Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
“No! He’s brilliant, just like his dad was. The mountainscapes he creates…it’s ridiculous. Then you have me, who can barely paint a sun—the simplest thing ever, and I still managed to screw it up.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“Ha! I’ll show you,” she says and opens her closet.
That’s when I notice the orange dress hanging on the rod, bringing back memories of her letter.
She still has it, after all. Up on top is an old Converse box, and I’m curious what’s inside.
Gemma pulls a canvas from the back and hands it to me, stealing my focus.
It takes everything I have not to lose my shit at the blob of paint. I tuck my lips into my mouth, but it’s impossible to hold back a smile.
“See!” she exclaims and points at me.
“What is it?” I ask, tilting it.
“It’s supposed to be a nest on a tree branch. Inside are baby birds and different colored eggs.”
“Ooh, sure, I see that.” I nod, but she sees through my lie and playfully smacks me.
“Hey! Picasso’s art was strange and is still extremely popular.” I throw her a wink.
She rolls her eyes, and I hand her the painting, which she shoves to the back of her closet.
“What’s in that box?” I ask, curious.
“Um. All your letters.”
“Really? You saved them even after all these years?”
She nods. “Every single one.”
We’re frozen in a heated gaze, and while I’m happy my words meant as much to her as hers meant to me, it somewhat saddens me too because when I moved away, those were all she had left of me.
No telling where we’d be right now if I hadn’t.
I wouldn’t have met Victoria or gone to prison, but then Maddie and Liam wouldn’t be in my life either.
She notices the somber mood and swiftly changes the subject.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, walking toward the doorway.
“I’m starving. I’ll be happy to make something,” I offer as I follow her to the kitchen.
“No, no, no, you’re my guest of honor and have cooked for me several times already. It’s my turn.”
I take a seat at the marble island. “Okay, fine.”
It’s hard not to think about the last time I was here when we both lost control.
Just imagining her soft moans in my ear as she rode her release has my dick getting hard, but I try to think about something else.
We cannot cross the line right now, regardless of whether she’s single and she’s all I think about.
She opens the fridge and glances inside. “Hmm.”
I chuckle. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”
She pulls out cheese slices and butter, then sets them on the counter. “How about a grilled cheese sandwich?” she asks. “It’s been a while, but I think I can make one.”
“I just hope you’re a better cook than Everleigh,” I tease. “Because the look on your face has me worried.”
“My cooking ain’t as bad as my painting skills.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Joke’s on you, though,” she says, grabbing a skillet. “Because you’ll eat it even if it sucks. I know how nice you are.”
She turns on the burner, scoops a spoonful of butter, and slaps it down on the skillet.
I wince because she’s already screwing this up. “Let me help.”
She points the spatula at me. “Not happening. Want a drink while you wait?”
The butter sizzles, and I’m convinced it’s burning. “Sure.”
I might need one to swallow down her food.
She quickly reaches inside the fridge, then hands me a Whiteclaw.
“What in the hell is this?”
“That’s all I have!”
“Well, it’s no beer, but I guess it’ll do.”
I take a sip and nearly spit it out.
“Don’t you dare waste a drop of that.”
She opens a loaf of bread and puts it in the skillet.
“Will you tell me what you did in Vegas when you went?”
“Are you sure you want all the details?”
“Yes. Now that Victoria is here, I wanna know everything.”
I swallow, then blow out a shaky breath before telling her about Eric and what Victoria did to his girlfriend, Amara. It’s impossible for me to leave out the details because Gemma needs to understand how dangerous Victoria really is.
She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. “No way.”
“So, I went to Vegas to testify in a deposition as a character witness for the case against Amara to discuss what I saw and heard when I worked for Victoria. The lawyer who represented me before went too,” I explain.
“Afterwards, I flew with Serena to Sacramento and visited Liam and Maddie until the next day.”
“Do you think it actually did any good?” she asks, but before I can respond, I smell something burning.
When the smoke alarms go off, I quickly open the front door and try to fan some of it out. Gemma opens a window, then throws the burnt bread in the trash.
“Whoopsies. That was only a warmup round,” she claims.
