Chapter 16
Sixteen
Poppy
The eyes of Cedar Hollow are upon us.
But that’s not what has me concerned.
It’s the thunder and lightning clinging to Storm’s mood.
Oh, he’s doing a damned good job of pretending it doesn’t exist as we walk to Molly’s.
But with each step those clouds gather a little closer, turn a little darker.
Frost and ice and wind and rage and…
Hurt.
So much hurt it’s nearly impossible for me to draw in a full breath.
Especially when Holly yells, “Molly’s!” grabs Rain’s hand, and starts hauling him toward the bakery.
“She hasn’t seen him in a bit,” I find myself explaining as we trail after them.
Storm jerks. “What?”
“I—” I nibble at my bottom lip, don’t miss his eyes flicking there—
Nor the flicker of heat that forms in my belly as a result.
“She hasn’t seen Rain in a while,” I murmur.
Then hate that I said that.
Because his eyes go cold and that flicker of heat poofs away like so much smoke.
“They’re close,” is all he says.
You can be close too is what I want to say.
But I can’t make myself form the words.
Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t give me the chance.
“What were you guys going to do before we intercepted you with Molly’s?” he asks and it’s almost as though I can see him shove that hurt down deeper, so deep it’s imperceptible, so deep it’s like it’s never existed at all.
Definitely not the healthiest way to deal with his emotions.
But it’s not like we’re going to have a family therapy session right here on the street.
Especially with the citizens of Cedar Hollow all around us, not one of them bothering to hide the fact that they’re watching us.
Cute.
“For the record,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Gertie and her best friend—and equally nosy neighbor—Esther, silently warning them to back off (something they ignore as they continue to whisper and stare).
“I feel like it’s imperative for me to mention that I’m always happy for my plans to change if it means I get to have Molly’s. ”
His mouth tips up at the edges. “Good to know.”
“I would literally kill for her cinnamon rolls when I’m on my period—” I freeze, cheeks going hot. Yeah, Pop, that’s probably too much information.
But his smile just grows. “Good to know,” he says lightly.
“Right, that’s TMI.” I wince. “Sorry.” A shrug. “I just really like Molly’s.”
“Who doesn’t?” He leans in and I see a glimpse of the old Storm for a moment when he says, “During my Man PMS, I’d kill for the peaches and cream muffins.”
My brows fly up.
A shrug. “A man’s hormones change too.”
Now my brow furrows. “Doesn’t that happen like every day?”
“And?”
“Um…”
He grins. “One might say you can’t consume too many of Molly’s muffins.”
I giggle despite myself. “Of the peaches and cream variety especially?”
“Exactly.”
We stand there for a second, our gazes locked, amusement in the air.
Then he lifts a hand, strokes the backs of his knuckles over my cheek.
I suck in a breath, that flicker of heat from a moment ago back with a vengeance.
Back in a conflagration.
“Now I’m wondering if I like them so much for another reason,” he murmurs.
“I— What do you mean?”
“Your skin is gorgeous.” He leans a little closer. “Like peaches and cream. I’d forgotten…” His voice drops. “I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.”
My exhale is sharp, shaky. “Storm, you shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Maybe not.” Those knuckles drift a little lower, skating along the edge of my jaw, down the column of my throat.
But oh, it’s nice to have his hands on me.
Our night together…
Well, I wouldn’t say it was the best sex of my life—not that I’ve had all that much freedom to experiment and explore, what with a baby then a toddler then an elementary-aged kiddo ruling my life and all.
But what I had that night with Storm…
We were both young and inexperienced, but we certainly made up for it with enthusiasm.
His knuckles drift a little lower, hugging the slight curve of my scoop-neck tee, making me wish there was less fabric so they could drift lower.
Making me wish things were different.
That so many things were different.
A titter has him stiffening, jerking his hand away.
I don’t want that, don’t want the anger storming back into his eyes, don’t want the rage and pain and remorse and hurt to take over.
I don’t want it so fiercely I blurt, “Will you play in the Home Ice Classic?”
His face goes from pissed to confused in a heartbeat. “What?”
