13. Odette
13
ODETTE
For the rest of the night and some of the morning, I keep to my room — or rather, Santa’s least favorite guest’s room — alternating between scribbling on sheet music and staring blankly at the walls because it’s easier than facing him. But I can’t hide forever, and the smell of fresh coffee is my undoing. It sneaks under my door and curls into the room like a siren call. My stomach growls, a traitor.
I crack the door open and peer down the hall. The coast is clear. I shuffle down the stairs, following the scent like a moth drawn to a flame. Once I have coffee in my system, I’ll feel human again.
When I turn the corner, there he is, standing at the stove with his back to me, humming softly as he flips something in a skillet. The sight of him — apron tied loosely around his waist, sunlight catching in his blonde-gray hair — gives me pause.
Damn him for looking so domestic.
“Morning,” he says, bright and unbothered, as if we’re not trapped in some unresolved emotional quagmire.
One-night stands are supposed to be just that, a one and done. They aren’t supposed to waltz back into your life after a decade and make you wish for things you can’t have.
Sunlight pours in through the window, illuminating his profile in this annoyingly perfect way, as if mornings were created just for him.
Then again, he did say he was an early riser.
“Morning,” I mumble half-heartedly as I make a beeline for coffee.
“You sleep okay?” he asks, oblivious to my glaring.
“Like a baby,” I lie, pouring myself a cup and inhaling the rich aroma like it might give me the strength to deal with him.
It doesn’t.
“Hungry?” He gestures to the counter, where plates of pancakes, eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and a jug of orange juice sit waiting.
I glance at him suspiciously. “You’re still feeding me?”
He grins. “Figured I’d lure you out of hiding with coffee, then keep you down here with food. Worked like a charm.”
I scowl but grab a plate anyway. The smell is too much to resist, and there’s no use pretending I’m not starving, not with my traitorous stomach growling so loud. I sit at the island like we did yesterday morning, and he joins me, far too pleased with himself. One bite in, and I can’t help the involuntary sigh.
“Thanks,” I mutter, avoiding his gaze.
“For the food or for de-Christmas-ing the place?”
“That’s not a word…” I blurt out, only to find there’s a stack of taped up boxes on the other side of the island. At second and third glance, the space does look less like the North Pole, and more… normal. I turn to face him. “You did that for me?”
He shrugs, his grin softening into something gentler. “The piano is too heavy to carry up the stairs, and it won’t fit in your room.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s thoughtful of him. Too thoughtful, really. I swallow around the lump that forms in my throat and shove more pancake in my mouth to avoid responding.
We eat in silence for a while, the tension between us oddly bearable. It’s almost normal, almost easy, as long as I don’t think too hard about the way his knee brushes mine under the table or how his gaze lingers a little too long on my face.
He clears his throat, breaking the quiet. “So, you’ll work downstairs today?”
I glance at him, not sure why he cares. “Are you asking or telling?”
“Both.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes, but then I remember him saying he wanted to spend more time with me. If this is a ploy for him to get what he wants, he’s in for a rude awakening.
“I work alone.”
“I know.”
“Like, alone alone.”
He laughs, a deep resonant chuckle that makes goosebumps rise over my arms.
“Why’s that funny?” I ask.
“It’s Christmas Eve, and you’re in the middle of nowhere. Chloe offered to pay me for your use of the house. You’ve mentioned Caleb and NDAs a few times. And you are being intentionally vague about what you’ve been working on. I can take a hint.”
I swallow, my heart pounding in my chest. “You sure about that?”
“When it’s work, yes.” His voice is low, rich, and far too steady compared to the chaos in my chest.
“And when it isn’t?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
His expression shifts, his eyes morphing into the sort of focused intensity that makes my insides flutter. “I promise to stay out of your way while you work.”
There’s no deception in his tone, just honesty, and that makes my chest ache. I pause, my fork hovering over my plate as I think about why that is. I don’t like any of the reasons my logical brain arrives at.