As if she’s well practiced, she grabs the broom, and the beeping finally stops.
I walk around the island, not allowing her to embarrass herself anymore as she grabs the loaf for more bread.
“I’ll help,” I say, and this time, she willingly hands me the spatula. “We’ll do it together.”
“Perfect,” she whispers, noticing how close we are. It’s not lost on me either.
I go back to the previous conversation.
“Long story short, I don’t know if it’ll help Eric.
But I suspected Victoria would retaliate at some point.
I just didn’t think it would be this fast, but I should’ve known better.
That woman is always three steps ahead of her enemy.
She lives for this shit, and probably gets off to it when she’s alone. ”
I groan. Talking about her puts me in a sour mood.
“Gross,” Gemma adds, which causes me to laugh.
I wipe out the skillet, and we get started on round two.
“The secret to making an amazing grilled cheese is buttering the bread, then putting it down. Otherwise, you can’t control how much butter it soaks up.
” Our eyes meet for a brief second as I flip the bread.
“Now, you put the cheese on while this side is still hot, then put the second piece of bread on top.”
Gemma unwraps American and cheddar, then adds them both. A minute later, I flip the sandwich and wait until it’s golden brown. When it’s good and toasty, I slide it on a plate.
“No fair. I was supposed to make dinner for you,” she playfully pouts.
“Cooking is my thing. I don’t mind,” I tell her as we continue our process. “Plus, it’s more like teamwork. I butter, and you add the cheese.” I smirk.
After I cook three more sandwiches, she grabs a bag of chips from the pantry. We fill our plates, then go to the couch.
“What do you wanna watch?” Gemma asks, turning on the TV before handing me the remote.
I flip through the channels and settle on a Bruce Willis movie. It’s nothing but action and explosions, but Gemma enjoys it.
After we’re done eating, she cleans up the kitchen, and I join to help her.
“I’ve got this,” she says, yawning.
She’s exhausted. Too much shit has happened this week for her not to be, and we’ve had a long day.
“You should get some rest.” I grab the dishes she rinses to put in the dishwasher.
“Yeah, but I’ll just lie in bed. I won’t be able to sleep with my mind running.”
“I totally get that.”
Drying off my hands, I think back to the countless nights I’ve stayed awake because she was on my mind.
“Let me take you home,” she offers. “It’s getting late.”
“I can walk.”
“Absolutely not. There’s a murderer in Lawton Ridge who has it out for you. That’s not an option, Tyler.” Gemma grabs her keys before I can argue.
“Fine.” I chuckle, but it’s really not funny. Victoria’s unpredictable. “But I’m driving, just in case.”
She hands over the keys, then grabs a light jacket before we walk out.
On the way home, I think about all that’s changed between us since I first showed up a few months ago. As Gemma sits next to me and hums along to the radio, I know now more than ever that coming home was the right decision.
We chat about nothing, and the conversation flows so easily that I’m pulling into my sister’s driveway in no time at all. After I turn off the engine, we sit together for a second, not wanting the night to end even though we’re both exhausted as hell.
“Tyler,” she whispers. “Thank you again for everything. You’ve surprisingly been my rock through all of this.”
A small smile meets my lips as I study her face and take in how genuine her words are. “I’m just returning the favor for all those letters you wrote me when I needed someone.”
Right now, I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her like there’s no tomorrow—in a way I’ve dreamed about since I saw her again for the first time. By the way she licks her lips, I know she’s thinking it too, but we can’t.
“Good night, Gemma.”
“Night,” she tells me as I reach for the handle, then we both get out so she can hop in the driver’s side. Being with her is so damn electrifying, and it’s so hard to walk away, but somehow I do. I’ll kiss her when the timing is right, when she’s ready, but that’s not now.
As she backs out of the driveway, I send her a text.
Tyler
Drive safe. Let me know when you get home.
Gemma
I will.
When she’s out of sight, I go inside and force myself to take a cold shower. By the time I get out, she sends me another text to say she made it safely back, and I tell her sweet dreams. I have a feeling tonight I’ll be staring at the ceiling for hours thinking about her before I finally drift off.
Gemma’s always had that effect on me.