“It’s a charity hockey game that raises money for the town,” Rain says and I jolt, my gaze flying over Storm’s shoulder to see that he and Holly have circled back without us realizing it.
There’s something in Rain’s eyes that has my nape prickling.
Maybe because, aside from color, his are so much like Storm’s—hiding shadows and pain and regrets.
And hurt.
And anger.
But he’s gentle when Holly yanks on his arm hard enough to wrench it out of the socket, her excitement filling the air in wriggles and—
“It raises money for the Pioneer Museum! That’s where I go to camp. We make crafts and play games and go on hikes and make goose det-deter-deterrents. And sometimes we even see rattlesnakes.” She throws up her free hand, dances around. “It’s the best time ever!”
Storm’s face goes soft. “You like it then?” he asks.
Holly’s approaching bobblehead status as she nods enthusiastically. “No, I love it!”
“She really does,” I say quietly. “Rattlesnakes aside”—he grins—“both their summer and after school programs are great. They’re affordable and she learns a ton. But the best part is that she has fun.”
He nods.
And for some reason…I keep talking. “Our funding from the state was cut a couple of years ago, so we’ve been making up the difference with fundraising.
The biggest of which is the Home Ice Classic.
We sell tickets and crafts and food and have a silent auction and of course, there’s the hockey game. The whole town makes a day of it.”
“Sounds fun,” he murmurs.
“It is.” I sigh. “But we need to make it really good this year. Our donations are down and if we can’t make up the difference…” I shrug, not wanting to finish in front of Holly and her big ears.
Storm seems to realize that, his gaze drifting between us before coming back to mine and lingering.
Studying me.
Making my pulse speed and worry begin to bloom in my belly.
Or maybe longing.
For his hands to be on me again.
For his mouth—
“I’ll play.”
I blink, the air rushing from my lungs. “Y-you will?”
“Sure,” he says. “It’s always good to get some extra ice time, especially in the summer. Do you want me to call some of my friends? See if they might play too?”
My mouth opens.
Closes.
Opens again, my voice a squeak. “You’d do that?”
“It’s clearly important,” he says softly. “And not just to the town. To you and to Holly. So yeah, I’d be happy to do that.”
Confusion ripples through me.
Because he’s sincere.
I see it in his face, hear it in his words.
But…who is this man?
Certainly not the angry one from moments ago. Nor the boy I once knew. He’s not even the man who was in my kitchen the other night, though that one is closer.
He’s…all of them and none of them and—
It makes me leery.
Because I want this version of Storm to stay.
“You must be a really good skater,” Holly says.
Storm smiles. “I’m pretty good.”
“Will you teach me?” she asks.
I watch that hit him—and do it hard. “You want me to teach you to skate?” he asks a moment later, his voice a little raspy.
“I don’t know how, and Mom isn’t good at skating either—”
That earns me a look.
“Never had a reason to learn,” I say.
Especially after a certain hockey player stomped on my heart.
“Right,” he says then bends down in front of Holly. “I’d be happy to teach you. But you may fall down a few times.”
“That’s okay.” She’s bouncing with excitement again. “I fell down loads of times when I learned to ride my bike.”
I can see that’s another blow, missing out on that too, but he manages to say, his voice even, “I bet that was super hard.”
A sage nod. “It was. But I’m really good at biking now.”
“Then I have no doubt you’ll get really good at skating too.”
“Really?”
“Really really,” he says, ruffling her hair.
“Yes, Storm will be the bestest teacher ever,” Rain interjects as he crouches down, turns his voice whiny. “But can we please, pretty puh-wease get double chocolate chip cookies now? I’m wasting away over here.”
Storm sighs, shakes his head, but he’s chuckling as he jerks his chin toward the bakery and says, for some odd reason, “Salads first, bro.”
I frown.
Who wants salads when they can get cinnamon rolls from Molly’s?
Or double chocolate chip cookies?
Or—my gaze goes to Storm’s again—peaches and cream muffins?
And right on cue, proving that she’s definitely my daughter, Holly says—
“But I don’t like salads.”