Chapter 11
Laird
“I smell coffee.” Poppy pads down the hallway in woolly socks, entering the living room in a T-shirt and shorts. I had hoped to be over her by morning, but I failed. She’s fucking spectacular.
Guess I have more work to do, as Nikki would preach.
She smiles when our eyes catch in the morning light, and she stops with a gentle tilt of her head.
For a moment, I see the same woman who made me fall madly in love with her.
The way the corners of her eyes are softer when she looks at me as if her dreams are still caught in them, the slight upturn of her lips that gives her permission to admire me, and the ease of her shoulders signifying there’s nothing to do on the agenda today other than loving me.
We were so close to having it all, but we let it slip away. “Good morning.” Her voice is even convincing me that what I believed is only misinformation.
All I have to do is bow at her feet to win her heart back.
But these are the lies I slept with all night. Not reality.
Feeling duped by my thoughts, I reply, “It’s morning.” I didn’t intend for a measured sigh to follow, but there’s no use pretending we’re anything other than what we are.
She asks, “Didn’t sleep well?”
“I slept fine.” I slept like shit, thinking about her all night. “Why?”
Shrugging, she moves into the kitchen, putting her back to me as she studies the mug as if I might have poisoned her. I’ve discovered she has a spikey side, but it’s one I would wholeheartedly accept into my life if given the chance.
I say, “It’s safe.”
Her shoulders shake with the softest of laughs. “Guess I’m busted.”
“I checked mine as well.”
That has her leveling me with a glare and then laughing. “Wise. You never know if I was sneaking around in the night.”
“I would know because there are cameras.”
She looks at the corners of the room, her gaze bouncing around to scan for the hidden cameras. When she turns back to me, she’s not as amused as before. “Don’t you have to get my permission to film me?”
“Not in my house.”
“I thought it was your parents’?”
I shrug because we both know it’s the same thing.
As much fun as it is to spar with her verbally, I don’t want her to be paranoid. “There are no cameras. If you’re here to rob the joint or break my legs, there won’t be any evidence.”
She finally fills the mug I left out for her and takes a sip. “Good to know. Good. To. Know.” Holding the cup close to her chest, she asks, “And why would I want to break your legs?”
“Long story. Three-hundred and ten pages, in fact.”
She’s quite adorable when she looks at me perplexed. I’d rather have her swooning, but I’ll take her myriad of emotions over nothing. “What are we talking about? I’ve only had a few sips of coffee. The caffeine isn’t working yet.”
“It’s not important.” She is. Seeing her in the morning light reminds me of making love to her at sunrise in Austin. The sun had snuck in to wake us, but it wasn’t words that roused me to kiss her. It was the light in her eyes and how I could see forever.
Any other time I’ve thought of that moment, the last I held her before leaving to pack, I couldn’t linger long on the memory. Now, I want to indulge in it to compare to how she’s changed or if I can still see eternity. I know the answer, but selfishly, I’d love the opportunity. “How did you sleep?”
“Surprisingly well considering.”
The woman knows how to lay down a trap. I walk right into it. “Considering?”
“It was warm. The bed is comfortable.” The slightest shrug hits, and she adds, “I slept better than I expected, considering my new neighbor.”
I laugh, and for the first time since I saw her again, it’s real and feels good to release some of the tension I’ve been holding.
She turns around and rests her backside against the counter, her smile disarming. “I’m glad you’re not as grumpy today.” She holds the mug up. “You know how to make a good cup of coffee, so no complaints.” The surprise in her tone isn’t lost on me.
Kicking back in the big chair in the living room, I reply, “Yeah, I’m a real Renaissance man, remember?”
“I do.”
I hate how fast my good mood shifts, but hearing those words flaunted in front of me .
. . takes me back to Magnolia Café. I keep my eyes trained on the mug in my hands to focus on something else.
Seemingly not noticing me, she continues, “I didn’t expect to wake up to snow. I wanted to get out of your way today.”
Locking eyes on her, I take another sip of coffee. “Sometimes we don’t get what we want.”
The view of the white snow covering the ground and the dark lake ahead is extreme in contrast with the black-framed windows, making it picture-perfect. “No, we sure don’t.”
To get it out of the way, I add, “You’re stuck here at least one more night.” As soon as I woke up, I knew that would be the case, but I’m still unsure how I feel about her hanging around. Or the reverse and how she’ll take the news.
