Chapter 12
Sloane
That kiss changed everything.
And it took everything I had, not to kiss him right back. God, I wanted to. And knowing that he feels something too is making it doubly hard. But I can’t do this. It’s not fair on Liam. It’s not fair on me or Cruz either. So, I had to stop it in its tracks.
Somehow, we made it through three long days.
The longest of my freaking life. Cruz and I avoid each other as much as possible.
Once I have the café open again, my attention is fixed on my customers, on cleaning, baking, ordering, and the usual day to day.
Still. I have to admit that my mind isn’t on it the way that it usually is.
Cruz is a hard man to ignore. We might skirt around each other, but he’s still here. In my space. In my head.
He’s in my head right now. I’m staring up at the ceiling instead of sleeping.
Like usual, I’m hyper-aware of Cruz’s presence in the living room.
He’s either sitting on the couch with his phone on his knee, or he’s at the kitchen table in the hard wooden chair, staring the door down like it’s going to blink first if he just does it long enough.
At this time of night, the downtown area is just about deserted. The usual glow of streetlights and residual business signs kept on all night long, flood through the blinds, but there’s rarely a sweep of car lights to illuminate the whole room.
It’s not like I’m going to do anything about that kiss, but if I could… if Cruz was just some regular guy who didn’t know Liam and we weren’t all embroiled in the middle of crazy, deadly shit, what would I do?
While I clean and bake and serve customers, I think about the fact that it’s okay to change your mind. It’s okay to grow. It’s even fine to prove yourself wrong. I didn’t think I wanted anything more in my life. I thought I was doing just fine.
And then.
And then, Cruz kissed me.
I’m going to keep asking myself that same question. If I was free to do it, would I try something new? Would I start something? Just because he kissed me doesn’t mean that he wants any of that. Commitment or dating. Then again, he made it seem like he might.
There’s no use speculating about it.
I don’t think it was a mistake, but it happened and we’re moving on from it.
Nothing’s going to come of it. Okay, I’m kidding myself.
I haven’t moved on from it at all. It’s only been a few days, but it could be a few weeks, or a few years, and I know that I’m not going to stop thinking about it.
My lips are practically still burning and other parts of me have come alive that haven’t seen the metaphorical sun for a very long damn time.
It’s hard to let it flow and let it go when the man I can’t stop thinking about is still in my home.
When he’s in my space all day long. When he eats dinner at my table, and drives with me to take Liam to work in the mornings.
Liam gets a ride home in the evening, so that Cruz doesn’t have to leave here.
Cruz is entirely ingrained in my life.
My body won’t let me forget it. I’m overheated and constantly tingling all over. My stomach won’t stop flipping. I keep telling myself that it’ll stop eventually, but I’m not sure when eventually is.
If I’m going to keep fantasizing about something that lasted less than thirty seconds and was about one pepper wild on the spice scale, then I need to either change my policy about reading romance and get some new mental material at night, or I should invest in a new toy. New techniques?
What I need is a glass of water. My throat is so parched that I can barely swallow.
That’ll mean walking past Cruz, but like he’s done for the past few days, he’ll likely only give me a token nod and say nothing.
We’re both trying to exist in each other’s space.
I’m in his too. He might be quiet, but on the inside, I know there’s plenty going on.
I get out of bed. I’m not into having hot flashes yet and the temperature isn’t wonky in here, but I’m sweaty and gross.
I debate having a cool shower to lower my freaking libido a notch, but I doubt it would help.
I find a fresh pair of pajama bottoms in my dresser instead, and throw on a t-shirt of Liam’s that he outgrew years ago, so it was relegated to my pajama stash.
I creep down the hall silently, but I have no doubt that Cruz, with his superhuman powers of observation, will hear me coming.
He’s on the couch, with his phone on his knee, just like I pictured.
I tiptoe to the kitchen, grab a glass, and run the tap. Cruz doesn’t move. He doesn’t react. I know he’s awake, I know that he sees me. It should weird me out, having him sit there so silently, but instead, all I feel is safe.
And that same maddening, low grade burn.
I turn my head as discreetly as possible and study Cruz’s shoulders. My heart squeezes. I don’t know why except that my turmoil feels like his, and his feels like mine. We’re sharing experiences and emotions. We’ve shared things that we haven’t told other people.
He’s not a stranger, even if we did basically just meet.
I know that he’s dyslexic. I know that he didn’t get the proper love from his parents that any child should.
He stood up for kids getting bullied and tried to do the honorable thing for his country when he grew up.
He got a degree just to prove that he’s super smart to everyone who thought otherwise.
He said more words to me in the café a few days ago than he likely has to anyone else in half a lifetime.
So, yeah. He’s so much more than a near stranger.
I can’t deny that we’re connected. I might not like it. I might not be prepared for it or know how to deal with it. But side-eying Cruz, I can see the tension in his body. He hasn’t moved since I came down the hallway, but from this angle, I can tell that his shoulders are hunched forward a little.
He kissed me, but he didn’t take me into his arms.
What about him? How long has it been since he had a proper hug? When was the last time I hugged someone who wasn’t Liam?
I wish I could derail my train of thoughts, but there’s zero chance. If I don’t go over and talk to Cruz, all I’m going to do is spend the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling. For my own sanity, I have to go talk to him.
I grasp the glass of water way too tight as I walk into the living room. I drop down on the opposite side of the couch. My heart beats so hard that I can hear it revving in my ears. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” he responds, but it’s automatic. It sounds a little bit forced. “Are you?”
I could say yes and leave it at that. Go back to my room and shut myself down.
I could, but that’s not me. It’s never been me.
