Chapter Six
Shawn
Three days since that kiss, and I was losing my mind.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw how she'd looked when I'd touched her. How her breath had hitched when I'd called her baby. How she'd melted against me like she'd been waiting her whole life for someone to hold her.
How she'd run the second it got real.
I rolled out of bed and headed for a cold shower, but even the icy spray couldn't wash away the memory of how she'd felt in my arms. Soft. Responsive. Like she was made to fit against me.
Like she was mine.
The possessive thought should have sent me running. I'd spent the last five years avoiding anything that looked like a real relationship, keeping things casual and uncomplicated. Easy to walk away from when the time came.
But Nicole wasn't easy anything. She was complicated and guarded and so beautiful it physically hurt to look at her sometimes. And for some reason, instead of running like I should have been, I was planning ways to get my hands on her again.
Starting with Thanksgiving dinner.
The idea had hit me yesterday when I'd realized she probably had no plans for the holiday. Women like Nicole didn't cook elaborate meals for themselves, and from what I'd observed, she didn't seem to have close family or friends she'd be rushing off to see.
Which meant she'd be alone, probably working, surviving on takeout while the rest of the world celebrated with people they cared about.
Not happening. Not on my watch.
I'd already bought the turkey and all the fixings. Spent most of yesterday prepping vegetables and making pie crust from scratch because I remembered my mom doing it when I was a kid, before everything went to hell with my dad's drinking and her subsequent nervous breakdown.
I was going to cook Nicole a real Thanksgiving dinner. Show her what it felt like to be taken care of. And if I was lucky, pick up where that kiss had left off.
By late afternoon, the turkey was in the oven and my apartment smelled like home. Like the kind of holiday gathering I'd imagined having someday, back when I thought I wanted normal things like a wife and kids and a white picket fence.
Back before Sarah had made it clear that my idea of home wasn't compatible with anyone else's.
I pushed the thought away and focused on the task at hand. Nicole should be getting home from work soon, assuming she'd actually left the office at a reasonable hour for once. I'd been listening for her door all week, but our schedules hadn't synced up since that night she'd come to dinner.
Since I'd kissed her and she'd fled like I was some kind of threat to her ordered existence.
Which, to be fair, I probably was.
I heard her key in the lock next door. I gave her ten minutes to settle in, then knocked on her door with a plate of appetizers I'd made earlier. Stuffed mushrooms, bacon-wrapped scallops, the kind of fancy shit I'd learned to make when I was trying to impress Sarah's uptight friends.
Nicole answered wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked younger like this. Softer. And exhausted.
"Shawn." She blinked at me like she wasn't sure I was real. "What are you doing here?"
"Bringing you Thanksgiving." I held up the plate. "Unless you already have plans?"
"I don't celebrate Thanksgiving."
"Why not?"
She shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "It's just another Thursday. I was going to work on the Carleton campaign."
Of course she was. Because God forbid Nicole Delaney take a single day off from destroying herself for people who probably didn't appreciate her anyway.
"Not today you're not." I stepped forward, crowding her space just enough to make her look up at me. "Today you're going to eat real food and remember what it's like to be grateful for something other than quarterly profit margins."
"I don't think I should."
"Nicole." I cut her off, my voice dropping to the tone that had gotten me what I wanted from women for years. "When did someone last cook you Thanksgiving dinner?"
There it was again. That question that kept revealing how empty her life had become. And just like every other time, she couldn't answer.
"Let me guess," I continued. "Never?"
She looked away, and I knew I'd hit the mark.
"Then you're coming over. No arguments."
"Shawn, I appreciate the offer, but this is getting complicated and I don't think we should keep doing this."
"But what? You don't deserve to have someone take care of you for one fucking day?"
The profanity made her flinch, but it also made her look at me. Really look at me.
"I don't know how to do this," she said.
"Do what?"
"This. Whatever this is between us." She gestured vaguely between our bodies. "I don't know the rules."
"There are no rules." I stepped closer, close enough to smell her shampoo. "Just two people who are attracted to each other sharing a meal."
