Chapter 8
STEFFI
Trudging up to the front door of the house, she paused when she saw Drake standing there, waiting with a bored look on his face. He looked at his watch, glared at her, and then immediately launched into an attack, or so it felt.
“I thought you mentioned you worked until six tonight.”
“Yeah,” she offered – and shrugged.
“It’s almost eight.”
“So?”
“That’s not six.”
“Overtime – uh, hellooo? Not everyone is loaded like you.”
“You should have texted me.”
“Why? You’re not my mommy.”
“I’m your fiancé.”
“My fake-fiancé,” she corrected pointedly and hesitated. “What’s that?”
“Well, it was a gift from your fiancé…” he grumbled and glared at her, shoving it behind his back. “But since this is fake, nothing, a joke to you then…”
“Are you serious?” she interrupted, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up in the air. “I am too tired to deal with you, all your drama, and your mouth right now.”
“Apparently,” he agreed, frowning. “If you are too tired to text, you must be truly well-and-good exhausted.”
“Did we have plans? A commitment? Do you have your sports cup on too tight?” she shot out rapid-fire at him. “I’m trying to walk into my house…”
“A rental…”
“My rental,” she retorted, pushing past him to put the key in the door. “I’m gonna plop my butt down, kick off my shoes, and feel my butt spread on my recliner – to which you are not invited because you are in a pissy, rotten mood.”
“I am not…”
“You are.”
“Steffi, I’m not in the mood,” he barked out and then mumbled something while walking away – with the package in his hand.
“SEE?” she hollered at his back. “If you can’t say it to my face, then keep your mumbling on your pristine side of the lawn, Dramatic Whiner…”
He stiffened and stopped mid-stride.
Her heart stopped in her chest. Maybe she’d gone too far this time, but even a negative reaction was something instead of him ignoring her and shutting her down. It was much better than being chided or yelled at like she was clueless.
“I’m right – aren’t I?” she goaded, throwing gasoline deliberately on the fire in order to get some sort of reaction… yet there was nothing. He stood there, holding the package that was in some sort of bag, not moving. It was the sight of him, back toward her, that didn’t feel right.
It didn’t feel… good.
“Drake?” she whispered his name, testing it on her lips for what might have been the first time. She always had a comment, a jab, a playful phrase coined from his initials – but not this time. There was a seriousness to it that was staggering.
She knew it – and he did too.
“I was worried,” Drake began quietly, not looking back or turning in her direction. “Are you happy now? I was worried about you.”
And he walked off.
Mic drop.
Drake admitted he was worried about her, and she called him a dramatic whiner for it.
Steffi’s jaw practically unhinged as her lips parted in shock and her stomach gave a horrifying lurch, making her put a hand on it to keep from puking at the silent understanding that slammed home hard.
He’d been waiting for her, on the porch, concerned for her safety – and she’d thrown it in his face.
He’d been nothing but kind to her, generous toward her, and she’d treated him like dirt every time.
“Oh no…” she breathed, horrified as everything replayed in her mind like some nightmarish reel.
She’d snapped at him, confronted him, taunted him, and while he’d given it back to her, there was an underlying current of something else there, something neither had touched on, something… fragile and vulnerable.
The smiles, the winks, the thoughtful things…
Her purse dropped to the floor as she yanked the front door shut, locking it behind her, and took off across the grass toward his house. She felt lost… almost frantic. Something was wrong, and she had no idea how to fix whatever it was – but she couldn’t leave it alone either.
Standing on his porch, she quickly banged on the door.
Then banged again.
“Not right now, Steffi,” he yelled out from behind the door – and she grabbed the handle, turning it, and barged in like she owned the place. His shocked eyes met hers as he rose to his feet, standing there.
Waiting.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out, feeling something akin to tears clogging her throat and burning her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, didn’t want to appear weak… but this hurt. “I’m really sorry I’m such a twat.”
His lips twitched for a moment before he nodded and spoke. “You want some hot tea… Miss Twat?”
