Chapter Seven #2
Kimberly didn’t owe him anything. Not a talk, not an answer, nothing. After all, he was her hydrangea. He would have hoped that last night did something to change that, but apparently, he was wrong.
It didn’t take her long to consider it and she nodded. “Yeah, I will. Just not now.”
“You got it.”
Shane ached to kiss her, just one more time, but he couldn’t make his feet move.
He had to let her come to him. This was her space, her call.
He only made himself available, open to whatever she wanted.
Talk or no talk. Kiss or no kiss. But, God, he hated not having a lick of control over what was happening right now.
Like waiting for a timid, starving dog to approach its bowl, Shane refrained from eating until they were both at the table. It took a while, but they were finally seated across from one another and eating their strawberry pancakes.
To not take charge, to not take initiative, to not do something about this thing between them, was like sitting on hot coals.
He watched her cut into each bite of the pancake, chew, and swallow so slowly, as if any bit of effort to feed herself was just on the edge of her capabilities.
What could have messed her up this much?
They ate in silence, probably both of them listening to the first stirrings of her neighbors. Someone was taking a shower. Kids started watching cartoons. A couple made breakfasts of sausage and eggs.
When she was only halfway through her pancake and he had polished off his own three, he ran out of patience.
“Did you have any plans today?”
Kimberly looked up as if she had forgotten he was there at all.
At that moment, he wondered if they were totally done, if anything of a relationship could be salvaged.
She had been miles away just then, mentally abandoning him for whatever dark place she had been stuck in since last night and she wouldn’t even let him drag her out.
“Uh … yeah, I think so.”
“You think?”
She blinked. “I have to send a text to make sure they’re open. If they are, I have plans.”
He hated how cryptic and vague that was, but again, she owed him no details. “And if they aren’t?”
She deliberated for a second, staring at her plate. “I think I just wanna spend the day with myself. I’ve got some things to work out.”
Shane’s skin felt like it was turning inside out. “And you don’t want company.”
“Right.”
He bit the inside of his lip, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Is there anything I can say to change your mind about that?”
“No.”
He might as well have been stabbed in the heart, but he had to play it cool. Her choice. Her life. He didn’t have to like it, but that was the truth of it.
He nodded. “All right … I’m just a call away if you need anything.”
“I know.”
Kimberly then stood from her chair, a look of cool determination on her face as she moved around the table to him. She took his face in her hands and planted a hard, assertive kiss on his lips.
His body reacted instantly, and he stiffened enough to make his jeans suddenly uncomfortable.
It didn’t have to be sweet or gentle. A kiss from her was a kiss he wanted.
Knowing the situation, he didn’t grab her and pull her into his lap like he might have if last night hadn’t gone sour but let her control the moment.
She was trying to make a point, and he would let her.
Kimberly pulled away and met his gaze with a fierceness he liked. Damn, this woman could go from ice to fire in three seconds.
“Not about you.” Her words were firm and clipped, driving home what she needed him to understand.
“Not about me.” He confirmed, even if he didn’t fully believe it.
Shane pushed his way up and returned her kiss, taking the time to appreciate the sweetness of the strawberries on her lips. Kimberly didn’t resist him, but he could tell she was holding back.
Take it slow. Give her time. They couldn’t pick back up where they left off last night, but they’d get there. In that kiss, there was some hope.
*
After Shane left her apartment, Kimberly spent every last drop of water on a hot, steaming shower to wash off everything from the night before.
Start fresh. Start clean. She was glad Emily answered her text and agreed to meet her that Saturday afternoon on such short notice.
She had been trimming Kimberly’s hair since she arrived in Tolstone, and each time she asked if Kimberly wanted to do anything fun or stylish.
Each time, she turned her down, but not today.
The salon had only one other patron, an elderly woman clearly in denial that she was going gray. Her stylist had a bowl of hair dye on her stand and slapped on generous amounts along the woman’s roots with a brush.