Chapter Fourteen
Anthony
My chest heaves as Lottie lowers her face into the sink and scrubs at the frosting I shared with her. As soon as she steps back, I take her place and clean my face. My heart is still pounding like I’ve run a race. And won.
I grab the paper towel Lottie hands me and wipe down my face.
“You still have some in your hair,” she says. I turn, entranced by the sound of her voice, the glow in her eyes, the tilt of her lips. Lips I just kissed.
“What are you looking at?” The bossy way she asks does something to me, and I know I haven’t had enough of Lottie. If there’s such a thing.
“You.” I take her hand and lace my fingers through hers. Ahhh. Satisfaction and belonging zing through me. How can one small person fill me with so many emotions, all at the same time?
I tug her toward me, and she comes without resistance. When her hand settles on my chest, I’m sure it’s going to leave a hole, burned with fire. Need throbs through me. I don’t know the last time I felt this way. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way.
“Lottie,” I whisper, nuzzling my hair in the cute, short locks that frame her face. She lifts her chin, giving me easy access, and my lips descend on hers. I go slowly at first, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her. As she returns the touch, something ignites in me, and I kiss harder. Longer. Deeper.
She matches me, move for move. Have I ever felt so much at one time before? It’s like I’ll explode from all the emotions cramming into me.
My arms encircle her back, pulling her against me, and she nestles in all the closer, her hand roving over my chest and then to my face. We still smell like pineapple, and honestly, it’s not a bad smell. It’ll be a memory to cherish.
She’s a woman to cherish. And she likes me. Every bit as much as I like her, it seems.
I pull back sharply, convulsing as if the thought physically walloped me like Lottie’s bat.
I like Lottie. But I can’t offer her my heart.
“Forgive me,” I mumble, releasing her completely, my hands in the air as if I’ve been accused of theft and need to prove my innocence. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Anguish flashes across her face at my words. She schools her face into passivity with impressive speed, but I know the truth. I know the depth of her feelings for me—and the depth of hurt I’ve dumped on her.
How did this happen so fast?
“It wouldn’t work. Between us, I mean.” I scratch my head and come away with gummy yellow fingers. I need a shower. “I live in Atlanta. You live here. I’m up for a promotion. You have your farm obligations. It just…” I’m searching for words to patch up the massive tear I’ve created in Lottie’s heart.
“I get it,” she says, her voice curt. “I’m not looking for a relationship anyway.”
I should feel relieved by that. Exonerated, even. Instead, I feel let down. Set loose on a raft in the middle of the sea. Lost.
“Okay.” I force the words from my mouth. I have to seal the deal. “All of these birthday surprises were on behalf of Felicity, not me.”
Her eyes, so blue they want to drown me, flicker to mine. “And the kisses? Were those for Felicity, too?”
I hang my head, massage my neck. “No, Lottie. Those were for me. And that was selfish. Please accept my apologies. It won’t happen again.” I move toward the doorway of the kitchen, then stop. I have to tell her. “I’m flying back to Atlanta tomorrow.”
She doesn’t make a sound, but all the air in the room is sucked up by an invisible force.
“I’ll be back next week,” I say in a strangled tone. Then I leave. Blindly, I pass through the porch where people are cleaning the wrecked cake and make my way across the lawn, letting myself into Aunt Doris’s house. After a long, soapy shower, I’m cake-free and clean. I’m packing my suitcase when Aunt Doris barges in the door.
“Where do you think you’re going, Anthony?”
I acknowledge her presence with the slightest look in her direction. “I have an 11:30 flight tomorrow to catch.”
“But my sister still needs you!”
The words smart more than I’ll ever let her know. “She has you until I’m back.”
“And when will that be, in ten years?”
I give her the side-eye. “Try next week.”
For a seventy-five-year-old, her eye-roll could compete with the brattiest teenager. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Anthony Lucio.” She slaps two skeletal hands onto her narrow hips. “And what of Lottie?”
A lump clogs my throat. “What about her?”
“You’re going to up and leave her?”
“Yes,” I bark, tired of this cyclical talk. “Yes, I’m leaving, and Lottie has nothing to do with my life, so I don’t know why you’re asking about her.”
“Because she’s in love with you, you big fool!”
Aunt Doris storms from the room, and I sink onto the bed, lowering my head into my hands. If my aunt is right, I’ve already broken the first promise I ever made to Lottie. I’ve hurt her. I’ve hurt her bad. Problem is, I have no idea what to do about it.
God, a little help here?
Silence is my only reply. As it always is.