“Yes,” she nodded, realizing her knees were practically knocking against each other, frightened he’d throw her out of his house. “I’d love some.”
It was eerily quiet in the house as he moved toward the counter in the distance where a black electric teakettle sat, depressing the button. The silence seemed to echo, and she didn’t know what else to say to him. A part of her was afraid she’d make this, whatever this was, worse between them.
“You know…” Drake started softly, getting two ceramic mugs out of the cabinet. “When my brother Tommy gave me this kettle for Christmas a few years ago, I thought ‘this is dumb’ because I never drank hot tea. I was always a coffee or sports drink guy.”
Steffi moved a few feet toward him, listening and feeling like they were actually having a moment…
about tea kettles. It was nothing and everything.
He was talking to her, sharing about his family, and filling the silence that seemed so overwhelming – but maybe it was overwhelming to him too.
Maybe they weren’t so different after all?
“He said,” Drake paused, his shoulders tensing. “My brother told me that I was stubborn and hardheaded, but that I should have a cup each evening and let myself unwind, enjoy the moments around me, and take a second to breathe… and he was right.”
“It’s a nice kettle,” she said quietly, unsure what to say or if a comment was even needed right now – and he chuckled softly, nodding.
“We never used a kettle growing up,” he admitted. “If Mom needed something, we’d boil water, microwave it, or make something in the coffeemaker… but a kettle was something fancy people had.”
Swallowing, she waited and took a step closer to him.
“A kettle was something other rich people had – but not us, not me,” Drake whispered softly as the kettle began to rumble and hiss, before he turned to look at her.
“I grew up humble, broke… but like my stupid kettle and wish I had found it sooner because I enjoy these moments. It’s a kettle, you know?
A stupid kettle. When it’s not there, I feel lost or empty, like I don’t know what to do with myself or don’t know how to unwind. ”
She held his gaze, speechless… and a part of her wondered if he was talking about the kettle – or her.
“I like my dumb, fancy, uptight kettle… and honestly - I was worried about you,” he repeated in a rough voice, his eyes looking painfully afraid.
“Don’t ask me to explain it. Don’t ask me for more than that – because I can’t tell you why.
I like my kettle, and I was worried. That’s it. Let’s just leave it at that for now.”
“I like your stupid, frou-frou kettle too,” she whispered, nodding. “You don’t have to explain… and I should have texted. I’m sorry.”
“I shouldn’t have snapped.”
“Are we good?” she breathed, needing to know, and saw something flicker in his eyes as he nodded slowly.
“We’re good.”
“Cool.”
“Yep.”
The button at the base of the kettle popped upward in that moment – spurring Drake to move.
He cleared his throat, looked away, and reached up in the cabinet, withdrawing two tea bags.
It could have been cyanide-flavored tea in that moment, and she would have downed it with a smile on her face.
Her eyes drank him in as he put each tiny bag in the cups, pouring the scalding water over them like it was nothing.
He didn’t ask her opinion, didn’t say another word, just moved about like nothing big was happening in this moment – but it felt like everything was moving suddenly.
He scooped a dollop of honey, putting the spoon into her cup, and then handed it to her, before making his own.
This was a weird – and sweet homey feeling.
Picking up his cup, Drake moved past her and rested a hand at her elbow, bringing her with him.
She stepped carefully, moving beside him, almost as if this was a choreographed movement they’d done a thousand times instead of the first time.
He took a seat on the couch, putting his cup on the coffee table, and she did the same.
Picking up the remote, he flipped on the television as she stared at his profile, unsure what to say or do. Without looking at her, he nudged the box in her direction.
“Size ten?”
“Huh?” she asked blankly, uncomprehending because it was so out of left field – only for him to look at her pointedly with a slight frown.
“You said you wear a size ten shoe, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then try them on.”
