“Good.” The girl dabbed at her face. “Because I don’t think I could take it if the rest of my life is going to be like the past two months.”
Two months.
“Thanks for coming in here and talking to me.” She threw out the paper towel then grasped the door handle. “I think I’m going to leave and try again next time.”
Sloane nodded and tried to smile, incapable of words. Two months. She was going on thirteen years. There was a huge difference in the time lapse, but not a stark contrast in what their grief looked like. Maybe she should be more like everyone else in that room—smiling and social and moving on with their lives.
“You’re quiet,” Cooper said as they walked to the car.
“Just thinking.” She wasn’t ready to process this realization out loud.
Sloane reached for the door handle, but Cooper’s hand curved around her elbow and pulled gently until she was nestled in that place at his side, wrapped in his arms. “Thanks for coming with me.” His chin brushed against her head with every word.
“It was—it was good. Really good.”
On the drive home, Cooper talked about a new Asian fusion restaurant that opened in Deep Ellum, and she told him about some of Grace’s more far-fetched recipes that could go on their menu.
He stopped in front of Sloane’s building and climbed out to walk her to the door.
“Do you want to come in?”
Cooper searched her eyes, his forehead wrinkled in curiosity.
“I have a ton of leftover recipes I did for the website,” she told him—just in case he was questioning her motives. “It’s practically an all-you-can-eat buffet in my refrigerator right now.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
Sloane’s spine prickled as they walked across the street and through the lobby.
The elevator took forever. When the door finally opened, there was Mrs. Melone.
Perfect.
The older woman stopped in her tracks, as her gaze shifted between Cooper and Sloane.
No, friendly neighbor. Your eyes aren’t deceiving you. The Bunco ladies would get an earful. Mrs. Melone would probably call an emergency meeting the minute she left the lobby—if she had the decency to wait that long.
“Good evening, Mrs. Melone.” Sloane dipped her head in greeting.
The older woman slid an appraising glance over Cooper’s form before she straightened to her full height and walked past them. “Good evening.” She looked over her shoulder at Sloane and winked.
Ha! Mrs. Melone had totally broken character. Finally.
Sloane nudged Cooper into the elevator doors before he could see more of this unlocked sass—those penciled eyebrows all wiggly and suggestive.
When they got to her apartment, Cooper hesitated in the doorway.
“What? I’m not going to bite.”
“Don’t you need to clean up a little first?”
Sloane crossed her arms. “For what?”
“Well, women usually—” He stopped himself, and hung his head in surrender.
“What are you saying, Coop? Out of all of the dozens of women you know, I’m the only tidy one?”
“Try hundreds.”
She tried to push him into the hallway, but the solid mass of him didn’t budge.
“Okay, okay. I won’t assume anything about you ever again.” He slid past her, raising his arms in victory that he’d made it past her. They fell to his side as he surveyed the apartment. “Wow, you really weren’t joking. Were you that sure I’d agree to come up?”
“No, it’s always like this. It was this clean when you were here the other day.”
“I guess I wasn’t in any condition to be observant.” He crossed to Sloane’s black Crate&Barrel entertainment stand and ran a fingertip along the top. No dust to speak of. “What, were you a housekeeper in a different life or something?”
“No. Can we just eat?” He was making her self-conscious. She opened her refrigerator and closed it immediately. Spotless surfaces were one thing, but she strongly suspected Cooper would take issue with the state of her refrigerator.
But the tilt of his head and his sly half smile said he knew exactly what she was hiding. “Let’s see it.”
She sighed and slowly opened the door. Her perishables were arranged symmetrically, each item stored in a sealed glass container and labeled with the exception of the milk. Despite her insistence that they’d get their glass bottles back in better condition than before, the dairy that supplied her milk didn’t allow her to label their bottles.
“So, what are we having?” The humor was gone from Cooper’s voice, his ornery grin replaced with understanding and something so much worse.
Pity.
Sloane turned away from him—she couldn’t take that look in his eyes anymore—and started pulling out containers and arranging them on the counter.
“What? Sloane, are you mad?”
“You must think I’m some kind of freak.”
“No, I—”
“I don’t drive. You could eat off my stupid toilet seat. I don’t have any friends here...”
“Whoa. I didn’t say any of that. That’s...it’s...”
“It’s true, Cooper.” She clenched her fist against the counter. “All of those people in your group. You’re all happy and moving on with your lives. When is that going to happen for me? When am I going to be the one who’s free?”
“Sloane.” Cooper’s voice was even, calm. “How can you be free if you won’t forgive yourself?”
She opened her mouth, hoping something coherent and smart and right would come out. But she had nothing. She opened the lids on the containers and began to inspect them.
“Sloane, I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“No, you’re right. You’re totally right.”
He sighed and gripped the granite counter. Probably regretting his moment of straightforwardness. But maybe that was exactly what Sloane needed. Someone to confront her with the difficult questions.
