walking away. For shoving you into the wall like that.”
She rolled her eyes and made a sound of frustration. Aimed at him. “Don’t apologize to me. Please, just don’t. I should be apologizing to you.” She rubbed fingers across her forehead. “I knew about that tourist, how she broke your heart. I knew how resistant you were to going out with me, and I still went after you. I wanted more. You didn’t. And you realized that while you were kissing me. Bottom line is, I suck.”
He blinked. Twice. She had no idea what he wanted. But he knew that he wanted to smile again, and he wanted it to be because of her.
“You don’t suck.”
She let out a short laugh. “Thanks.”
“I don’t invite people who suck back to my house for biscuits and omelets.”
It felt good, to say that. Even better when she pulled her hat down over her ears and gave up eyeing that sad éclair.
“Lead the way.”
“Okay, if you’d told me you lived on the top of Pike’s Peak, I might not have accepted the invitation.”
She huffed hard as they reached the top of the staircase thatended at his street. He snuck a sideways glance at her, noting the flush in her cheeks and the faint smile. “Sorry. You okay?”
“I will be.”
“This is it.” He gestured to the blue-shingled two bedroom wedged between Massive New Construction to the north and Million-dollar Re-do to the south. As he led the way up the concrete front steps, suddenly he was painfully aware that they weren’t level, and that the corner gutter was broken and that there was a large gash in the screen door.
He saw the unspoken question cross her face: how does a cook afford to own a home in this neighborhood, when even plots for tear-downs cost a fortune? The answer? He needed to live near town since he didn’t know how to drive, and this was the cheapest house Gwen Carroway’s money could buy him.
After Gwen had stopped the slavery and put an end to the business of selling the Tedrans’ glamour, she’d given all her money to him to help him start a new life. Every day he was reminded of what he could afford, and why. He hated money.
He slid his key into the lock, ignoring the jitters in his hand. Hopefully Cat was, too.
Inside, the smell of the cheese biscuits greeted them. He toed off his boots and unwound his scarf. In the three years he’d lived here, he’d never given a second thought to the mustard-yellow tile in the tiny foyer or the dim, brown globe light that set the tone for the whole nineteen-sixties feel of the house. Not retro, just…old.
He walked into the living room with the big window looking down the slope toward town, and tossed his coat over the beige recliner. When he turned around, he almost choked at the sight of Cat. In his house. Not only was she the first woman he’d ever invited inside, she was the first
person
.
She’d draped her coat over the half wall dividing the foyer from the living room, and was now bending over to pull off her fuzzy boots. Her hair made a long, swinging curtain. The sight of her, here, in the place where he cooked and exercised and tried to sleep, messed with his head. Made him doubt his bravery back in the store. Made him think he’d made a terrible mistake.
No, you didn’t
, murmured the Burned Man.
This is only the beginning.
She stepped onto the worn, shedding carpet in her socked feet.
Before she got to the coffee table he said, “You were wrong, before. I do owe you an apology.” She stopped, and waited with those huge caramel eyes fixed right on him. He focused on the lime green table lamp he’d bought from Goodwill for five bucks. He took a couple of hard swallows. “I don’t know what I want. I was aware of that when I met you, and when I went to the movie and then for coffee. I’m sorry for dragging you into my shit, for giving you mixed messages.”
She crept closer but still kept her distance. If he stretched out an arm he couldn’t touch her. “I think I understand,” she
She rolled her eyes and made a sound of frustration. Aimed at him. “Don’t apologize to me. Please, just don’t. I should be apologizing to you.” She rubbed fingers across her forehead. “I knew about that tourist, how she broke your heart. I knew how resistant you were to going out with me, and I still went after you. I wanted more. You didn’t. And you realized that while you were kissing me. Bottom line is, I suck.”
He blinked. Twice. She had no idea what he wanted. But he knew that he wanted to smile again, and he wanted it to be because of her.
“You don’t suck.”
She let out a short laugh. “Thanks.”
“I don’t invite people who suck back to my house for biscuits and omelets.”
It felt good, to say that. Even better when she pulled her hat down over her ears and gave up eyeing that sad éclair.
“Lead the way.”
“Okay, if you’d told me you lived on the top of Pike’s Peak, I might not have accepted the invitation.”
She huffed hard as they reached the top of the staircase thatended at his street. He snuck a sideways glance at her, noting the flush in her cheeks and the faint smile. “Sorry. You okay?”
“I will be.”
“This is it.” He gestured to the blue-shingled two bedroom wedged between Massive New Construction to the north and Million-dollar Re-do to the south. As he led the way up the concrete front steps, suddenly he was painfully aware that they weren’t level, and that the corner gutter was broken and that there was a large gash in the screen door.
He saw the unspoken question cross her face: how does a cook afford to own a home in this neighborhood, when even plots for tear-downs cost a fortune? The answer? He needed to live near town since he didn’t know how to drive, and this was the cheapest house Gwen Carroway’s money could buy him.
After Gwen had stopped the slavery and put an end to the business of selling the Tedrans’ glamour, she’d given all her money to him to help him start a new life. Every day he was reminded of what he could afford, and why. He hated money.
He slid his key into the lock, ignoring the jitters in his hand. Hopefully Cat was, too.
Inside, the smell of the cheese biscuits greeted them. He toed off his boots and unwound his scarf. In the three years he’d lived here, he’d never given a second thought to the mustard-yellow tile in the tiny foyer or the dim, brown globe light that set the tone for the whole nineteen-sixties feel of the house. Not retro, just…old.
He walked into the living room with the big window looking down the slope toward town, and tossed his coat over the beige recliner. When he turned around, he almost choked at the sight of Cat. In his house. Not only was she the first woman he’d ever invited inside, she was the first
person
.
She’d draped her coat over the half wall dividing the foyer from the living room, and was now bending over to pull off her fuzzy boots. Her hair made a long, swinging curtain. The sight of her, here, in the place where he cooked and exercised and tried to sleep, messed with his head. Made him doubt his bravery back in the store. Made him think he’d made a terrible mistake.
No, you didn’t
, murmured the Burned Man.
This is only the beginning.
She stepped onto the worn, shedding carpet in her socked feet.
Before she got to the coffee table he said, “You were wrong, before. I do owe you an apology.” She stopped, and waited with those huge caramel eyes fixed right on him. He focused on the lime green table lamp he’d bought from Goodwill for five bucks. He took a couple of hard swallows. “I don’t know what I want. I was aware of that when I met you, and when I went to the movie and then for coffee. I’m sorry for dragging you into my shit, for giving you mixed messages.”
She crept closer but still kept her distance. If he stretched out an arm he couldn’t touch her. “I think I understand,” she
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