She looked down at the box – then at him – then back at the box again. “You bought me shoes?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“No,” he tossed out simply, turning to flip the channel as she stared at him, stunned… only to see a twitch at the corner of his lips. “Why would I buy you shoes?”
Steffi hesitated for only a second as she picked up the box, putting it on her lap, and paused, yanking off the lid. Inside was a pair of simple and elegant black high heels… and her eyes lifted to his.
He was watching her.
“There is going to be dancing at the charity event,” he said quietly, swallowing. “We’ll be attending together, and these match my suit – and your dress.”
“Shoes?”
“Yes, Cinderella,” he smiled, teasing her softly. “Every woman should have a nice pair of pretty shoes to go with her ballgown.”
“I, uh, um… I can’t dance – wait, ballgown?”
“I’m going to teach you… and yes, ballgown.”
“You can dance? We’re going to dance together?”
“I took classes so I could dance with my mom at church festivals. She loved to dance with my dad. In fact, we all took lessons – me, Tommy, and Pete,” he admitted gently, watching her. “Tea first… and then a lesson – okay?”
Stunned, Steffi looked at the beautiful high heels and then at Drake. If this man wanted to take her to an event, as a couple, and whisk her out onto the dance floor in some floofy ballgown… she would never say ‘no’ to that.
“Okay,” she whispered and heard his soft chuckle as he lifted his cup to his lips, taking a sip of his tea.
“Well, that was easier than I thought.”
“What?”
“I figured you’d fight me on this… and the dancing.”
“Why?”
“Because if I get to make you my Cinderella for one evening,” he said quietly as he picked up the remote with his other hand – and it clicked. He was searching for a distraction, and she knew it. “Then what does that make me in our very own little story?”
He turned slightly, looking at her, and smiled. “You’ll have to think up something clever that starts with a D and a W – because Prince Charming starts with the wrong consonants. Doesn’t it?”
Picking up her tea, she sipped it without answering – even if her heart was already coming up with a variety of terms that started with D for Drake…
Dreamy…
Darling…
Dashing…
Devoted…
And the list went on and on – silent and unspoken as they sat there together, drinking hot tea and watching television.
An hour later, Drake glanced at his watch as she yawned for the fourth time and nodded. “You’d better get home and rest. We can practice tomorrow night, if you are off work.”
“I get off at six,” Steffi volunteered – and glanced at him. “If I’m late, I’ll text you.”
And there it was.
Again, that flicker of something in his eyes as he stared at her. It wasn’t a glare, a frown, or something remotely encouraging. His eyes were intense, and it was a little overwhelming. He looked at her sometimes like… like he knew her, like he could see her in a way no one else could.
“I should go,” she said nervously, scrambling to her feet. “Thanks for the tea.”
“Thank you for coming over.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘I’m sorry again’ when she turned to look at him – only to realize he was right behind her, following her to the door. “I’m good. It’s a short walk home.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to follow me.”
“I’m not.”
“Are we doing this weird thing again?”
“Does it have to be weird between us?”
Again – he was doing it, making it… special.
“Steffi?”
She started and looked up into his eyes once more, swallowing.
Neither of them spoke as they stood there.
She had the box containing the elegant shoes clutched to her chest, and he had an elbow against the wall over his head, leaning into it…
leaning into her. He was so close that it was making her feel like a caged animal – or a woman.
“Drake?” she whispered, melting into his dark eyes as he stared at her.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for everything – this, the tea, the shoes, the company – all of it.”
He seemed to want to say something, took a step toward her in the already crowded entryway where they were both standing much too close together, and then nodded… retreating into whatever shell that was there.
“You’re very welcome.”
And that was it.
He lowered his elbow and reached around her to open the front door, giving her space to leave, to escape.
Steffi walked out the front door, clutching the box like a shield, and then looked back at him.
He was watching her once more, waiting, and a part of her wanted to climb into his head, diving into that confusing mind to see what he was thinking right now, what made him tick… instead, she gave him a slight smile.
“Good night,” she whispered – and ran.