“If you don’t want company . . .” Moving closer, she stops just shy of the back of the couch. Her intuition is spot-on. She might be reading me better than I know myself. If only I could tell her the war my brain is having over her. “I can take my coffee in the bedroom?”
I shake my head, then signal to the couch. “We’re stuck together. You should make yourself at home.”
“It kind of reminds me of home in winter.”
“Where are you from?” And how do I not know this?
“New York, a small town a few hours from the city. It’s beautiful there as well, but it feels different than here. Probably the baggage that comes along with it.” She laughs quietly, but I don’t hear the joy behind it.
She comes around and sits, taking another drink of her coffee. Her eyes go to the mantel, her gaze running over each item sitting on it.
“There are no cameras. I promise.”
Readjusting, she gets more comfortable. “I’m going to trust you.”
Trust is something she can always give me. I would never hurt her despite the pain she’s caused me.
Her shorts ride higher on her thighs, exposing a small ravine dug into her skin.
It’s only a few inches long, but the scar is noticeable.
Rolling my gaze higher, I trace another jagged pink line down her arm.
Neither was there when we were together.
I would know. I memorized every inch of her body.
The only flaw I found was that she was perfect for me in every way.
Still is, if I’m being honest, and I’m finding the lies too much to carry around her.
Would it really make it worse if I said everything that’s been holding me back for years?
“I was in an accident,” she says without me asking.
She’s alive and in one piece, offering the smallest of comfort.
“An accident?” I ask too quickly, too brusque. The world around us goes quiet, or maybe that’s just in my imagination. The weight of her answer matters more than anything I ever needed.
I give her a complete inspection, needing to know she’s okay. But by appearance, she hides any damage done on the inside, causing my stomach to choke. “Are you okay?” I’m desperate for her to assuage the pain squeezing my chest. An accident . . . Fuck.
My gut twists, but my nerves are on edge. I sit forward, wishing I could touch her scars, to touch her again, and heal what remains.
“A car accident.” She reaches for a blanket to cover her legs.
I don’t want her hiding from me, so I move my gaze away from the scars.
It’s not a chore when all of her is so beautiful.
Soft laughter rocks her frame. “I can’t tell you much other than I was at the receiving end of it.
” A hand waving in front of my face snaps me back. “Hey?”
I didn’t realize I was staring. Her words had taken over, the images too destructive to bear.
She adds, “No need to worry. I’m okay. Other than some scars and a few setbacks along the way, I’m told I’m as good as new.” She’s coping, a denial of extent sitting in her eyes, and another short laugh vibrates the air around her.
“And you’re not?”
She looks away from me. The coffee doesn’t hold her interest, but the pilling on the blanket does. “I’m as good as I’ll ever be.”
“It’s enough.”
Her gaze darts to mine. “What is?”
“You. You’re enough.”
This time, a smile appears from somewhere deep inside her, showy and wide as if to announce its arrival. “That’s a very nice thing to say.” Her eyes stay on mine this time when she adds, “I’m sure some ex-boyfriends would argue otherwise.”
“They can fuck right off.”
Raising her finger, she laughs again. “I told them the same.”
“You should. You deserve . . .” I suddenly realize that it’s not my place, a stranger to her in all ways, other than employer, to give her advice.
Seemingly enchanted for the answer, she waits for me to finish. I can’t, not before knowing if she did it on purpose.
My walls start to rise, ready to ask the question I really want an answer to. “When? When was the accident?”
“Oh, um . . .” Her discomfort kicks in, and she tucks her legs under her and snuggles with the blanket. Pain takes a toll, sadness infiltrating her pupils, but she tries to smile, fighting against the emotions restricting her expression. “It was years ago.”
“I know—”
“Why do you say it like that?” Annoyance colors her cheeks, deepening the pink. “You don’t know. You don’t know me. You don’t know my story.”
“I thought I did, but everything’s changed. That’s why I’m curious.”
A battle begins, the stubborn side I’ve witnessed since she came back into my life winning. “Why does it matter to you?”
It’s all so delicate with her. “I want to know you.”
Her feet hit the floor, but she doesn’t get up. “You had no interest in doing so before?”
“If you only knew the truth—”
“That would be a great start.”
I appreciate the fire returning to her eyes. It renews hope. Hope in what? I’m stepping in emotionally damaging territory, but I still can’t stop myself from trying to connect the pieces.
The hat.
The knives.
Staying in the other cabin.
The comments I thought were random nonsense.
The puzzle is suddenly clearer in my head.