Chapter 6 Alex
ALEX
“Just leave the damn firewood and walk away,” I tell myself.
Any normal or smart person would. But clearly, I’m neither of those things because instead of dropping the damn logs off on the porch and leaving, I find myself knocking on Emma’s front door like an idiot.
Clearly I’ve forgotten about the argument we had last night because not even that is stopping me right now.
It takes a minute before I hear movement inside—shuffling footsteps, a muffled curse and then the unmistakable sound of something crashing to the floor and shattering.
The door swings open before I can bust through it myself to make sure she’s okay.
Emma is standing in front of me, wrapped in a huge fleece blanket.
Her hair is pulled into a messy bun on top of her head with a few pieces falling down around her face.
Tiny silk pajamas peek out from under the blanket—light pink with tiny black hearts all over.
My eyes fixate on how the hem of the shorts ends above her upper thigh.
My jeans tighten uncomfortably at the sight of her bare skin glistening in the morning light.
She looks like she is still half asleep, eyes barely open and somewhat puffy underneath. She blinks up at me, her expression a mixture of exhaustion, confusion and general disdain. A look that I’m more than familiar with.
“What the hell are you doing here? It’s 6 AM,” she demands.
“Do you always wear these tiny little things to sleep? You do know it’s basically winter, right?
” I blurt out, ignoring her question, reaching out and hooking the hem of her shorts with my pointer finger and pulling slightly.
Her thigh instantly gets goose bumps at the graze of my finger.
The urge to rip those tiny ass shorts off is consuming my every thought.
I try my best to push them away and am now left annoyed at the fact that she could freeze because of her choice in clothing and current lack of heat.
“Pretty sure I didn’t ask for your opinion on what I choose to wear,” she bites back, wrapping the blanket tighter around her chest, tiny shorts disappearing from view now.
“Hypothermia is a very real thing, Princess.” Remembering the reason why I’m here in the first place, I roll my eyes and hold up the bundle of firewood. “I brought you a literal housewarming gift.” I add.
She stares at the logs like I’ve handed her a dead rat. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know, Emiliana. Maybe burn it?” My eyebrows arch together, wondering if she’s fucking with me. “I hear that’s what people with wood-burning furnaces tend to do.”
She exhales sharply, her breath visible in the cold air. “You do realize it’s the twenty-first century, right? People have things like thermostats and central heating now.”
“Yeah, some people. You are obviously not one of them.” I shift the firewood in my arms. “Unless you’ve suddenly figured out how to install an AC unit overnight.
In which case, I’d love to see that, because last I remembered, you struggled to change a lightbulb.
” Looking down at the shattered mess of broken glass by the table next to the couch, I add, “And you just broke something on your way to answer the damn door.”
Her glare could peel paint off the walls. “That happened one time because the ladder was wobbly. And that thing was in my way.” She gestures towards the fragments on the ground.
“Sure.” Taking a step forward, she immediately moves to block me in the doorway.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Inside,” I reply slowly, like it’s obvious and she’s the dumb one for asking the question. “Unless, you’d rather I leave this here and let you freeze.”
She hesitates for a second, her body trembling under the blanket. Her lips press into a thin line before she steps aside with a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”
I step past her as she closes the door behind me.
The house is freezing. I figured it would be bad, but damn.
It’s almost colder inside than it is outside.
I glance around the place, taking in the state of things—half-unpacked boxes, a dusty old couch and a furnace that looks like it hasn’t seen a proper fire since the Great Depression.
“You planning on actually making this place liveable?” I ask, dropping the firewood next to the hearth.
She scowls. “I just got here, Alex,” pausing as she rolls her eyes. “I need to fix the porch steps, maybe a new kitchen backsplash and I’ve always wanted a clawfoot tub, so maybe I’ll add one to the bathroom—” She catches herself rambling. “I mean… yes, I will eventually renovate… everything.”
“Okay. Well you need a fire first or you won’t be alive to do any of that.”
She huffs and kneels down in front of the hearth, grabbing the logs and jamming them inside. I watch as she fumbles with the kindling, muttering curses under her breath.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
Emma shoots me a glare over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”
I fight the smile threatening at the corner of my mouth and crouch beside her. “It’s not about stuffing as much wood in as possible. You gotta build it like a pyramid. Air is what gets it going.”
“Air,” she mutters. “Right. Should’ve guessed you’d be an expert on blowing hot air.”
I roll my eyes and grab a few smaller pieces from the pile on the floor next to her. “Here. Start with these. Leave some space between ‘em.”