If I can’t play myself false, then I’m definitely not going to fool Cruz.
I might as well be honest. That’s what I came over here to do.
To give us both some semblance of peace.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been more confused. I’m caught between seeing you as this lost, mostly unloved kid and I just want to give you a hug because it makes me feel all motherly, and then the other half of me is locked in the thirst trap of the present and everything that’s wrapped up in that.”
He huffs, but it’s not an unkind sound. “I shouldn’t have told you any of that. I’ve been stewing in my regret ever since.”
Ever since all of it, I think he means.
Would he have regretted the kiss if I hadn’t shut him down?
Does he regret it, or does he feel bad about making me uncomfortable, or for wrecking the sort of harmony that had sprung up between us?
I’m not a big believer in living life dishonestly.
I can’t say that we can move on and just pretend like it never happened, but what’s it going to help having all this weird tension between us?
“Would it be worse acknowledging it and not doing anything about it, or… or not?” I whisper.
Then, to fill the tense silence, I take a sip of water and continue.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.
This for sure wasn’t on my life bingo card, but…
but none of it was. It’s not… as bad as I thought it would be. ”
“That’s high praise.”
A sigh of relief escapes me. If he can be sarcastic, then maybe he’s not hurting too badly.
“It really is. You said that when you left the SEALs, you were just going to ride until you found the right place to end up.” He huffs in acknowledgement.
“Maybe I was waiting too. To find the right person. The right time. Maybe I needed to gather up enough experience to recognize when it was right in front of me.”
“You’re not like other people.” He says that like it’s a secret that he needs to keep hidden, not the most obvious thing ever.
Despite all of this, it makes me smile. “Maybe the world would have far fewer problems if people tried to communicate with each other or were at least honest with themselves. If we all walk around so afraid of getting hurt, where does that leave us?”
“I don’t know.”
I swivel on the couch so that I’m facing Cruz. I tuck my leg under me and clutch tight to the glass of water like a lifeline. “You’re so steady and dependable. I know that you’d drop this if I asked you to, but what if I don’t want to?”
His face. My god, it’s always beautiful in its own rugged way, but seeing the light come on behind his eyes and illuminate the gray depths, hope blooming like the sun in the morning sky…
it’s heart stopping. I suck in one breath and then another, but my lungs are still on fire.
The tension in the room is so thick that I can’t breathe it in like regular oxygen.
“I don’t know that either,” Cruz says carefully, but his eyes never lose their spark.
“Do you want to try? We could be honest with Liam.” I pause and unfurl my fingers from the glass before I shatter it in my death grip.
I’m scared of getting hurt, like everyone’s scared.
I’m afraid of the unknown. I’m afraid of having something incredible and then losing it.
But is being scared any reason to keep from living?
Is it a good reason to hide yourself away and lock yourself up?
I’ve never thought so, but then, I’ve never stood on a precipice like this.
Now that I’m looking down at the great big fall, taking a leap is a lot harder than I ever imagined it could be.
“What would we say? If Liam found out that I kissed you and wanted to do more, he’d call me a horny motherfucker—and that would literally be true. He’d have every right to punch me in the face or kick me in the family jewels. And he’d be justified in doing it.”
“The family jewels?” I say, amused at his turn of phrase. I would have thought he’d say nuts or balls.
His lips twitch and then he bursts into a grin so full that a dimple appears on the left side of his face. It’s so dazzling that all I can do is blink and try not to get swept away.
“He wouldn’t punch you,” I say when I’ve got myself under control. “I was thinking that we should do a few dinners or at least a few dates, before we say anything. He’s got enough to worry about right now. I don’t want him to be distracted.”
“I’ll do whatever you want.”
“That’s quite a potent thing to say to someone. What if what I want is the toilets scrubbed until they’re gleaming, upstairs and downstairs?”
“I don’t mind scrubbing toilets.”
Isn’t that the truth? I’d rather scrub toilets than try and figure this out. Cleaning is methodical and rewarding. It’s not complicated.
“You’re very calm.” I don’t know what else I expected from a man who has proved that he’s nothing if not steadfast.
“So are you.”
“I don’t know about that. I might be freaking out on the inside a little bit. I think that maybe we can both be calm and stay calm if we won’t stress each other out. We’ll just… see.”
“You’re incredible.”
My eyes crash down to the floor while my face heats up brutally and the rest of me feels like I’ve just thrown myself off that ledge, but instead of falling, I’m soaring.
“Stop. Seriously. I’m not like other people.
I don’t want the white picket fence and the two point five kids.
I don’t need bouquets of flowers and chocolates.
I’m old, Cruz. I don’t think you realize how old.
Maybe not physically, but mentally, I’m like a ninety-year-old woman. ”
“Oh. Good. Apparently, older women like to read naughty smut books and flirt with younger men.”
My head snaps up and I have to press my lips together to hold in my laughter. “That wasn’t what I meant. We’ll see. That’s it.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious,” I sigh.
“Me too. It’s seriously okay.”
I roll my eyes. I want to punch him lightly on the shoulder the way guy friends do, but I’m scared that if I touch him, I won’t want to stop. It’s probably safer to wait. To see. To be cautious and take things slow. To not have more distractions at a time when being unfocused could cost so much.
I stand and offer a tight nod, but I can’t keep a goofy grin from my face. I’m smiling so wide that if I kept going, it would hurt. “Goodnight.” We’ve talked quietly, using hushed tones so we don’t wake up Liam, but that word comes out extra hushed. A little bit sensual and a whole lot weighted.
Cruz doesn’t say anything more, but his eyes follow me all the way down the hall. I know that for him, silence is more than just staying quiet, and that feels monumental.