Chapter 22 #2
Time gets away from me, unloading our stuff.
I'm not content to just bring in the suitcases and duffel bags, though.
I'm pathologically compelled to unpack. The house is fully furnished, which means the only thing to do to make it home is put our stuff away, so that's what I do.
I want Cole to come in and feel at home, temporarily, at least.
I unpack my stuff, his stuff, the kitchen stuff, the bathroom stuff. Pop into town for groceries and fresh flowers for the island.
My phone rings—it's Cole. "Hey, you," I say.
“Hey, yourself. What happened to lunch?"
I pull the phone away from my ear—1:27. "Oh my god! It's one-thirty?!”
He laughs. “Yeah, babe. What's got you so busy you lost track of time?
"Uh, well? I'm getting things set up at the new place."
"I thought we'd do that after I was done," he said. "You didn't need to do it all alone."
"You're working, and I can’t exactly help with that. This I can do. But I'm done for now, so I'll grab some food and be right over. I'm sorry, Cole; I hope you're not starving."
“Hey, no worries. I'm at a police station—there's always something to eat. I just miss you." He sighs. "Do you think that'll ever pass? Or am I just going to spend the rest of every second I’m away from you wishing I wasn't?"
"I hope it never passes, Cole."
His tone is melty. "It never will. You're everything."
"I was just thinking earlier…You know I’ve only been back up here a week?"
I hear the shock in his voice. "No shit. A week? That's it? Feels like so much has happened. Like I've fallen in love all over again, but…I dunno how to put it."
"I know what you're saying, actually." I sniffle. "Like new love and old love at the same time. Being with you is like…it's like coming home, but it's also new."
"Exactly." A pause filled with distant, muffled voices. "Ah, shit, I gotta go. Duty calls. See you soon?"
"Yes, you will. Love you."
"Love you too."
I stare at the phone for a few moments after the call is over, staring at the screen, lost in wonder that in the space of seven days, Cole Mannix and I are exchanging love-yous, when eight days ago, I still thought he hated me.
I mean, my god, the black eye Eddie gave me is still healing.
It feels surprisingly normal to breeze into the station with a brown paper sack full of sandwiches from The Alt—the girls put together a sampler of their sandwiches. I have another sack full of a variety of snack-sized bags of chips, and a third full of cold cans of soda.
Cole emerges from a hallway looking serious, scanning the contents of a small notepad. He sees me with my arms full of paper bags and trots over to me, taking two of them.
“You know," he says. "You don't have to feed the entire station every time you bring me food."
I shrug. "Maybe not, but I'm gonna."
“Your fortune to spend," he says, leaning in to kiss me. He pauses, close but not touching, after the kiss. "You good with this? Public affection?"
I cup his chin and kiss him again, harder, longer, deeper. "Does that answer your question?"
“Yes, yes it does," he says. "Come’n get it!" he calls.
One deputy, in his mid-thirties, is nearly as big as Bear. He's actually taller, I think, with white blond hair; his name tag reads B. Sanders. The enormous deputy paws through the bag of sandwiches and takes a turkey-apple-and-brie, then turns to face me. "You're an angel, Mrs. Grey."
I smile at him, shrug, not correcting the name issue. "You guys work hard taking care of the community. A sandwich is the least I can do." I tap his nametag. "Is your first name Barry?"
He glances down, shakes his head. "Nope. Brian." I see him get it, then. "Oh. That's funny. no. There's only one Barry Sanders, ma'am."
"Oooh, shit. Eye candy and sandwiches," I hear someone say. "Score!"
Before anyone can respond, Brian has turned his bulk to face the speaker. "Collins, you better belay that shit, son. If the Sheriff doesn’t kick your ass for disrespecting Mrs. Grey like that, I will."
I touch his broad, hard shoulder. "Brian, it's fine. I take it as a compliment."
"No, ma'am. You don't know Collins." He glares at the much smaller man, who's frozen with a ham-and-cheese half-chewed. "You disrespect the Station Angel again and I'll toss your ass to fuckin' Wisconsin."
I can't stop a splutter of laughter. "Station Angel?"
He turns on me. "Transferred here from St. Ste. Marie. Sheriff's wife was like you. Sweet, wonderful lady. She brought in donuts and sandwiches and good-ass coffee and all sorts of shit, just to take care of us deputies. We all called her the Station Angel."
Cole returns from the breakroom, then with a stack of napkins and a rectangular, black-bag-lined trash can. He looks from Brian to Collins to me, and his eyes narrow. "Collins, did you talk some stupid shit again?"
