Chapter 6 Gio #2
I need to answer her, but I can’t seem to form words now that I’m standing so close to her.
I’m mere feet from the woman I believed to be dead a week ago.
The same woman I fell madly in love with a decade ago and haven’t gone a day without thinking of since.
I can smell her earthy honey and leather scent from where I remain rooted to the spot, and I’ve never wanted to reach out and touch her more than I do now.
“Look, I don’t know who you are,” she says, the note of warning in her tone hovering somewhere between violent and fearful. “But you need to leave. My husband will be home any second, and I assure you, he won’t be at all pleased if you’re still here.”
Hearing her confirmation that she’s moved on unleashes an agony inside me that nearly brings me to my knees.
It’s all I can do to keep the pain from my face as I stare at her, dumbfounded, while my entire world comes crumbling down around me.
Then, like a bolt from the blue, it hits me—why Stephanie’s acting like she doesn’t know me.
It’s not that she doesn’t recognize me.
She’s pretending not to.
She’s trying to make it clear that she wants nothing to do with her past.
Nothing to do with me.
She’s wiping us from existence completely.
The realization is like a knife to the heart, plunging to the hilt right alongside the one she thrust in when she said, “My husband”.
I swallow hard, trying to force the lump back down my throat as I scramble to think of something—anything—to say that might prolong this conversation.
Because I can feel her fury building as her impatience reaches its breaking point.
She wants to act like she doesn’t know me?
Fine. I can accept that, even if it cuts me to the quick, but two can play this game.
I don’t mind acting like a stranger.
At least until I figure out how in the hell I’m going to let her walk out of my life once more.
She wants a reason for why I’ve been loitering outside her home, but I sure as hell won’t admit I stalked her here. Let’s see what she does when I act like I don’t recognize her either.
Straightening my spine, I place my palm on my chest once more.
“Sorry, I should have properly introduced myself sooner. I’m new to the area and just wanted to get to know my neighbors.
” It’s the first lie I’ve ever told Stephanie, and even if it’s a white lie—certainly no more harmful than her pretending not to know me—it still tastes like acid as it slips off the tip of my tongue.
Stephanie’s head snaps back, her expression shifting instantly from dangerous momma bear to apologetic neighbor who just realized she mistakenly yelled at me to get off her lawn.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think…
” She releases a breathy laugh, her brows pressing together as they rise, vanishing beneath her wispy curtain of dark bangs.
“I got a bit too worked up, didn’t I?” Color floods her cheeks as she presses her palms to her face in a look of mortification, and her green eyes soften as she peers up at me through thick lashes, instantly ashamed.
I can’t help but chuckle as I take an involuntary step toward her, my natural instinct to put her at ease.
“Not at all,” I assure her. “I can fully respect a mom who wants to protect her son.” I always knew Stephanie would make a good mother, and from what I’ve seen of her this past week, she didn’t disappoint.
“You couldn’t know I wasn’t some rando with bad intentions.
It’s my fault, really, for not taking the time to knock on your door.
I just—I met Jackson the other day, and we hit it off, so I stopped to chat when I saw him today. That’s a great kid you’ve got there.”
Stephanie laughs, the sound stopping my heart as her smile steals my breath away.
And even if it’s an apologetic one, it’s more captivating than all the flowers in her garden.
“Thanks. He clearly has better manners than his mother. I’m Jane, by the way. Jane Cook.” Stephanie extends her hand across the fence, the unassuming gesture and instant shift in her demeanor throwing me for another loop.
Wait, did she just say Jane?
Maybe she decided to change her identity to protect herself.
Who am I to question it?
My gut clenches at the possibility that she might have been so desperate to separate herself from my world that she legally changed her name.
And yet, here I am, forcing my way back into her life—unintentional as this meeting might be.
But if giving me a false name is how she can allow me this moment, then I’ll take it.
Anything for the chance to speak to her again, to look into those eyes.
Still, the questions just won’t stop coming now.
They flood my head like water breaking through a dam, drowning out all the other thoughts that might help me make sense of this bizarre situation.
And again, I realize I’m taking too long to answer her as I stare down at her offered palm like a complete imbecile.
“Gio,” I say quickly, grasping her hand before she can take it away.
The jolt of electricity that passes between our palms crackles all the way up my arm and into my chest, making my fingers tingle as my body goes numb.
Stephanie—Jane—gasps, snatching her hand back quickly, and I can’t help but wonder if she felt it too.
Or maybe I just crushed her fingers because I couldn’t tell how firmly I was gripping them.
“Yes, Jackson’s mentioned you,” she says, her eyes softening again the second she says her son’s name. “It seems you made a lasting impression on him the other day.”
“He made an impression on me too,” I say, shoving my hands into my pants pockets to mask the way my palm continues to tingle with the lingering ghost of her touch.
Christ, I want to close the distance between us, to comb my fingers into her short, playful hair and steal a kiss like I had so effortlessly in the past.
But that’s not going to do me any favors if I want to win her back—especially if her husband could show up at any minute.
Wait, win her back? Who said anything about that?
As desperate as I am to be near her, to soak up the rays of warmth that radiate from her like the sun, I don’t want to destroy the life she’s made for herself and her little boy.
And barging back into her life, claiming her as my own when that’s clearly not what she wants… not even I am quite that selfish. At least, that’s what I want to believe.
Still, it’s pure agony to know what I have to do.
I can feel the smile slipping from my lips, and I force it back into position as I do my best to play it cool. “Well, Jane. It was a pleasure to meet you,” I say, taking a step back to excuse myself from the conversation just as she parts her lips to speak again. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
Pressing two fingers to my temple, I give her a casual salute and turn, forcing my feet to take one step and then another toward the street.
It feels as though I’ve reached into my chest, ripped my heart from my ribcage, and staked it on her white picket fence.
Walking away is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
And only the flicker of disappointment that crossed her face as I turned can soothe the bone-deep pain in my soul.