Hating him was far easier when all I knew him as was the twin’s sperm donor. I wasn’t curious about who he was as a person, or what he looked like. He was persona non-Grata to the them, and that was good enough for me. Granted, I should’ve looked him up, at the very least, but what held me back was the reminder that devils wear many faces, and they could be charming. I would know, I spent my childhood under the roof of three.
Knowing what little I now know about Duncan and his own childhood, I can’t lump him into the same category as my mom and grandparents. I’m not defending his choices, but I can understand them. Just as I understand the choices that Sydney Hartley — the twin’s mother — made.
But then, there’s Aurora.
I reach for a paper towel, spreading it before me. “Got a pen?”
He hands me one, and it’s engraved too. I scribble a bare-bones contract, and slide it back to him. “Read it and sign on the dotted line.”
He doesn’t read it, but he signs.
“Don’t you know better than to sign things without reading it first? For all you know, I wanted your left kidney.”
His lips quirk into a faint smile. “I would gladly give you my left kidney.”
I cross my arms, studying him. He seems sincere, but then again, he always had a way of making his words sound convincing. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” I falter, shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter. You really should read that.”
Duncan chuckles softly, then sobers. He doesn’t say anything for a while, he just chews thoughtfully as he reads. Once he’s done he nods, a small, almost imperceptible relief in his expression. “Thank you for trusting me with this. Nebula is… well, you are brilliant. And bad-ass. Always were.”
I snort. “You didn’t know me long enough to say that.”
“I knew enough,” he counters with that maddening confidence of his.
I blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. The way his gaze locks onto mine, unflinching, it’s as if he’s daring me to argue. But I can’t.
Or rather, I won’t argue with him.
Instead, I shove my chair back, standing abruptly. “Thanks for breakfast. I’ll clean up.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“It’s the least I can do,” I snap, gathering my plate and his before he can argue.
Even with my back to him, I know he’s watching me, and I hate how much I want to know what he’s thinking. But I can’t do this. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So I scrub the plates with more force than necessary and hope he gets the hint.
Then I scrub even harder so my traitorous body gets the hint.
“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” he says softly behind me, and I hate how much those words get me unsettled.
“Great,” I mutter, turning off the tap. “Neither am I. For now.”
And with that, I march back upstairs, leaving him and his dazzling charm and relentless optimism in the kitchen where it belongs.
Or, I plan to, but my phone buzzes as I’m halfway up the stairs.
“Hey,” I answer, my voice hoarse.
“Finally!” Chloe exclaims. “I’ve been trying to get through to you since yesterday morning.”
“My phone died, and I didn’t feel like charging it.” Taking the stairs two at a time, I wait until I’m in the privacy of my room before adding, “I texted you and Aurora, did you not see yours?”
“I did, but it’s not like you to go silent for longer than twelve hours. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because of the snowstorm? Don’t tell me you haven’t looked out the window?”
“I have.” As I shuffle to the window and draw back the curtain, my stomach drops for the umpteenth time in the last twenty-four hours.
Snow. So much snow.
It’s a pristine, blinding blanket that stretches as far as I can see. The driveway is buried under at least four feet, the path to the road completely indistinguishable. The garage, with Duncan’s car and my rental car safely tucked inside, is blocked by a towering drift. I’d need a small army or a fleet of snowplows to dig out of here.
Letting my phone die was intentional, because I didn’t want to spend the day obsessively checking for updates. Local alerts had already confirmed what I feared: the roads are shut down, and plows won’t be moving anytime soon. Power lines are down in some areas, but thankfully, this house seems spared for now.
I rub my temples, groaning softly. I’d wanted solitude, yes, but not enforced solitude. And certainly not with him under the same roof.
But you didn’t mind it in Aspen, my traitorous body answers. Or last night. Or five minutes ago.
“Mother Nature sure has a sick sense of humor,” I tell Chloe, pressing my forehead to the chilled glass pane, “and it’s too fucking bad there’s nothing you or I can do about it.”
“Funny, that’s what the catering company said.”
“What catering company?”
“The one I hired to deliver your meals, Odette. They called me yesterday because they couldn’t get through to you.”
“My phone was?—”
“Dead,” she interjects. “You said that already. Also, they can’t get to you because of the snow.”