"Is that all this is? Attraction?"
The question hung between us, loaded with more meaning than either of us was ready to unpack.
Because it wasn't just attraction anymore, at least not for me.
It was how she'd looked when she'd admitted she didn't know how to let people touch her.
How she'd kissed me back like she was starving for contact.
How she made me want to be the kind of man who stayed instead of the kind who ran.
"Come find out," I said instead.
She studied my face for a long moment, and I could see the war playing out behind her eyes. The part of her that wanted to say yes battling with the part that was scared of what yes might mean.
She nodded. "Give me ten minutes to change."
"You look good the way you are."
She blushed, the color rising in her cheeks making her look even more beautiful. "I'll just be a few minutes."
Twenty minutes later, she knocked on my door wearing a black dress that hugged every curve and made my mouth go dry. Her hair was still down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and she'd put on makeup that made her lips look like they were begging to be kissed.
"You look incredible," I said, and meant every word.
"Thank you." She stepped inside, looking around at the transformation I'd made to my usually sparse living space. Candles on the table, actual place settings instead of paper plates, a playlist of jazz standards playing in the background.
"You did all this for me?"
"I did all this for us."
The admission slipped out before I could stop it, and I saw her freeze. Shit. Too much, too fast.
"I mean, I wanted to cook," I said. "And it's more fun with company."
She nodded, but I could see she wasn't entirely buying it. Smart woman.
"Can I get you some wine?" I asked, moving toward the kitchen.
"Please."
I poured two glasses of the expensive Pinot Noir I'd picked up specifically for tonight and handed her one. Our fingers brushed as she took it, and I felt that familiar spark of electricity.
"To unexpected Thanksgivings," I said, raising my glass.
She clinked hers against mine. "To breaking rules I didn't know I had."
We drank, and I watched her throat work as she swallowed. Everything about this woman was graceful, even how she drank wine.
"Dinner's almost ready," I said. "Are you hungry?"
"Starving." How she said it, with just a hint of something that had nothing to do with food, made my pulse spike.
I served the meal I'd spent all day preparing: herb-crusted turkey, garlic mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce made from scratch, dinner rolls that were still hot from the oven. The kind of spread my mother used to make before life got too hard for holidays.
"This is incredible," Nicole said after her first bite. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"
"My mom. Before she got sick, she used to go all out for holidays." I took a drink of wine, trying to wash away the bitter taste of old memories. "After she died, I kept making her recipes. Reminded me of better times."
"How old were you when she passed?"
"Eighteen. Just before I enlisted."
She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. The gesture was simple, but it hit me harder than her kiss had.
"I'm sorry. That must have been awful."
"It was a long time ago." I turned my hand palm up, lacing our fingers together. "What about you? Any family traditions I'm corrupting by keeping you away from?"
She laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "My parents are in Florida. We exchange Christmas cards and awkward phone calls on birthdays. That's about it."
"Why?"
"Because I'm a disappointment." She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was just an accepted truth instead of something that clearly still hurt.
"How could you possibly be a disappointment? You're successful, intelligent, beautiful."
"But not married." She pulled her hand away and reached for her wine glass. "Not producing grandchildren. Not living the life they mapped out for me when I was five years old."
"What life did they map out?"
"Teacher, maybe a nurse. Something safe and feminine. Marry young, have babies, let my husband handle the important decisions." She took a large gulp of wine. "They never forgave me for wanting more."
"Their loss."
She looked up at me, surprise flickering across her face. "You think so?"
"I know so." I leaned forward, holding her gaze. "You're fucking magnificent, Nicole. Any parent who can't see that is an idiot."
She blushed again, but this time she didn't look away. "You have a very interesting way of giving compliments."
"I have a very interesting way of doing a lot of things."
The suggestion in my voice was unmistakable, and I watched her pupils dilate in response.
"Shawn..."
"Finish your dinner first," I said, sitting back with a grin. "I'm a gentleman."
"Are you?"
"When it suits me."