve already mastered it. Any chance you’re planning to do a mosaic?”
“I wasn’t, but a few more boxes of tile and that might be my only option.”
“You want some help?”
“And risk ruining your date clothes? No, thanks. Besides, I’ve made it this far. Might as well see it through. You go sit down and do your thing. If you’re still here when I finish cutting, you can watch me play ‘Bankruptcy Tetris’, where I try to make all the pieces fit.”
“Just remember, measure twice and cut once.”
I batted my lashes. “Thanks, but I’m currently using the far superior ‘measure twelve times and cut twenty-four’ method. It’s a trade secret amongst professionals like myself.”
He laughed again and I honest-to-God couldn’t remember the last time he seemed so…unburdened. Seeing him happy mended holes in my heart that I hadn’t realized still existed. It was like sand pouring over a bed of rocks, the grains seeping into the empty spaces, filling a hidden void. Nostalgia curled around me, bittersweet and tender, bringing back memories of when things were simpler and we were both carefree. I hadn’t been able to admit it to myself in years—self-preservation and all—but I missed that version of Truett. Achingly so.
“I have a little something for you,” I announced, turning toward the kitchen.
“For me?” he asked, his voice full of surprise.
“Yep. Go sit. Be careful not to trample my plus signs.”
“Plus signs, right. Gotcha,” he muttered as we both navigated the narrow strip of concrete in opposite directions.
When I returned less than a minute later, he was in his booth, peering down at the table. His head popped up when he heard my approach. A smile still graced his handsome face, but it disappeared as I placed the plate in front of him.
“Order up.”
“What is that?” he asked, leaning away like he feared it might suddenly sprout legs and launch at his jugular.
“A club sandwich, no mayo, bacon on the side. That’s what you order, right?”
“Yeah, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head.
I didn’t understand what that sandwich meant to him any more than I did the booth.
I wanted to though. I’d always wanted to understand him.
Unfortunately, Truett had locked himself in his own mind long before he’d locked himself in that house. I wasn’t delusional enough to think cold cuts and dry bread held a magical key to free him.
He looked up at me, conflict etched into his face. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“No, but it’s part of your routine, and I’m about to subject you to an hour of me cussing while intermittently blasting your eardrums with a saw. It was the least I could do.”
He shook his head again, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. God, what I wouldn’t have given to spend five minutes inside that man’s head—to find the dam blocking his ability to express himself and level it with a sledgehammer, freeing him from his self-made prison once and for all.
Some battles weren’t mine to fight though. I’d learned that the hard way.
I rapped my knuckled on the table. “Stay as long as you’d like. I need to—”
“Will you sit with me?”
My heart stopped, the flutter in my stomach stealing my breath.
I sat in that booth every day. Making phone calls, paying bills, building my menu. It was the only table left where I could spread out and work.
But I’d never sat with him .
I didn’t need to understand why that booth or sandwich was so special to recognize that his invitation was huge.
And if it wasn’t huge to him, it sure as hell was to me.
“Um…” I bought myself a second to think by glancing over my shoulder. The place was a disaster and I’d be lucky if I made it home by midnight with as much tile work as I had left to do.
The easy and obvious answer was no.
But it was Truett.
“Of course.” I made a move toward the opposite side of the booth but stopped in my tracks when he slid over to make room for me beside him.
I stared at him—his expression open and welcoming, not a hint of doubt or discomfort marring his handsome face. It was as if my place beside him was a given. And damn it if that wasn’t my version of the club sandwich—a seemingly simple gesture that carried such profound depth.
My nose stung as I accepted his offer. The booth squeaked under our combined weight as I slid in beside him. He was far enough away that our bodies didn’t touch, but a comfortable warmth radiated between us. The silence that followed was both familiar and charged.
It was crazy how perfectly comfortable I’d been standing beside the table, the proximity only changing by inches, but sitting beside him in that booth felt so personal and intimate it unnerved me. I faced forward, knotting my hands in my lap, unsure what to do or say.
Was there going to be a conversation during this little visit? Or was he expecting me to sit there while he fidgeted and grumbled the way he’d done the prior week? Suddenly, cutting tile didn’t sound so bad.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.
I flashed him a forced grin. “It’s just a sandwich, True.”
He angled his body, putting his back to the wall so he was partially facing me, and drew in a deep breath. “Sure. But it’s also a booth, and letting me invade your space each week, and… Well, mainly I just appreciate you not telling me to go to hell the first night I showed up here.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure I did do that.”
He chuckled and I turned, hooking my leg up on the bench so I could face him too. I think it was also an unconscious effort to create a barrier between us, but it backfired monumentally. He wasn’t as far away as I’d thought and my lower leg pressed against the length of his thigh. Before I had the chance to shift and apologize for bumping him, his hand came down landing on my knee.
His touch closed a current, electricity sparking inside me. It was both painful and euphoric. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to cry or rage at the unfairness of the world, because in over eighteen years, never had a man’s touch felt so right.
His face flashed dark and ominous, but not like his usual storm. Raw need and desire stared back at me.