“Why would you?—”
“Because I know you,” she cuts me off a second time. “When you’re in the zone, you have a tendency to forget about basic human functions like eating and sleeping and breathing.”
My spike straightens. I bristle at that. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it?”
“No.” A beat passes, and I let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes. Don’t worry about it, though. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine ? You’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with no food, and you’re fine? What are you living on, Odette? Air and sarcasm?”
I chuckle softly. “The fridge and pantry were fully stocked when I got here, so I’m managing just fine. And I’m not alone.”
“Yeah, right.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, followed by a sharp intake of breath. “Wait. What do you mean, not alone ? Who’s there with you?”
I hesitate, debating how much to share, but there’s no hiding it. “Your dad,” I say finally.
A beat passes, then, “Duncan’s supposed to be in New York, so what the fuck is he doing there?”
I walk over to the bed and sit on the edge, raking a hand through my hair. “He owns it.”
Stating the obvious doesn’t help, but that only riles her up. Her voice pitches higher and higher as she talks, and I have to hold the phone away since it’s important for me to keep my eardrums intact.
“Like it or not,” I say when she stops to catch her breath, “Your dad is stuck here too, and there’s nothing you or I can do about it.”
“How are you okay with this? Why are you okay with this?”
I shrug, though she can’t see me. “What do you expect me to do, kick him out of his own house?”
“If that’s what it takes, yes.”
“Chloe…”
“Don’t you Chloe me. And quit referring to him as my dad when you know better.”
“Fine. Duncan and I talked, and he’s not all bad.”
“Not helping,” she groans.
“He cooks. He cleans. He makes coffee. Plus a gazillion other things that I’m not thinking about or even want to think of right now. And he’s de-Christmas-ing the place. Did I mention that he cooks?”
“The man is stupid rich. He pays people to oversee the people who handle his menial household tasks. And we live on opposite ends of the country. How am I supposed to know he cooks?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to respond with something sassy, but I don’t. Instead, I glance toward the window, at the thick, white blanket that covers everything in sight.
Fuck Mother Nature.
“Did you know he’s selling the place?” I ask.
She scoffs. “No, he’s not. What gives you that idea?”
“He told me. It’s why he wanted to spend Christmas with you and Caleb, to tell you this in person. He also said that he’s meeting a realtor here on the 30th, and that the Christmas implosion I walked into was for the marketing. The listing goes live in January.”
Another scoff. “I doubt he’ll actually go through with it. That place is his baby. He bought it with his first royalty check, so there’s no way he’s giving it up.”
I did get the feeling that he didn’t want to sell, but then I hardly know the man. And he’s not my father, so there’s that.
But he is Aurora’s father, my traitorous body chimes in. When will you tell him?
Never, if I can help it.
“Look, I’m not saying what he did to your mom was okay. But people are complicated. Duncan is complicated. And before you come at me for saying that, keep in mind that you are complicated too, and so am I. But these are the cards we’ve been dealt for the next few days, and we’re just trying to make the best of a weird situation, that’s all. More-so him, if I’m being honest. He’s being respectful, and I’m being… well, a bitch to him. And a total airhead. I said some nasty things to him last night, and he still made breakfast this morning. The least I can do is try to be cordial while we’re stuck here.”
Chloe sighs on the other end, the sound tinged with exasperation. “Still. I’m not thrilled with the idea of you alone with him.”
You and me both.
“I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Alright,” she relents. “But if he starts acting shady, you call me, got it?”
“Got it.”
We chat for a few more minutes before she has to go, her boyfriend calling her from somewhere in the background. When I hang up, I can’t help but think about her words.
It makes sense that she doesn’t like me spending time with him. Hell, I wouldn’t like it if the roles were reversed. Then again, she doesn’t know that Duncan and I already have history. Or that her goddaughter is actually her half-sister.
In my defense, I didn’t know that either… until thirty-six hours ago.
He wants more, and he’s made that clear. But outside of our physical chemistry and a shared love of music, we want different things in life.
Yet as I hear Duncan moving around downstairs, humming softly to himself, I realize I’m not sure I know what I want from him.