Chapter 2 #3
He sighs. "Well, if you're sure." His voice drops to a murmur meant only for her, but he's obviously got hearing loss and doesn’t realize how loud he is. "I just want you to be sure. He seems a bit…rough around the edges."
I turn my face away and suppress a laugh. He's not wrong.
He pats her shoulder again. "It was good to see you, Cadie. I'm sorry to have let you down."
She just nods, pauses. "I understand your position, Mr. Crenshaw. Give it no more thought. I shall find a path forward."
"I know you will, dear. When you set your mind to something, nothing can stop you. And if it's meant to be, God will provide."
"So He will. Goodnight, Mr. Crenshaw."
"Goodnight, Cadie." He pats the lip of the open window, turns away, nodding at me as he passes. "Young man."
"Sir." I nod back and wait until he's inside before hopping behind the wheel.
Cadence is rifling through her bag, taking inventory, muttering to herself. "Laptop, check; phone, check; composition book and pens, check; my book, check; wallet, check…"
I wait until she seems finished with her inventory. "Got everything?"
She nods once. "Yes, everything is present. Not that Mr. or Mrs. Crenshaw would take any of belongings, mind you."
"Of course not." I put the truck in reverse, back out, and head for the highway and home.
For a good fifteen minutes, Cadence alternates between hugging the bag to her chest and flipping obsessively through the items inside.
Eventually, she seems to sort of…tune back in to the world around her, and me. "Riley?"
I glance at her. “’Sup?"
She frowns. "Sup? We just ate."
I laugh. "Just ate? No, I—I meant 'sup', like what's up?"
She blinks a few times. "Oh. I see." A long pause, and then she turns her attention to me once more. "Thank you. You cannot know what this bag means to me. I am honestly flabbergasted that I left it there in the first place. I was immensely distraught, however."
"It's a cool bag, that's for sure. It's vintage?"
"Yes, it is. My great-grandfather fought for Britain in the Great War.
He kept this as a souvenir. It is a French military issue field knapsack, model M-1893, originally manufactured in 1914.
Light green canvas body, brown leather straps, black buckles, and a wood frame.
The design itself dates back to the Napoleonic Wars.
" A brief pause. "My grandfather bequeathed it to me as a graduation gift from Harvard. It has traveled with me throughout Africa on my previous missions.”
"Well damn,” I say, genuinely impressed. "That's cool as fuck, babe. No wonder you were crashing out about it."
She blinks at me. "Translate, please."
"Uhhh…" I give an awkward laugh. "I just…I mean, it's a really cool bag, and I can understand why something with so much sentimental value would be so important, why you'd have a panic attack about forgetting it, especially after the day you've had."
She nods, once. "Indeed. Like your grandmother's quilt, this is the one item I would attempt to save, in your hypothetical fire situation."
She fiddles with the straps and then turns her gaze out the window once more. I drive in silence for a while.
After a few minutes, she opens the bag yet again, rummaging; this time, she withdraws a headlamp and a battered paperback novel—Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. She puts the headlamp on, clicks the light on to the lowest setting, adjusts the angle, and then begins reading.
This chick, man. Fascinating. Unpredictable. Weird. I've never met anyone like her, and I doubt I ever will.
We pull back into the garage at just past three in the morning. Cadence, absorbed in her book, doesn't realize we've arrived and that I've shut off the engine.
"Cadence?"
She startles a little, shaking her head as if surfacing from the depths of a pool. "Oh. we have returned."
"Yeah, sure have." I hop out, round the tailgate, and open her door. "Step on down, there you go." I hold her hand as she slides to the ground.
She stands in front of me, looking up at me, searching my face without ever meeting my gaze directly. "You are a kind man, Riley Crowe."
I grin. "Hey, now. Keep it down. I've got a reputation to protect.
" She gives me that look which I'm starting to recognize: she has no clue what I mean.
"Just joking, babe. A lot of what I say is jokes.
I just mean." I shake my head. "You know what?
Never mind. It's stupid and not important. Let's go in, yeah?"
Inside, Cadence pauses in the hallway, looking at the couch and then the doorway to my room. "Are you quite certain you will not allow me to rest on the couch? After all the kind and generous things you have done for me this day, it seems ungrateful to put you out of your bed as well."
I cup her cheek; she tenses, eyes flying open wide, and she swallows hard.
I drop my hand, seeing that reaction. "Yeah, babe, I'm sure.
I paid a fuck-ton of money for that couch.
I've got a tendency to crash on the couch when I'm too tired to make it to my room, so I wanted to make sure my couch is comfy enough to sleep on. "
Her fingers touch her cheek where my hand was, absently, in a way that makes me think she's not aware of it. "A most logical decision."
I grin at her, amused at her formal turn of phrase. “So, you got any jammies that bag?"
"Jammies?" She frowns, perplexed, as if having never heard the term.
"Yeah, you know…pajamas? PJs? Something to sleep in aside from the dress."
She looks down at herself, at the bag in her arms—carried like a baby or an armload of books rather than by the straps—and then at me. "No, I do not. I do not wear…jammies."
"Oh, okay. What do you sleep in, then?"
She blushes, cheeks flaming damn near scarlet. "Well, if you must know, I sleep in the nude. It is scientifically proven to improve sleep quality, digestion, circulation, speeds the metabolism, enhances fertility in males, and improves vaginal health in women."
"No shit?" I say, trying like hell not to think about this chick naked in my bed.
She shakes her head. "No. No…crap. I can provide study abstracts and meta-analyses, if you like."
"Oh no, I believe you." I'm frantically trying to prevent my idiot, caveman, horndog brain from going anywhere inappropriate.
"Uh, yeah, well…okay. You do you, boo." I point at the room.
"I'm just gonna grab some shorts to sleep in.
" I grab what I need and pause in the hallway. "So, um, you need anything?"
She shakes her head, standing in the middle of my room, clutching her bag. "I do not believe so."
"Cool." God, why is this awkward? "I'm gonna go grab some sleep. You need anything, I'll be on the couch."
"Sleep well, Riley. Thank you again for everything you have done for me tonight. I shall not soon forget your kindness."
I can't help grinning—the way she talks is just so damn cool. Weird, maybe, but cool. She just doesn't give a fuck, and I like that.
I like it a lot.
Too much, maybe.
I leave her there and head for the living room. I hear the door shut and lock, and the creak of the floorboards as she moves around. Seconds later, the light shuts off, the crack beneath the door going dark.
I grab a fleece throw and a pillow from the hall closet, make myself comfortable on the couch…
And completely fail to fall asleep.
There's a beautiful naked woman in my bed.
Fuck.
Keeping my thoughts from going anywhere inappropriate is a constant effort that eventually sends me to sleep.