Chapter 15
Andi
I am torn like a piece of paper. Part of me wants to forego friendship, take him by the shirt and drag his fine ass straight to his bedroom—I know the way, thanks—but the Gram-voice part of me is shouting, “No, don’t be stupid! Go home now!”
He fits right in with my friends. They’re a protective bunch in general, and since I’ve never brought a man with me anywhere, I knew they’d look him over good.
They all seem to like him. While the guys were bonding over raw meat at the grill in that weird way guys do, Rose said, “Well, he’s a fine big hunk of man, isn’t he? Almost as pretty as Angus.” And later, after the volleyball game, July said in my ear, “He’s fun. Good sport.”
And god help me, I really do like him too. Despite all of Gran’s training and ghostly hollering, I haven’t stopped wanting him.
I turn off the ignition and follow him up to his apartment. Brush past him when he holds the door open for me. And try not to be awkward about the very different circumstances under which I was last here.
“Thirsty?” He shuts the door behind us, tosses his keys on the counter—déjà vu—and walks around me into the kitchen, flicking on lights as he goes.
I kind of am, actually. “Would you happen to have any juice?”
He opens the fridge and holds up a carton of cran-apple. “This okay?”
“Perfect.”
He gets out two glasses and pours me juice and himself milk. “I can’t believe those friends of yours ate all the brownies. Buzzards.”
I manage not to blow cran-apple out my nose but it’s a near miss. “You ate four of them yourself, if I’m not mistaken.”
He flashes that dimple at me. “I didn’t think anybody saw me steal that last one.” He rubs his flat belly. “Sure would like one now with my milk. They were excellent.”
I follow him to the living room where we settle on the couch. He scoops up the remote, turns on the TV, then fiddles with his phone. In a minute, the TV screen becomes a fireplace, complete with quietly crackling logs.
“Nice.” I reach out and nudge him with my non-juice hand. “Festive.”
He shoves me back, gently, his fingertips brushing over my arm, raising goose bumps. “Use your imagination, Salazar. Pretend it’s a campfire. That’s where all the best conversations happen.” He polishes off his milk and sets the glass on the end table. Grabs hold of the big, square ottoman upholstered to match the couch and positions it so we can both use it.
I kick off my sandals and cross my feet beside his. “Okay, then. What kinds of conversations does one have around a campfire?”
He snorts. “Deep stuff. Big questions. Like…which Star Wars movie was worst? Have we had visitors from outer space? And how’d Dolly Parton turn out so dang cool?”
I nod, staring into the flames. “Ahh. I see.” I finish my juice, which was really good, and set my glass on my end table. This couch is comfy and that video fire is mesmerizing. For all the sleep I got, I shouldn’t be in danger of nodding off again, but…
I focus on staying awake. “So how did a Nebraska boy end up in Galway, North Carolina?”
He slouches down beside me and drops his head to the back of the couch. “Biggest spontaneous thing I ever did. I mean, I’ve thought of impulsive stuff before but never—” He turns his face to me. “But this is a nice town. I like the people here.”
His big brown eyes are serious. He’s sincere. Not flirting.
I don’t know what to do with whatever bullshit is going on in my chest, thanks to his words. “What do you think was behind the impulse?”
He turns his head back to the fire and folds his hands on his belly. Sighs. “I had a bad breakup at the beginning of the year.”
Hello.
“Bad how? Are you still hurting?”
His brow crinkles. “Fiancée dumped me. I…guess I’m still hurting? My pride, anyway. I finished out the teaching year but it was…really hard. Everything and everybody around me reminded me of smashed plans.” He shakes his head and meets my eyes again. “I felt like I had to get away or I’d lose it. Like I needed a new start somewhere fresh to be able to move on.”
I study his face, trying to gauge his feelings. “Do you miss your family and friends a lot?”
“Yes…and no. Mostly yes.” He taps his thumbs together. “But being here alone has given me more time to think than I’ve ever had before.”
I wish I could take his hand, relax into his side. “What do you think about?”
He snorts softly. “Everything. Every darn thing. What I want in my life. What I don’t. What I like. What I don’t.” He tips his head toward me and laughs. The sound is harsh though, like it hurts him. “My ex said I was too nice. Had no personality of my own—just went along with what other people wanted.”
“Did you?”
His nod is slow. Thoughtful. “Kinda. I’ve always been a people pleaser, I guess. And it wasn’t hard—I wasn’t a rebel or anything. I wanted the people around me to be happy, and I really didn’t care all that much about what we ate or watched or played or whatever when we hung out. I just wanted to be with them. But I can see where that leaves all the decisions to others. I guess that’s not fair.”
I can’t see his expression. I think there’s sadness in his voice. Maybe resignation? But also a little defiance.
“Do you miss her a lot?”
Long pause as the fake fire crackles merrily just beyond our toes.
“I miss…having somebody. Having a plan. Having a…known future.” Another pause. “She was smart. Fun. Pretty.” He sighs. “But not always kind, I guess. Not very patient. I don’t miss that.”
I can picture it. I know people like that. Kevin deserves better. “You spent a lot of time trying to please her, huh?”
He’s silent for a half beat. “Yeah. Guess I wasn’t very good at it.”
