I made a mental note to kill Maggie, figuratively, when I saw her again for setting me up.
The awkwardness surrounding us sucked the thrill out of seeing Cole again, especially remembering how we used to be with each other. I wanted out of the suffocating space. I shrugged and headed for the door. “You’ll have to ask her about that. See ya,” I said, tugging on the door. It wouldn’t open. I groaned silently.
“I’ll get it. It’s gotten worse. Maintenance’s promised all week to fix it.” He pulled several times, before it finally gave way, only Cole didn’t expect it. He stumbled backwards, arms flailing, knocking the sketch pad out of my hands, scattering several of my drawings.
“Sorry.” He immediately stooped to pick up my papers, stopping dead when he came to the drawing of him and the little girl. He also eyed a sketch of Maggie in her wedding dress I’d been working on.
Cole straightened, glaring at me. “So, you make a few sketches for Booker to appease him, hoping he’ll think you’re legit, but in reality you’re making sketches of us for your father.”
I’d had enough. Dealing with both Booker and my father was pushing me to the breaking point. I hated being followed everywhere I went. My privacy was constantly invaded. My phone conversations were monitored and my apartment bugged. Enough.
“You got me. My dad needed a picture of you in the ER so he could pick you out when he arrives, because everyone knows you live, eat, and breathe this place. Seriously, where else would he search for you?” My voice dripped in acerbity.
“And Maggie,” I tossed my arms in the air, “well, she walks around town wearing her wedding dress. I mean, how’d Daddy recognize her in a crowd without this drawing?”
He stepped up to me. “You brought this on yourself,” he yelled. He actually yelled.
If I wasn’t so angry I’d have cheered, but instead I shouted back, “I will not apologize anymore!” My finger poked his chest. “I’ve done everything and more that I’ve been asked to do. If that’s not good enough for you, then it’s your problem. I’m done groveling.”
“Whose fault is it that you feel the need to grovel, Lilah?”
One minute we stood there screaming at each other, the next I was in his arms, kissing him as though my life depended on it.
My heart raced. An uncontrollable response to the thrill of being in his arms again surged through me. I told myself to pull away, run, but quickly shut that part of my brain off, instead reveling in the moment with the man I desperately loved. I was drowning in him, and I just didn’t care. I didn’t care that in two short months Daddy would arrive, and I’d have to run to keep Cole safe. Until that black day, I wanted to relish every last second of him.
I tasted my tears as our lips searched each other’s. My hands fisted in his hair and held his face tight to mine. I have no idea how long we stood there, but it wasn’t long enough.
He crushed his mouth to mine, deepening the pressure of his hungry lips. Finally, we stopped, each pulling back with haggard breath.
“I love you,” I said, tugging him around and pushing him onto the desk’s corner. We were eye to eye now. He cupped my face and pulled me in for a soft, tender kiss. “Every time I said it I meant it,” I whispered, resting my forehead on his. “I’m sorry for being a coward when it comes to my father. I’m sorry for lying to you, to everyone.” I wiped the tears from my face. “I know it’s just an excuse, but I really did think he was only after the money. I never lied about loving you. Not ever.” I peppered his brow with my kisses. “I’ll earn your trust back, Cole. I promise.”
“You hurt me, Lilah. Deeply. I’d be lying if I said the wounds are healed,” Cole said softly, pulling me against him. “It’s going to take me some time to trust you completely again.”
I laid my head on his shoulder, reiterating, “I’m sorry.”
He ran a hand through my hair. “We’ll get through this, Lilah. It may take a while, but we will,” he vowed.
“Looks like I’ll be thanking Maggie for tricking me into coming to your office.” I traced circles on his arm as I spoke. “I like your new clothes, by the way, especially the jeans.” I bounced on his chest as he laughed.
“I’m still adjusting to them. Honestly, scrubs are ten times more comfortable.”
I looked into his beautiful blue eyes, biting my lower lip. “Maybe, but they are not nearly as sexy.” His ears turned pink. Man, I missed that. I ran my finger over one. He shivered.