Collins, who is barely 5'9" and sports a huge black handlebar mustache, is red-faced. "No sir."
I touch Brian's arm to keep him quiet. "It's handled, Cole. Nothing to worry about. No harm done."
Cole faces Collins. "Your mouth has gotten you in trouble twice now.
Third time's the end of the road for you, bud.
So I'll take Ms. Grey's word that this is a non-issue.
But one more off-color joke and your ass is fired.
And if I find out that you said something disrespectful to her?
" He gestures at me. "The star comes off, and we have a different problem. Feel me, Collins?"
Collins nods his head slowly. “Yes sir." To me, then. "Sorry, ma'am. I swear I meant it as a compliment."
Cole frowns at me. "Well, hell, what'd he say?"
I roll my eyes. "He said I was eye candy. My own ex-husband said far worse, far more casually. I wasn't offended in the first place."
Cole pushes toward Collins, but I push back. "Nope. No sir. We are eating lunch. It's fine, it's done, all is well. Brian, you're a sweetheart. Thank you for standing up for me, even if it was unnecessary."
Brian just nods, chewing, and gives Collins another sidelong glare. Collins, for his part, takes a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a can of Dr. Pepper to his desk and goes back to typing up a report, his shoulders around his ears.
When we're sitting in his office, he behind his desk and me on his lap, both of us devouring food, Cole pauses between bites to address me.
"Collins is a crude loudmouth who was never taught to think before he speaks, but he never means anything by it.
He's just an idiot. He's our resident tech expert, though, and we'd be pecking away at the old computers from the nineties if it wasn't for him setting all this up for us.
" He sweeps a hand at the station, and the dozens of newer computers.
I pat his shoulder with the hand I've got slung around his back.
"I said I wasn't offended and I meant it.
After the way Eddie talked to me, it takes something serious to even get my attention.
There are far worse things to be called than eye candy.
Don't worry about it and don't get on him about it again. Please. For me."
“You want them to like you,” he says, then sips a Diet Coke.
"Well, yeah." I sigh, wiping my hands on a napkin. "Yeah, I do. If I'm going to be a part of your life, then they're going to be a part of mine, and I'm going to be a part of theirs."
"You don't have to bribe them with food, honey. It's impossible not to like you."
"It's a hell of a lot faster to just bribe them, though." I laugh, pat his shoulder again. "It's not just bribery. I know a lot of them. They're good people. They risk their lives for the town. They work hard. I want to show my appreciation…and bribe them."
As much as I'd like to spend the day in Cole's office shooting the shit, he has to work. So make my exit—no hanky-panky, unfortunately—and head back to 109 Huron Street, where I'll be living, with Cole, for a few weeks.
I'm giddy with happiness.
Until I approach the corner of Huron and Maplelawn and see an all-too-familiar car parked on the street in front of the house.
A lime green Lamborghini Urus. Yes, my ex-husband is that guy.
My heart leaps into my throat, pounding a mile a minute. Why is he here? How is he here?
I stop in the intersection, trying and failing to swallow, to breathe. I'm not ready to face him. I was hoping to never see him again, to be totally honest.
I touch my cheek; it's no longer tender, and it only takes a little concealer to hide the faint greenish tinge.
No.
I am not afraid.
I was never afraid of him.
Of his words, yes.
Of him? No.
But fuck me, I do not want to do this.
I see him in the car, behind the wheel, his head bent to his phone. I see him look up, and our eyes meet.
Dammit. No pretending now.
I keep my foot on the brake. Grab my phone and text Cole: My ex showed up. I have no idea how he knows where I am. There is no danger; he's really not like that, but I don't want to deal with him alone.
Cole: I’ll be there in three minutes.
I can handle three minutes alone with my ex.
And he really isn't like that, usually, recent black eye notwithstanding. I'm truly not physically afraid of him.
I pull into the driveway, shut off the car, and take a deep breath before getting out.
Eddie is oozing up the driveway toward me.
He's dressed in his weekend clothes—chinos and a cashmere sweater.
He's tall and lean, with silvering black hair he wears swept straight back from his face.
He's handsome, alright—sharp, even features, big blue eyes that contrast with his olive skin tone—a gift from his Italian heritage, while the blue eyes are a freak recessive thing from his mother's side, he says.
I stand with my hand on the front door handle, key in the other, as if I'm impatient to get inside. Which I am. Just…away from him. "What the fuck are you doing here, Edward?"
"Language, Lacey."
"Fuck you, Edward."
He rears his head back, shocked. "Whoa, where's this coming from? And why are you calling me Edward, all of a sudden?"