“I need to figure out what I’m going to do about that. I really do. But let’s eat first.” She upended a container labeled Harvest Lasagna into a casserole dish, smoothed it with a spatula and put it in the oven. Cooper chopped some greens for a salad to go with the vinaigrette from the fridge. Sloane set the table.
If they talked to each other at all, it was only about the food. But she could practically feel his concern hovering over her as they worked. Finally, there was nothing left for them to do but wait for the timer to wind down before the lasagna would be ready to pull from the oven.
Sloane ripped off her cardigan, suddenly suffocated by the long sleeves with the heat radiating from the oven. “I’m going to go change. Be right back.” She slammed the door to her bedroom behind her.
A seam popped at the waist of her dress as she yanked it over her head. She kicked off her ballet flats so violently that one sailed over the bed almost into the bathroom. She fell face-first onto the down comforter, willing the draft from the window to cool her—her body and her mood.
How did one go about forgiving herself when she was ready? Say it out loud?
The oven timer beeped. Sloane pulled on a clean V-neck and yoga pants, harnessing the sweaty strands of her hair into a bun. Much better. Much better on all fronts.
“That sage smells amazing,” Cooper said from behind the kitchen island. “Are you good?” There was a double meaning in his words. She could see him restraining his questions, stifling his urge to fix things for her because she wasn’t ready. Because he respected her.
“I’m not okay.” Sloane gave a pathetic, lopsided smile. “But I feel like I’m going to be.” Admitting that out loud had a better effect than she expected. So freeing that an ironic laugh burst from her.
Coo
per snickered, breaking the lines of concentration on his face. “That’s good, Sloane.” He’d already portioned the lasagna next to their salads and filled two glasses with ice and water. They bypassed the kitchen table for the living room and sat next to each other on the couch.
“This is so good it should probably be illegal,” Cooper said, after his second bite of lasagna. “Let me see if I can name these flavors.”
“You can try.” Sloane took a sip of water.
He savored another forkful, square jaw working as he rolled the flavors around his taste buds. “Butternut squash, for sure.”
Those lips are luscious enough to kiss. Sloane’s hand wandered to her cheek as the baseball game replayed in her mind for the millionth time. “Yes. Continue.”
“Sage. Butter—”
“Browned butter.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, browned butter. Ricotta.” He smacked his lips. “A bit of dried cranberry?”
Sloane nodded. “Can you taste the other fruit? Butternut squash’s sweet wife?”
He cut off another corner of his piece and lifted the top layer to inspect it. “Is that apple?”
“Only the best combination fall has to offer. They’re a match made in heaven.” She took a bite and closed her eyes to pick out the apple flavor and let it melt across her palate.
They finished their dinner and sank into the couch with matching full and satisfied sighs. A few moments later, Cooper sat up and leaned toward her. “Sloane, something you said has been bothering me.”
She straightened. So they’d arrived at the part in the evening where he confronted her about her...oddities. “Mmm-hmm?”
“I don’t want you to think anyone in that support group today has everything together,” he said. “Nobody has it together. Everyone has good days and bad days.”
Interesting. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that, if you had come with me the last time I went, you would have seen me break down and cry like a baby because it was Jordan’s birthday.”
“My mom calls me every year on Aaron’s birthday.” Of course, the past few years, she’d let the call go to voice mail. But that was beside the point. “I guess the meeting just made me feel like I should be having way more good days than bad days at this point. Like I’m destined to be—I don’t know—frozen in those memories forever.”
“You don’t have to be.” Cooper slipped his fingers through hers.
“I know.” Their knees touched as she leaned toward him, spreading sparks of heat through Sloane’s whole body. “I know my grief manifests itself in pretty weird ways. That I’ve spent the last twelve years marinating in it and letting it turn me into this.” She swept a hand to indicate her color-coded shelves and spotless surfaces.
“Sloane—”
“But I can’t grasp what freedom and forgiveness look like. I don’t think I’ve even figured out how to cope.”
Cooper took a sip of water. “Life should be so much more than just coping.” He traced the outline of Sloane’s hand with his fingers, soft like the strokes of a delicate paintbrush. “You have to decide to really live. You have your work, you have the kids. You have your friends and family.”
She bit her lip in anticipation when he hesitated.
You have me.
But the words never left his mouth.
“Where do I begin? How do I retrain myself not to focus so much on perfect? Orderly. Predictable.”
“It’s been better lately, hasn’t it?”
She shrugged. “I guess. Yeah.”
“The best thing Simone ever taught me was when you look at something, don’t look for the imperfections. Try to see the beauty.”
She swallowed hard, their locked gaze too heavy for her to hold and process his words at the same time.
Don’t look for the imperfections. Try to see the beauty.
Is that how he looked at her?
They sat in silence for a few moments. “So you haven’t driven since...?”