She hesitates, like accepting my help will physically wound her, but then takes the kindling from my hands. Her fingers brush against mine for a half second, enough to short-circuit my brain. “Fine. But if you make me burn the house down, I’m haunting you from the afterlife.”
“Noted.”
The truth is, I don’t know what I’m doing here. Leo could’ve shown her how to start it. Hell, she probably would’ve eventually figured it out herself. And after our exchange last night, there really isn’t a reason for me to be back this morning.
Yet, here I am, apparently having lost every ounce of self-control I have. I couldn’t ignore the desperate urge of wanting, no, needing to see her again.
I hand her the matches. “Alright. Light it up.”
She strikes the match, the little flare of orange glowing soft across her face. Throwing it in the hearth, the flame catches and curls up around the wood. She slowly closes the door and watches through the little window, listening to the wood snap softly as the flames continue to build.
“Congratulations, Princess,” I say, leaning back on my heels and standing up. “You’ve officially started a fire all on your own. Big day.”
She smiles smugly. “Guess I’ll add it to my resume.”
I missed that mouth, in more ways than one.
“You should really learn how to do basic survival things, you know. What if I wasn’t here to save your ass?”
Rising to her feet next to me, she shoves my chest with one hand, the other still wrapped in the blanket. “I was doing just fine before you showed up.”
A sharp laugh escapes me. “Oh, yeah? Because from where I was standing, you were about five minutes away from hypothermia. Especially in those tiny ass shorts. Do you not own a sweater? Or PANTS?”
“You’re such an ass,” she snaps in return. A slight smile tugs at her mouth, but she quickly forces it away, thinking I don’t notice.
We’re standing close now, the firelight casting a red-yellow glow over her face, making the irritation in her eyes burn even brighter.
She looks like she wants to launch me into the flames and I wouldn’t put it past her to actually do it.
My brain instinctively decides to zero in on her lips.
They are perfectly full and parted, still slightly chapped from the cold.
I’m so fucking mad at myself for noticing.
Emma made it pretty damn clear when she left Windhaven that what we had wasn’t real, and that I didn’t matter enough to her to make her stay.
I don’t know what I thought was going to happen when I saw her again.
Some part of me, the stupid, hopeful, and desperate part, thought that maybe she’d see me and forget how bad things ended between us.
That we could simply start over. A clean slate.
Or maybe two people in love despite the universe trying to tear them apart.
But that’s not how this works, not with her.
She doesn’t forget things. If Emiliana Diaz is anything, it’s the queen of holding grudges.
And the thing that pisses me off the most?
I know better, and I still manage to find my way next to her again.
I am habitually orbiting her like I physically don’t know how to stop.
She’s going on and on about something, and I’m not sure when I stopped paying attention. All I can do is stare at those gorgeous pink lips and think about how her kisses used to taste like strawberries. She never went anywhere without a tube of strawberry scented lip gloss.
I wonder if they still taste like that.
I attempt to reel myself back to Earth, trying to focus on what she’s been saying for the past seven minutes. I can tell by the look she’s giving me, with those tired, yet piercing brown eyes, that it’s either something to try and get under my skin or cause another argument.
“Why are you doing this?” I interrupt, suddenly irritated.
She blinks, as if I caught her off guard. “Doing what?”
“Trying to pick a fight with me.”
Her chin lifts stubbornly. “Oh, I’m picking a fight with you?”
“Yeah. You are.” I take a step closer, our bodies now barely inches away from each other. She doesn’t move back. “Are you going to do that every time we’re in the same room? It’s as if you want me to argue with you. Maybe you enjoy it. Tell me, Princess, does it turn you on?”
Her lips part, and I catch the way her breath hitches enough for me to hear it.
“You—” she starts, then stops. Her throat tries to work around whatever comeback she’s about to throw at me.
The room feels warmer now. I don’t know if it’s from the fire or the tension hanging in the air between us. I’m overwhelmed with the feeling that I’m either going to suffocate or make a huge mistake if I stay any longer.
I watch her lick her lips, a quick flick of her tongue, barely noticeable. Her chest rises and falls slowly. The only sound filling the house is the crackling of the wood and our breathing.
I really, really need to get out of here.
“Bye, Em,” I mutter, turning and making my way towards the front door.
She glares at me. “Oh, now you’re leaving?”
“Yeah. Before I say or do something I’ll regret.”
Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”
I don’t answer. I’m already barely holding onto the last of my self control as it is. If I answer her, I really won’t be able to leave this house and that would be a problem. So instead, I’m out the front door in three strides and don’t look back, leaving her standing there confused.
As I climb into the truck, a bitter laugh escapes me, reminding me how similar the situation is to when she left me all those years ago—walking away from me and never looking back, exactly what I just did.