Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NOT PLAYING BY HER RULES
EZRA
I haven’t kissed Eloise in seven days.
The last time I touched her was when I helped her off my boat yesterday before the sun went down. My hand on her warmed-by-the-sun skin is something I’ve thought back on often, like a kid with a crush.
We parted ways and haven’t spoken since.
I stare at my laptop, willing an email to come in.
But because Eloise is who she is, she doesn’t respond to me. She doesn’t answer my request to come over. She doesn’t give me a sign of life; only when she’s ready will she. Everything is on her terms, and I want to grind my teeth at the need to control something. I’ve never been the man who waits around for anyone, let alone a woman I had to talk into a contractual agreement just so I could see her again.
I hang my head, wishing I could find more comfort in this empty place, just as my phone rings.
Ivan’s name on my phone’s screen has me running a hand over my face, attempting in vain to will the vibrating to stop. I step into the kitchen and accept the call.
Time to face the music.
“Yes?” I answer.
“Where are you?”
“Cherry Cove.”
“Funny, I thought we both decided it was a dead end. Then I hear from your father that you’ve got the yacht out there.”
His scoff has my fist balling. There are very few people in this world I answer to, and he isn’t one of them.
“Seems like a lot of goings-on when I thought we came up dry,” he says. “Could it be that you’re dipping your dick in a certain bookstore owner?”
“Your concern for what my dick is doing has me wondering where your own priorities lie.”
“We can talk about priorities if that’s where you want to take this. How about the fact that I’ve had to face the last few meetings without my partner?”
“I’ve faced the board many times without you. Too many times to count,” I tell him, reminding him that when he was too hungover or chasing some random pop star from continent to continent, I was always at work, ready to bail him out.
When you were too shitfaced to remember. When you were too busy fucking women you had no business fucking. When you were on trips to exotic places and couldn’t bother to answer your phone.
“Well, I’m heading your way tomorrow,” he informs me.
There’s music playing where he is, and I’m sure he’s at the bar, looking for the nearest young lady, flashing her brand new over twenty-one driver’s license.
“I don’t need?—”
“I’m coming. We can take another crack at potential business ventures,” he insists, and I straighten from the kitchen counter.
Something Eloise said yesterday has me pausing.
“Ivan, you’ve been on the up-and-up with these people, right? No backdoor deals, no threats?” I watch headlights bounce through the night, heading down the winding driveway toward the house.
Hope fills my chest even as the man on the other end of the line mumbles words I don’t believe.
“No need to come here. I’ll meet you in the city tomorrow,” I say, hanging up just as I step onto my porch.
The night air is warm and the crickets chirp, as if they’re filled with just as much anticipation as I am.
Her car jolts to a stop and she rushes out, her door still open, the keys still in the ignition causing that awful dinging sound to fill the air.
Is this…
Is she…
Something seems off about her. There’s a look of determination on her, mixed with that wideness in her eyes that she gets when she’s about to cry.
Those eyes eat me up, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make her feel good.
I don’t think as I bound off the steps, catching her just as she rushes up.
She erases a week’s time, grabbing my face so my lips meet hers.
Shock has me still for a moment before wrapping my arms around her and lifting her off her feet.
She sighs into my mouth, tilting her head back so I can press kisses into the column of her neck.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be,” I answer between grazes of lips over skin. “I’m here.”
She places her hands on my shoulders and pushes slightly. When I let her down, I watch her face, the transformation into the composed mask she wears for the world.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask, even as she starts taking a backward step, her eyes on me. I see her fold back into herself with each backward step she takes.
“Thank you,” she says, before turning and getting back in her car.
As she drives away, I decide I’m not playing by her rules anymore.
It’s my turn to be in control.
Bordeau Books looks like it’s closed. Which isn’t surprising, considering there are hardly an influx of customers as it is. In my plotting and scheming, I hadn’t thought of what I’d do if no one were here to open the store. Or if Eloise would be here.
For the first time, I’m not coming to the bookstore to find the woman who seems to have my thoughts in a vice grip.
I’m about to give up on my plan when I notice a woman strolling toward the bookstore, a satchel crossing over her body. Her bare arms are covered in tattoos, and I wonder who she is until she peers out into the street.
She has Eloise’s eyes, her dark hair, and her heart-shaped face.
Maybe this would’ve been Eloise, had she ever left Cherry Cove. Maybe she wouldn’t have virgin skin and hair that tickles her lower back. Maybe she wouldn’t be here, waiting for me to sweep her into a lust she’d only ever read about.
I wait until she enters before I open my car door, telling my driver to wait for me as I step out. I’m in a suit, prepared to walk right into work as soon as I make it to the city.
I jog across the empty street, noticing most of the cars are parked outside the diner at the end of the street. Cherry Cove is both as cliché as small-town living gets and as beautiful as nature can get. Past the main road, I can see the tree line that eventually gives way to the lake that make people flock during the warm months.
Still, I could get more people here. I could keep the charm, the original feel of it, and make it more accessible for outsiders to bring their families and spend their money here. Cherry Cove has the perfect atmosphere for family getaways.
And I could help them thrive.
If only these stubborn people could see my vision.
As I push the door open, the bell jangles and Eloise’s sister flicks her eyes in my direction.
I feel her gaze as she takes in my suit, my expensive haircut, the watch on my wrist that costs more than even what I gave her sister to help out with this place.
And the indifference is immediate.
“If you’re here to make an offer on the place, you can fuck off,” she grumbles as she glances back at the task at hand. Maybe it wasn’t indifference in her eyes. Maybe it was downright distain?
The Bordeau girls sure are friendly.
“I’m just looking for a book for my ride home,” I lie, as easily as I can. “Any recommendations?”
She stops shuffling through her papers and peers up at me before tucking her short strands behind her ear. I catch a closer glimpse at some of her ink, knowing that there’s no way she got them anywhere around here. They’re amazing work.
“Luc—Eloise is a lot better at that than I am.”
“Okay. Maybe just recommend her favorite book?” I suggest, happy to get to know her in a more intimate way.
She sets her papers down and glances at the door before stepping away from the register.
“I don’t know if this is still her favorite but just wait here.”
She rushes to the back of the bookstore, amongst the shelves that I fully acquainted her sister against. I wait a beat before rounding the desk and slip open the second drawer, shuffling some things aside to tuck my present in the far back. Someone would have to be looking for something to find this.
It’s a risk I’m willing to take.
Because if I’m going to coax this to another level, it requires a finesse I only hope I can pull off.
Before the eldest Bordeau returns, I step back around, walking toward a table, feigning an interest in a book that has some sort of monster holding a woman intimately.
“Didn’t peg you for a monster romance kinda guy,” Eloise’s sister says as she nears me, and I don’t bother to fight my chuckle. She settles on a smile that’s quick, not stopping as she heads to the register, a book in her hands.
“How much do I owe you?” I ask as I pull cash from my wallet.
“Don’t you want to know what you’re buying?” she asks, arching a brow, that small-town distrust instilled in her, no matter if she left or not.
“I trust the infinite wisdom of Eloise Bordeau,” is all I say as I hand her two twenties, grab the book in her outstretched hands, and turn to leave.
“Your change,” she calls out.
I wave my hand, nervous to address her again, should I say something as sentimental as I just did. With a piece of the woman I’ve grown infatuated with tucked under my arm, I rush out, hoping I didn’t give anything away.
Eloise would kill me.