“Do you like the motorcycle?” he asked, smiling widely.
“Love it.”
“I knew you would.” His eyes danced in amusement. “Want to go for a ride?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” I grabbed my sketches from the desk and raced for the door. “It’s been forever since I’ve been on a motorcycle. I love the sensation of wind blowing through my hair. Very liberating.”
“Blowing through your hair, as in no helmet?” Cole asked, tugging the door open easily. The thing had to be possessed.
I looped his arm in mine as we walked down the hall. “Riding a motorcycle with a helmet is for nerds.” Cole stopped mid-stride, staring at me in stupefied shock. I quickly added, “But it’s the only way I’ll ever ride on a motorcycle again.”
“You got that right,” he muttered as we continued to the elevators. “Riding without a helmet is for nerds.”
I didn’t wait for the doors to shut before slipping my arms around his neck again. “I’m glad you didn’t get rid of Opie completely,” I teased.
“Not wearing scrubs all the time or allowing people to take advantage of me has nothing to do with being smart. Do you know how many . . .” as he quoted the statistics on motorcycle accidents and the traumas suffered between those who wore helmets versus those who didn’t, I fingered his hair, pretending to listen. I had him back in my life, statistics and all.
**
“This is your house?” I asked for the second time, unbuckling my helmet. He’d gotten me an orange one, to my surprise. He couldn’t understand why I was surprised since we didn’t break up. I considered pointing out that after not hearing from him in five days I assumed he’d washed his hands of me, but then decided not to risk him rethinking his decision.
“Come, I’ll show you around.” We walked up the brick pathway to the gorgeous yellow Cape Cod.
Cole tried two different keys before finding the right one. “I never remember which one it is,” he said, pushing the door open.
I stepped into a lovely entryway with Travertine tile flooring. It extended about ten feet to a half wall, with two round pillars reaching from the half-wall to the ceiling. Through the entryway we stepped into a spacious living room. Spacious and very empty, with the exception of a blue futon that had seen better days.
“Did the previous owners leave that?” I pointed to the sad little thing.
“No. I’ve had that since college. I intended to use it as a temporary couch until I got around to furnishing the place, but as you can see, that’s not happened.” He attempted to fluff up the flat blue cushion.
“Until you got around . . . Cole, how long have you owned this house?”
“Not quite five years,” he admitted, sheepishly.
“And you’ve never done anything with it?” I failed to hide my astonishment.
“I’m seldom here. The space is too big and empty, I could never get used to it.” He scanned the room casually. Clearly he held no ties to the space. If it were to burn down tomorrow, it probably wouldn’t affect him in the least.
“I’ll show you the rest.” He took my hand, drawing it to his lips as we crossed the living room.
“This is the dining room. You probably figured that out by the folding table and two chairs.” He pointed to a door in the room. “Through here’s an incredible kitchen. Too bad I can’t cook.” He flashed me a crooked grin as we walked into the room
Unlike every room I’d seen so far, the kitchen shined. Beautiful dark oak beams crossed the ceiling, and dark gray stone grac
ed the floor. The cabinets were a soft gray with raised panels. An antique white island cabinet stood in the center of the vast room. Black granite tied everything together beautifully. Whoever designed this knew what they were doing.
“When I bought the house it wasn’t finished. The builder had run out of money. Booker got it for me at a really great price. This kitchen was an empty shell. Only the plumbing and sheetrock were in place. Booker designed the whole thing and built the cabinets.
“Isn’t he just the talented one?” I murmured.
“Maggie said he’s been pretty hard on you.” Cole led me down a hall next.
“That’s putting it mildly. Of course if I thought someone wanted to kill all of my friends, I’d probably be the same way.”
“He’ll come around, I promise, and when he does, he’ll be your staunchest defender, next to me, of course.”
Yeah, so I’ve been told. I just smiled.