This time I can’t miss the defeat in his voice.
If I had a big lively family I loved—and let’s face it, his family would be fun and lively—I’d have to have been one wounded puppy to be upset enough to pull up my roots and move halfway across the country from them.
I nudge him with my elbow. “Kevin. That doesn’t mean you failed. It sounds like you two weren’t a great match.”
We watch the fire in silence for a few minutes. Then he draws in a deep breath and blows it out. “Thanks, Andi. Enough about me.” There go those thumbs, tapping again. “Tell me how you ended up doing the work you do.”
Well. Not going to dump the whole terrible story on him, but I can give him part of it. “I wanted to do work that would help somebody. And I think I mentioned that women in my family have not always picked good guys, right? So I…knew something about families in crisis.” I shrug. “It just made sense to follow this path.”
He nods, twisting enough to see my face. “Do you love your work?”
I think that over. “I…never really considered doing anything else. It’s challenging. It’s important. I seem to have a knack for it. I get satisfaction from doing the job well. As well as it can be done, anyway.”
He’s quiet, maybe waiting for me to go on, and when I don’t, he says, “Is there a ‘but’ in there?”
And then I’m telling him something I’ve never said out loud before. “But sometimes it’s exhausting. Every now and then it feels hopeless. And if by some miracle people stop committing domestic violence and rape forever, I would fucking celebrate being out of a job.”
He doesn’t pry. Doesn’t offer advice. Maybe that’s why I sensed I could tell him in the first place. He just turns his face back to the fire and says, “I can understand that.”
We change to lighter topics then. Music. We agree on Jason Isbell being great, but not on which song is his best. He’s never heard of Amethyst Kiah, so I pull out my phone and play him a couple of her songs. He has me send him the link to one so he can listen again later. We watch the fire and listen to music and talk about everything and nothing.
***
I wake up to find us still on the couch, propped up against each other, Kevin breathing slow and deep beside me. It’s got to be the middle of the night. I’m stiff and sleepy and uncomfortable. I don’t want to leave him and I don’t want to wake him up, but I need my bed.
“Hey, sleeping beauty.” I keep my voice low. Rub his arm. “I’m going to leave. Lock the door behind me?”
“Hmm?” He’s upright, trying to look alert but obviously befuddled to find me beside him in his living room. “Ohhh. Andi.” That sweet smile of his starts across his face but stops when I stand up and gather our glasses and shuffle toward the kitchen.
He follows me. Watches as I turn on the faucet to rinse the glasses. Reaches out to touch my shoulder.
“Don’t go. It’s three in the morning and you’re too tired to drive.” He turns off the water, upends the glasses in the sink, and tugs me to the kitchen doorway. “Stay here. You can have the bedroom. I’ll take the couch.”
I yawn. “Kevin, I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed. I’ll stay but I’ll take the couch.”
“If I let you do that, every member of my family will sense my ungentlemanliness and we’ll hear them yelling all the way from Nebraska.” He slumps against the doorframe.
“See, thaaat’s why I need to go home.” I look around for my purse, drooping myself.
He heaves a deep sigh. “C’mon. We’ll sleep better in the bedroom. The bed’s big enough for us to build an impenetrable pillow wall down the middle to guard my virtue.”
I’m not too tired to snort. “Impenetrable, huh? To guard your virtue?”
“I said what I said. Don’t try to have your way with me. I need my rest.”
Eyes half-closed, he leads me by the hand to the bedroom and pulls down the covers to his bed. He gestures me in but then his eyes sweep me, taking in my cover-up and swimsuit. “Wait.” He goes to his dresser and pulls out a T-shirt and boxers. “Here, these’ll be more comfortable. You can have the bathroom first. There’s a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.”
I can’t believe I don’t even protest. But between that bed that I remember as very comfy and the charm of this big sleepy man, I can’t resist. I take the clothes, go into the bathroom, unwrap the toothbrush, and get ready for bed.
He arranges the pillows before he takes his turn in the bathroom. I’m just awake enough to register it when he turns out the light and climbs in beside me. “Remember,” he mumbles, “keep your hands to yourself.”
I remember smiling and sinking back into clean sheets and then…nothing until hours later when the morning sun finds a crack in his curtains. I’m in his arms on his side of the bed, warm and relaxed and peaceful, impenetrable pillow wall demolished.
“Good morning, intruder.” His rough morning voice has a smile in it. “What would you like for breakfast?”
He’s keeping the lower part of his body angled away from me. I figure there’s a reason for that. I breathe in and out slowly and then turn to face him, just the real me in his bed, without the protection of makeup or distracting tattoos.
“Hi.” His eyes crinkle at me as he looks me over. “You sleep okay?”
“Yeah. You?” I’m not sure what to do with my hands. I fold them under my cheek.
“Great. I slept great.”
He’s filling my senses with his warmth, his scent, and the sight of morning sunlight glinting off the blond scruff on his jaw. Yesterday I got to watch him leap and stretch and twist in the pool during the volleyball game wearing just swim trunks, and he is purely delicious. That same deliciousness is here with me now, his face a few inches from mine.
And I can’t do a damn thing about it.
Clearly I’ve died. I’m just not sure whether I’ve ended up in heaven or hell.