“How do you do this to me?” he rasped almost painfully. “ Why do you do this to me?”
“It’s just a sandwich,” I repeated, knowing good and damn well that wasn’t what he meant.
“It’s not though. It’s you .”
I swallowed hard, unsure if he considered me being me a good thing or not.
Until…
Leaning toward me, he brushed a braid off my shoulder, his fingertips trailing across my neck. A chill raced down my spine as his gaze locked on my mouth, his tongue snaking out to dampen his lips.
I knew that look. Oh my God, did I know that look.
He was going to kiss me. And I was suddenly terrified I was going to let him.
I hated him.
Supposedly.
Allegedly.
Shit, did I still hate him?
I was all too aware how talented his lips were. It had been a lifetime since anyone had kissed me like he did. Jeff had never ignited me like Truett. In a way, it was why I’d married him. Jeff was a controlled burn rather than the wildfire of the man in front of me.
“Truett, please,” I breathed, but I didn’t know if it was a plea for his mouth or his mercy.
His fingers curled around the back of my neck. “Please what?”
Back up.
Kiss me.
Never come back.
Stay.
Oh fuck it…
“Ki—”
That was all I got out before a flash exploded through the room. In the next second, I was tackled to the floor. His hand cradled my head to soften the blow, but my back hit hard on the edge of the tile, the spacers digging into my shoulders as his heavy body crashed on top of me.
Trying to make sense of what happened, I struggled beneath him.
“Stay down,” he hissed in my ear, another flash detonating through the room.
His dead weight suffocated me, so I squirmed beneath him. “I can’t…breathe.”
He pushed up onto his elbows a fraction, allowing my lungs a taste of oxygen that was immediately stolen when I caught sight of his ashen face.
His gaze flicked in every direction, searching without seeing. Panic and confusion etched deep lines across his forehead, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. He was literally on top of me, our bodies flush head to toe, but mentally, that beautifully broken man was a million miles away.
And it absolutely destroyed me to imagine where he could have been.
“True,” I whispered.
Another flash jolted him.
Dammit, what the hell was going on? It wasn’t the horrors that he more than likely had playing in his mind, but I couldn’t figure out what it was to reassure him otherwise.
The sun had started to slip below the horizon, but it wasn’t dark out yet. The flashing was too interspersed to be passing headlights, and there was no sound, so I ruled out lightning too. Craning my neck, I searched the front windows, desperate for an answer. When another flash illuminated the restaurant, I was able to track it and caught sight of a figure just outside, holding what looked like a camera. And not a cell phone or the compact type a tourist would carry. This was the tool of a professional, and it was aimed directly at us.
Fury ignited within me as the camera slowly lowered, revealing Taggart fucking Folly behind the lens.
What the hell was he doing? Did he really think sneaking around and taking pictures was going to make us suddenly catch a case of the warm and fuzzies and cooperate with his documentary? Then again, maybe after the way I’d behaved during our last interaction, he’d realized he didn’t need us to cooperate at all.
While I owned the restaurant, I didn’t own the sidewalk. It wasn’t illegal to take pictures on public property, and with all the windows up front uncovered, we had no illusions of privacy. Whatever photos he snapped were fair game for him to use however he saw fit.
We had to get out of his view. If he had a camera, he probably had video too. Never had Truett been more vulnerable than he was in that moment, lost in the past. I wouldn’t allow that asshole to profit from his pain.
I fought to free myself from under Truett, but he held me tight, not allowing me to budge.
In a voice so full of gravel it felt like road rash as it traveled over my skin, he pleaded, “Stop fucking moving. I can’t lose you too.”
I can’t lose you too.
It felt like a kick to my gut, and I immediately redirected my focus. My anger morphed into featherlike gentleness. “True, baby, look at me.”
His gaze instantly slid to mine, the desolation on his face stripping me bare.
“You’re okay. It’s just the flash of a camera.”
His eyes remained unfocused, the past refusing to abate. “What?”
“It’s the documentary guy taking pictures through the windows. There’s no danger, baby. I promise.”
His breathing shuddered, his mind not yet ready to release him. My Truett was in there though, fighting his way back, because this time when I moved, he allowed me the space to free my arms.
I hooked one arm around him, my palm resting on his back, pulling him impossibly closer as if I could bring him back by sheer force of will. I slid my other hand over his bearded cheek and into his hair, smoothing it down. “You’re safe, True.”
His eyes slowly began to focus, a glimmer of recognition returning. “Are you safe though?”
My lungs seized. Four words and my heart shattered before piecing itself back together, fuller than before. He was forging his way back from hell and I was his first priority.
Damn, why did that feel so good?
Maybe because I hadn’t been a priority to anyone—even myself—in years.
I continued to stroke his hair and managed a weak smile as I replied, “Yeah, baby. I’m safe. We’re both safe. Everything’s okay.”
For once, I didn’t feel like it was a placating lie.
My back ached.
I was still struggling to breathe under his immense weight.
And who knew how much footage Taggart Folly already had of us or what he planned to use it for.
But I would have happily stayed on that floor, wrapped in his arms, for the rest of the night.