He opened a door to a bedroom, but that’s not how I saw it. The two windows reached from ceiling to floor, like all the windows in the home, but the northern light that poured in through these made them perfect for painting by.
“This is what I envisioned as my office someday.” Cole followed me in. “Bookshelves over here, a desk on the far wall,” he gestured.
“This is a great room. The lighting’s terrific.” I walked over to the windows and gazed out. The lot backed up to a small creek and several trees.
“That’s right, you artists like northern lighting.” He came up behind and rested his hands on my shoulders.
“This view’s why I let Book talk me into this property. I imagined my sons building forts in those trees, and catching frogs in the muddy creek.”
“And your wife doing lots of laundry,” I pointed out.
“There’s a first floor laundry I forgot to show you. I don’t have a washer or dryer yet,” he admitted.
“How do you wash your clothes?”
“Booker’s house, or the Laundromat.” He shrugged. “Now you understand my new resolve even more.” He stroked the back of his hand along my jaw. “I do love you so.”
He kissed me before I could respond. I let my kiss be his answer. I did a pretty good job of it too, until a loud slam jolted both of us. Cole pulled back. “Hold on. We’re about to hit the rapids.” He held tight to my hand and led me into the living room.
And to Booker.
Chapter 28
“I thought you said you were through with her,” Booker demanded. Cole tugged me behind him. I let him. Steam practically spewed from Booker as he paced the living room.
“No. What I said was I was done talking about her with you. You’re unreasonable when it comes to Lilah.” Cole held me firmly in place.
“I’m unreasonable? I’m not the one letting my hormones talk for me.”
Cole stepped toward Booker. I grabbed his shirt and held him back. “You need to leave,” Cole said, harshly. I’d never heard him use that tone.
Booker’s footsteps grew faint as he walked away. “Remember what I said to you, Lilah. I meant every word of it.” The front door slammed shut. I stumbled backwards, dropping onto the battered futon. Cole pulled me into his lap.
“I should just leave town. I’m destroying everyone’s lives,” I said, biting the insides of my cheek to keep from crying.
“Lilah, Booker has a long, dark history with drug dealers. He’s being unreasonable,” he assured me. “Do I want to know what he said to you?”
I snuggled down onto his shoulder. “Just your typical threat. Hurt the ones I love, you die.” Cole jerked at my words. I lifted my head and said, “I’m exaggerating.” Kind of.
“Let’s not focus on Booker. I showed you my house because I’d like you to make it a home. Decorate it for me. Make it a warm, inviting place.”
“Really?” I reexamined the living room as a million ideas raced through my head.
“Yes. It’s part of my plan to get a life, if you will. I’m not going to sleep at the hospital one more night. I want a warm inviting space to come home to each night, and I’d like you to design it.” He grinned at my exuberance. “And I’m giving you complete freedom, Lilah. However you want the space to be, that’s how it should be. This needs to be a space you’ll consider sharing with me.”
My heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t sure if he just asked me to marry him or what, but not wanting to ruin the moment, I let it slide. “Are you sure? What about Booker? Or Seth? He’s not too fond of me either.”
“They’ll have to get over it, I guess,” he said simply. “Will you take the job?”
“Yes. I’d love to! I still want more input from you. You’re going to live in this space, so it has to be comfortable for you.”
“Do whatever. Paint everything purple, for all I care. My only request is a big bed. I’m tired of sleeping on silly, too-short mattresses,” he said, scowling. “I don’t want my feet to hang off the bed one more night. So think big.”
“What’s in the master bedroom now?” I pointed to the one room we hadn’t entered on the main floor. He nodded and followed me inside. The room was double in size from the first. It held a twin bed, a three foot high dresser, and a clock radio that sat on the floor next to the bed. That was it. The large room dwarfed the tiny bed. He opened a door and showed me a very large walk-in closet. Several sets of scrubs hung on a rack, along with what I assumed were his new clothes, judging by the tags still on them.
