Chapter 3 #2
When she turned, I took a drink from my mug.
Yesterday, she’d had a face polished with makeup she didn’t need, but it had enhanced the golden brown of her eyes and the natural blush on her cheeks.
Freshly scrubbed, she was radiant. Her lashes were still thick, but lighter, and the light from the window made the gold in her eyes glow.
Her dress was too fancy for a mountain cabin, and not heavy enough for winter, but she looked like she belonged here anyway.
Shame burned behind my chest.
She was Eli’s girlfriend, asshole. If he hadn’t died, she might’ve been my sister-in-law. Fate had had a different future in store for her, but she’d just broken off a wedding. I shouldn’t be thinking about her belonging to anything related to me.
“Morning,” she finally said.
For less than an hour, it’d still be considered morning. “Want some coffee?”
Relief filled her eyes. “Yes.”
Did she think I was going to tell her to load up her belongings into the truck as soon as she opened her eyes? Was that why she’d stuck to her room until now?
She padded across the wooden floor. I liked a cool environment. Those socks would keep the chill from leaching into her feet, but I could also turn the furnace up.
I didn’t move as she peeked in the cupboard above the coffee pot. A small triumphant sound left her when she spotted the two other mugs I had.
She filled her cup three quarters full and glanced around.
“Creamer’s in the fridge,” I said gruffly. The sight of a woman making herself at home resonated deep inside me, but that it was this woman was wrong.
Another relieved smile. The “ooh” she made when she found my chocolate mint creamer went straight to my dick. I made it reverse direction. Nothing about my privates needed to pay attention to the sounds Summer made.
She topped her mug with creamer, making the coffee a light brown.
I grunted. “Little coffee with your creamer?”
She smirked. “Do you have whipped cream?”
“No.”
“Eh, well.” She inhaled over the top of her mug and took a drink. A small sigh left her. “This’ll do.”
“The roads are covered and the wind is strong enough to decrease visibility. The snow should stop soon, but the plows won’t be out in force until Monday.” The crews worked weekends, but they’d be clearing emergency routes and town roads. The route to my place was neither.
“You mind?”
“Wouldn’t matter if I did.” I didn’t mind, but at the same time, I wanted her gone.
Her stomach grumbled. She put her hand to her abdomen and took another drink. She cupped her mug in both hands and wandered back to the window. “I love the windows in the guest bedroom.”
I dropped my gaze from her, focusing on the swirling brown at the bottom of my cup. I used to adore that view too. I had built that room to be mine. Spacious, with a gorgeous overlook. Simple.
My room now was in the back of the house. The picture out the window was pretty, full of fir trees and the road that wound up the valley, but not like upstairs.
I waited for her to ask about food, but she never did. Unless she’d packed snacks in her suitcase, she hadn’t eaten since before I’d intervened between her and Boyd. “You hungry?”
“No.” Another long exhale. “My stomach disagrees, but I have no appetite.”
She had to eat. I couldn’t have her collapsing on me in the middle of nowhere. Then the wrath of her family would be aimed at me instead of her shitty ex.
I pulled out bacon and eggs. I was pulling a skillet out of the cupboard when she appeared next to me.
“Need help?” she asked.
Her sweet-strawberry-sunshine scent wafted over me. I’d smell her everywhere if she stayed in my house too long. “No.”
“Do you have any . . .”
I straightened from my bend, wincing at the pinch in my hip. I hadn’t done my stretches this morning. Or yesterday morning. This whole month had been shit for taking care of myself with that damn invitation staring at me. “Have any what?”
“Produce?”
“Bananas.”
She waited like she thought I’d rattle off a list. The tips of my ears burned. I had nothing else.
Her mouth quirked when I didn’t continue. “The banana’s fine.”
A spark of irritation heated the back of my neck. I didn’t have whipped cream or basic fruits and vegetables beyond a few bananas that were close to what Mom called the banana bread stage.
I spun on a heel and pain laced up my leg. “Fuck.”
Summer got closer, her scent growing impossibly stronger. “What? What’s wrong?”
Embarrassment wiped out my restraint. “Goddammit, Summer. Back off a little, will ya?”
