Chapter 15 Rourke #2
“I don’t know…” She tilts her head, her gaze landing on me with a spark. “You’re pretty entertaining.”
I glance over and catch the blue-gray flecks in her eyes, and suddenly I can’t remember what the script is even about. “As long as I keep your attention, Bennett, I’ll consider my job done.”
She bumps her shoulder playfully into mine. “Well, your job isn’t done until we finish this script, so get to work, Riley.”
“Man, you’re bossy for a kindergarten teacher,” I tease, flashing her a grin.
We dive into the script, our knees brushing beneath the table as we both reach for the keyboard at the same time. Neither of us moves.
My focus should be on the dialogue we’re editing.
But all I can think about is the way her leg presses into mine and how close I am to shutting this laptop so I can kiss her instead.
She is definitely a distraction, and that’s only gotten worse since the festival.
She leans over to read a line out loud, her hair falling toward my shoulder with the scent of her shampoo, and I swear, if she keeps looking at me like that, I’m not going to be responsible for what I do next.
We’re not quite friends, but we’re not adversaries anymore either. We’ve found a middle ground where I don’t feel like every word out of my mouth is evidence against my character.
But trust with Janie isn’t linear. It’s two steps forward, three steps back—a constant reminder that her ex-husband didn’t just break her heart, he broke her faith in the entire concept of trustworthy men.
Some days I feel like I’m competing with a ghost, trying to prove I’m nothing like a man I’ve never met, but whose damage I see in her eyes every day.
It feels like a game I can’t win. But I’m willing to try.
When I finally get my thoughts under control—which is nearly impossible considering how I can barely focus—we work through a tricky section of rewrites.
I still think this pageant is ridiculous, and Christmas remains my least favorite holiday. But working on this script with Janie, seeing her get excited about a line I wrote? That’s something else entirely. Something that has nothing to do with the holiday and everything to do with her.
“You’re not bad at this, considering how much you hate Christmas,” she says when we finish.
My mouth lifts. “I’m full of surprises, Bennett.”
“Where did this come from?” she asks, saving the document. “The writing thing.”
“I used to act out little plays when I was a kid,” I admit. “I’d pretend I was on TV and play all the parts. It started when things got bad at home.”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
I hesitate, unsure why I’m telling her this.
I never talk about my dad or the storm cloud we lived under at our house.
“My dad was a drunk,” I say with a heavy sigh.
“Always angry, but especially around the holidays. Christmas was the worst because he was always worried about money. So I’d hide in my room and imagine stories about families that actually wanted to be together. ”
She reaches out without thinking, her fingers brushing mine. “Rourke, I am so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” I say, but I don’t shy away from her touch. “They both died in a car accident when I was in college. Dad was driving drunk.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Her voice is pained now. “No words seem like enough.”
“I know it sounds terrible, but part of me was relieved. No more walking on eggshells around him or ruined holidays.” I pause for a moment. “I miss Mom though. She was the one who didn’t deserve this. I tried to talk her into leaving him, but she stayed—always hoped he would get better.”
I turn my hand over under hers, our fingers almost intertwining. “I guess that’s why Christmas seems…complicated.”
“Rourke—” She shakes her head. “A child should never have to hide from a parent, or feel safer when they’re not around.”
I rub my thumb along her hand, memorizing the shape of her fingers against mine. “At least I don’t have to hide anymore.”
We sit like that for a moment, the laptop screen casting a soft glow over her face.
We’re both the walking wounded, two people who’ve had our faith in fundamental things—love, family, trust—systematically dismantled by the people who were supposed to protect those beliefs.
She’s rebuilding herself piece by piece, creating a safe little world for her and Aria where disappointment can’t reach them.
I’m still trying to figure out what I’m even rebuilding toward.
The irony isn’t lost on me that Christmas, the holiday that represents everything I never had, is somehow becoming the bridge between us. Working together on this pageant makes me wonder if healing isn’t something you do alone.
My eyes drop to her lips, and her fingers brush my arm, like she wasn’t thinking before she did it. That’s when I know she feels it too—this connection between us. It’s inevitable after what happened that night at the cabin.
I lean toward her, thinking only of how good it would be to kiss that mouth again—to show her how much I want this.
Just then, the baby monitor on the counter crackles with the sound of Aria stirring in her crib.
We spring apart like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t, which I guess we almost were. Janie’s cheeks flush as she slams the laptop shut.
“I should…go.” Her throat bobs nervously. “She probably needs her pacifier.” She’s already heading toward the stairs before I can even respond.
I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, no problem.”
She’s halfway there when she turns back to look at me. “Thank you, Rourke. For helping with the script. It really means a lot.”
“We make a good team.”
Her mouth softens into a smile. “Yeah, we do.” Then she bolts up the stairs, leaving me to wonder what would have happened if Aria hadn’t interrupted us.