“You have to see this bathroom.” Cole opened a door opposite the closet. It too was large, with a two person shower and double bowl sinks. The stunning cabinets screamed of Booker’s handy work, but what caught my eye was the large sunken tub. I sighed out loud. Cole laughed.
“I have, like, a million ideas for this house. Didn’t I see stairs leading to a second story?” I marched out into the living room.
“Yes. It’s unfinished. You’ll be doing the living room, dining room and the main bedroom. Except not the office. I’ll do that room,” he explained. “I have big plans for in there.”
“A man cave?” I teased.
“Maybe. Which reminds me, I’ll set up a credit account at the local hardware store and at Burgerman’s Furniture. That way you won’t need to wait for me to get the supplies you need.”
“You’re not going to help pick out furniture?” I questioned.
“I’m not good at that kind of stuff. My idea of perfect would be a kidney shaped couch and a heart shaped bed. And by heart I don’t mean a valentine heart, I mean a valves and chambers type heart.” His eyes danced in amusement.
“I’ll guide you.” I assured him.
He took my hand and we walked to the door leading to the garage where he pointed out a security system.
“Booker installed one for you, too?” I wondered if Cole’s code were as crazy as Booker’s.
“I had a small TV at one time, but someone broke in and robbed me. Booker and Seth installed the system after that, but I seldom remember to set the thing.” He started punching in the numbers and I turned my back. I didn’t want him to think I spied on him. He set the code and placed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the motorcycle. “Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four,” Cole said, handing me the orange helmet.
The code. I sighed. “Booker’s not going to—” He stopped me with a kiss.
“I’ll repeat myself. He’ll have to get over it.” He said it as if it were a simple task. Simple all right—kind of like milking a shark.
“When do you want me to start on this?” I buckled the helmet and tucked my hair down the back of my shirt.
“Four years ago,” he chuckled. “As soon as possible, how’s that?”
“I think I’ll ask Maggie if she wants to help. We’ve talked a little about starting a design business together.” I glanced back at the Cape with a smile, my mind about to explode with ideas.
“Great. I can help around my schedule, too.” He secured his helmet.
A thought hit me. “Col
e, have you considered a color scheme?” And please don’t say beige.
“I’m leaving that all up to you. I want this to be a place you’d want to live, Lilah, only I really don’t want any of that modern stuff. Too cold and sterile.” He wrinkled his nose.
“So oranges and reds are okay then?” I teased.
“Yup. If that’s what you want.”
My eyes narrowed. “Who are you and what have you done with my Cole?”
“You sound like Maggie.” He shrugged, revving the bike a few times before I hopped on behind him. “It’s really me, and I’m getting a life.”
**
“This is a completely different space. It looks nothing like my old trailer,” Maggie said, walking around the living room again, her features tight. Something was wrong. The furniture was in place and the trailer looked terrific, in a bland sort of way. Of course anything would look better than before the remodel. She ran her hands over the back of the beige recliner.
“I agree. It looks really good. The furniture’s perfect for the space. Not too big, not too—Mags, what’s wrong?” At my question, a single tear tumbled down her cheek.
“Sorry. I’m being silly.” She forced a laugh. “I’m going to double check the bedrooms. Booker wants to bring someone by to look at the place and I want it to . . . to . . .” and the flood gates opened. Tears rained down her face.
“Maggie, what is it?” I tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear and gave her a hug.
“I can’t sell this place, Lilah. This is all I have left of my mother.” She dried her face and slumped onto the brown microfiber couch. “This makes no sense,” she said. “You’d think I’d be happy to get rid of it. My memories here are nightmares, really. I’m still angry at my mother for pretty much everything.”
“Including dying?” I asked, sitting down next to her.
“Including dying,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I have so many emotions inside. Anger, disgust, resentment. Sorrow, so much sorrow. Sorrow over losing her. Sorrow for never developing a relationship with her.” Another tear fell down her cheek. “I haven’t been to the grave since the day we buried her. I didn’t even pick out the headstone. Seth did.”
Unbelievable Page 23