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.
Shame swamped me from head to toe. She meant well.
My pain wasn’t her fault. I pressed my hands on the countertop and let my head hang.
“It’s my leg.” And her. I was forgetting myself around her in the home where I could usually be myself.
Where I didn’t have to pretend I was doing fine for the few people in my life who gave a fuck.
“And I’m in the way. I’m sorry.”
She was sorry? Fuck. “No, Summer. I don’t like . . .” I pinched the bridge of my nose. The throb in my leg dulled, concentrating around my knee. “. . . people,” I finished, lamely, realizing too late she’d think I meant her.
There was a moment of silence. Had I offended her? How could I have not?
“Do you have internet out here?” she asked.
I wasn’t prepared for the subject change, but I grabbed on to it. “Haven’t you tried your phone?”
“Battery’s dead. I left the charger at the church.” She leaned against the counter while I started opening the package of bacon. “Hopefully, one of my sisters found it.”
“I have Wi-Fi.” For a small rural town, Bourbon Canyon and the surrounding area got good coverage. “I don’t stream much of anything. See if your phone works with my charger.”
“Where is it?”
Shit. Her scent was bad enough in my living room, kitchen, and probably in my bathroom. I couldn’t have strawberry sunshine invading my bedroom. “I’ll grab it. Start the bacon?”
She nodded and glanced away. “I don’t mean to be trouble.”
“Since when do you care if you stir up some trouble?” My question wasn’t teasing.
A furrow formed between her brows. “Being a bother and stirring up trouble is different.”
“Mom told me once it’s okay to be a bother sometimes.”
She arched a reddish-blond brow. “Did you listen to her?”
I limped past her. She’d know the answer.
Summer
Jonah’s charger didn’t work for my phone. He left me with his phone and went outside. I had heard the telltale scrapes of metal on concrete, but when I went outside to see if he could use help shoveling snow, he’d growled at me to get inside. I wasn’t dressed for shoveling.
He was right. I was dressed for a Bali honeymoon. Instead of being across the ocean in a private villa, I wasn’t far from home in a mountain cabin.
And I was glad.
The constant stomach pain from worrying about the flight was gone.
The anxiety smoldering in my gut? Vanished.
I could finally be hungry again, and after the generous portion of crispy bacon and scrambled eggs Jonah had fed me, I was ready to eat again.
Months of nibbling here and there, worried I was going to end up becoming one giant ulcer before I stepped on the plane, was over with one slap. I was ravenous.
I got up from my movie marathon and went to the kitchen.
He’d left his phone on the table so I could call who I needed, and I hadn’t touched the thing.
Last night, before my phone had died, I’d sent them all messages thanking them for dealing with the fallout and also letting them know I needed some time, and when I knew more about the roads, I’d update them.
I wasn’t due back to work for over three weeks. I couldn’t very well stay at Jonah’s for that long. Could I?
No. I couldn’t.
The way he’d barked at me this morning should’ve sent me running, but I’d recognized the outburst for what it was. Sick of someone hovering. Sick of being checked on and people thinking you weren’t strong enough to handle the basics. My memories of those feelings were old, but I knew them well.
His cupboards were full of canned goods—beans, stews, soups.
His fridge was a repository of processed meat and his freezer was stocked with beef and some pork and chicken.
I found canned vegetables that’d go well with a roast. Did he have plans for supper or was he going to dive into one of the many packs of bacon again?
Fuck it. I was throwing something in the oven for supper. When I was looking for a roasting pan, I found a small door around the corner, opposite the one that led to the garage. A storage space under the stairs with onions, potatoes, garlic, and squash.
Produce that wasn’t brined. Perfect.
I set about cleaning and cutting potatoes. They’d been pulled from the ground and stored. I couldn’t see Jonah crawling through the dirt with his leg, but his mom used to have an impressive garden. She must’ve kept it going. Without her, Jonah might not touch a veggie.
My gaze kept straying to the phone. I should call Mama. Her number had been the same since I’d first memorized it as a kid. I might be able to recall my sisters’ numbers, but Mama should hear from me.