“I haven’t been behind the wheel since the accident,” she admitted. “That was one of Dallas’s biggest selling points in the first place.”
“Mass transit?”
Sloane nodded, and the confessions kept rolling out. “But I don’t leave my apartment very much or at least I didn’t before the Coopers came into my life.”
He grinned, squeezing her hand. “And the whole organization thing?”
“I wasn’t always like this.” Visions of her collaged bedroom walls and overflowing jewelry boxes at her parents’ house flashed through her mind. “They said it’s OCD triggered by the PTSD after the accident.”
She watched Cooper’s face for signs of discomfort, but he nodded in acknowledgement. “So that’s why you need those contracts with VisibilityNet. So you can work from home.” His grip remained steady on her hand.
Sloane nodded. “The therapist my parents made me see said it was my brain’s natural defense mechanism to make me want to control things since I couldn’t control what happened to Aaron.”
“Exactly. It wasn’t your fault.” Cooper released her hand and reached for her leg, gently sliding it onto his lap. “And this is where—”
“My leg broke.” She guided his pointer finger along the bones. “Three places here and four places there. And this is where they put in the rods.”
Cooper’s fingers slid up and down the length of Sloane’s scar, sending prickling goose bumps across her arms and legs. The tenderness in his touch...
“What are you thinking about?” she asked him.
“The baseball game.”
Her pulse thudded in her ears. “I know.” Any doubts about Cooper’s feelings for her were gone as her gaze slid over his face.
The truth was written boldly across his features. Hungry. Expectant. Inching closer to her. “I wanted more.”
She nodded and felt her lips part, heavy and tingling with anticipation. Begging for the gap to be closed.
Cooper paused, close enough she could feel his breath. He framed her face in his knife-scarred hands. His eyes asked a question she answered by giving in to the pull. By pressing into the distance until her lips met his, gentle and sweet and tentative at first.
But then his mouth parted, and a rush washed over her—a rush at once warmer and clearer than she’d felt in ages. She allowed herself to be bathed in it, not just dipping a toe in the water but sinking until it stretched well above her head. Only it wasn’t like being underwater at all. Because, for the first time in ages, she didn’t have to fight to breathe.
Their lips untangled, but her momentum went rogue. Sloane swayed toward him, fighting to remain upright. When their eyes met, her exhilaration was mirrored in Cooper’s eyes.
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her so close she could smell smoky hints of the bacon he’d cooked earlier that day and his rich cologne. “Are you glad that happened?”
“Really glad.”
“Crazy family and all?”
Sloane nodded. “Crazy OCD and all?”
He tilted his head a few inches, revealing an intensity in his eyes that made Sloane’s toes curl. “All of you,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead and returning her to her rightful place.
Against the cadence of his quickened heartbeat, Sloane absorbed what had happened. Did she really kiss Graham Cooper? She would have howled in disbelief if someone had told her that a few months ago.
“I’m going to need you to be patient with me, Sloane.”
At the gravity in his voice, she squeezed his arm in support and to encourage him to continue.
“I’ve destroyed pretty much everything I’ve ever touched because of my drinking—every...relationship.” He kissed the top of her head. “But when my plane touched down
today, I knew I had to try.”
“Don’t see the imperfections, right? See the beauty.”
“That’s right.” Relief softened the tension in Cooper’s face. “Can we work on that? Together?”
She pressed her lips to his cheek.
A glint flashed in Cooper’s eyes before he kissed her again.
“I need to get home, to take Maddie out. I don’t want to, but—” He kissed her again. “This could be dangerous.”
This could be very dangerous, indeed.
Sloane walked him to the elevator, their hands woven together. Savoring the last moments of nearness to him. “Tell Maddie hi.”
They’d definitely crossed a line they could never take back. When they kissed again to say goodbye, she didn’t mind that fact one bit.
Not when it gave her no doubt there was still a pulse ticking under her skin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
COOPER HADN’T EXPECTED it to happen this fast.
One minute, he’d been determined to keep Sloane at arm’s length, away from the wide surface area of debris his errant addiction tended to create, and the next, he was kissing her. Waking up early on a Saturday to get his work done so he’d have time to see her.
After careful research on her website, Cooper had ordered a brilliant arrangement of Stargazer lilies from his mother’s florist to butter up Sloane for his next plan. But the flowers weren’t even the icing on the cake compared to where they were going next.
He paused at Sloane’s door, rearranging an errant flower he knew she would notice and fix if left askew. The door opened before he could knock. A flash of blond and cream appeared before her arms were around his neck and her full weight slammed into him. He wrapped his free arm around her waist as her lips covered his.
Oh.
He hadn’t expected this.
This was nice.
“Hey.” Sloane touched her forehead to his. There was no trace of the morose chill, just a warm playfulness as her feet touched the floor. She swept a strand of hair behind her ear, leaving a streak of flour across her cheek. “What are you doing here? With flowers.”
With No Reservations Page 18
