Solace (The Kingwood Series Book 4)

by S. L. Scott

  Partner.

  That’s the problem. I wasn’t a partner in that relationship. I was only a girl holding him back. Taking a deep breath, I try to rid my mind of that memory and the pain I still feel to this day. I grab my phone, head out onto the front porch, and call my sister. Shelby answers right away, “Hey, sis.”

  “Why do you have to live so far away?”

  She laughs, but it’s light, both of us well aware of the reason why. “Are you nervous or excited?”

  “My emotions are undecided how to feel about him. On the one hand—”

  “Oh, here we go.”

  “Hush. It’s true. He hurt me, and that pain is tangible even now four years later.”

  “But?”

  “I’m getting there. But he does look good, even better than I remember, and more charming if that’s even possible.” Smelled amazing too, just like he used to. I was tempted to touch that clean-shaven jaw of his, to run the tips of my fingers over the veins in his hands as he gripped my door like I’d escape if he didn’t. He was intense. Determined. On a mission. Powerful. I struggle to swallow, remembering how imposing his body was, how he leaned in, leaving me no room to say no. God, it was hot. I start fanning myself with—

  “Jason Koster could charm a porcupine out of its needles. Your panties never stood a chance.”

  “Stop teasing.” I’d like to argue her point, but she’s right on the money. I won’t tell her that though. She’ll hold it over me because Jason was everything—handsome, charismatic, talented, intelligent, and sexier than any man ever should be. But I thought I was his everything and I wasn’t, so what do I know? “Did you book your flight?”

  “Yep. Now you have to clean the house and get that farm back in order.” She laughs. “Do you have a few minutes to go over invoices?”

  The sound of tires grinding against the gravel of my dirt driveway alerts me to a visitor. “Actually, he’s here. I need to go. We can go over them tomorrow.”

  “Don’t sleep with him.”

  “What? There’s no way in hell I’m sleeping with Jason. If that’s what he thinks he’s getting for dinner, he’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  “How much do you want to wager?”

  “I am not sleeping with that man, Shelby.”

  “All right,” she replies, her tone sounding like she doesn’t believe me. “So one of your homemade pies?”

  “I’m not sleeping with him.” She’s ridiculous. “Fine. I’ll wager a pie.”

  Giggling, she adds, “Good luck, little sis.”

  “Whatever. Talk tomorrow.”

  As soon as she says bye, I run to the bathroom, check my appearance, and smack my lips together to spread the gloss. While I make my way casually to the front door—like I don’t have a care in the world, despite my whole body and mind caring too much—I dispute her claim. I will not sleep with him. I’m not attracted to Jason Koster anymore. I swing the door open, my thoughts still buzzing. We are two different people than we were four years ag—HOLY hell. Lord, help me. I’m in trouble.

  The color brown was never fitting for Jason’s eyes—vibrant, full of life, joy, love. Those words always seem to fit his shade better. All those things still light up that color I never could pinpoint with basic adjectives, but being this close to him now with the screen door open, there’s a new emotion hidden inside near the darkness of his pupils. I’m thinking it’s life. It gets to us all sometime or another, but his concerns me. What has stolen the light from his eyes?

  “Hi,” he says with a smirky grin that reminds me of my sister’s warning that my panties never stood a chance. Poof. Yup, he’s still got it.

  I walk out. “Hi there yourself.” Leaning against the railing, needing a few feet of distance between us, between me and those eyes and that smile, and from how amazing he smells. “So why did you want to have dinner together?”

  The screen door flies from his hand, and he nods to his truck. “Because we have to eat. You hungry, Delilah?”

  Honestly, I have nothing to prove, and my sister would never really make me pay up on any wager, fictional or real. But when I hear my name roll off his tongue like he just tasted the sweetest ice cream he ever had, my body and mind remember like it was yesterday when he used to say it prefaced by three little words I don’t say anymore. His deep tone jumpstarts my heart, and I swear my fingers tighten around that old white wood railing.

  He asks, “You okay?”

  “Good. Yeah.” I wave my hands in front of me, but when it looks like flailing, I pretend to swat. “Damn mosquitoes.”

  Looking around confused, his brow furrows. “Oh wow, I didn’t notice. Do you want to go inside?”

  “No,” I shout. “I mean,” I add, lowering my voice, “no. Outside is good.” He’s staring at me. I bite my lip, shake my head, and dash down the steps. “I’m starved. What’d you bring?”

  I make it to the truck before turning back. Jason is still standing on the porch, his head tilted down, his eyes watching me while he scratches the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I ask, leaning my hip against the bumper.

  “I didn’t intend to make you so uncomfortable.”

  “What are your intentions?”

  He descends the steps with ease in his body and confidence in his stride. “To feed you.” Walking right up next to me, he reaches into the bed of the truck and holds up a picnic basket. “I was thinking we could eat at the lake on the pier.”

  “Oh, that pier is long past safe these days, but I can grab a blanket or chairs for the grass.”

  Holding up a blanket, he adds, “I came prepared.”

  “Oh, I bet you did,” I mumble under my breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  He walks around to the passenger’s door and opens it for me. “Hop in, honeysuckle.”

  Honeysuckle.

  I wish I didn’t like that so much, but the memories of how I got the name warm my insides, the taste of his kiss still lingering on my tongue as if it happened yesterday. He offers me a hand and I take it without thinking. If I had been thinking, I would have prepared for the current flowing between us like a live wire. I would have remembered how my body always came alive under his touch, and I would have remembered to breathe as my body brushed against his. Hell, if I were thinking at all, I wouldn’t have accepted this date. But I wasn’t, and here I am sitting in the cab of his truck with so many good times flashing back.

  “I didn’t realize your mom kept your truck.”

  “She didn’t have to,” he says, starting the engine. He drives across the property as if he never left. “She even takes her out for monthly drives.”

  “I once saw it driving through town, but figured I must have been seeing things.”

  He smiles, but it slips away when his eyes find the lake ahead. Shifting the truck into park, he rests his arms on the top of the steering wheel. “Wow, it’s exactly the same.”

  The lake doesn’t get the same attention from me since he’s stolen all of mine. He turns to me, catching my eyes on him. “Hi.”

  Jason’s sweet enough to not embarrass me. “Hi.”

  “You were staring.” Okay, maybe he’s not so sweet.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I like when you look at me.” My cheeks heat because he not only likes me looking at him, but he’s noticed me staring at him. I open the door, needing to get out of the close confines of the cab of his truck. “Hey,” he calls. When I look over my shoulder, he adds, “You’re making me look bad here. Stay there.” He hops out and runs around. Offering me a hand to get out, he stands, not leaving much room between us.

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  When my feet land on the ground, he continues to hold my hand. I’m about to walk away when our hands part, and he shoves his in his pockets. “You were always very independent, so I know you can take care of yourself. But no matter how indepe
ndent you are or how many years passed between us from then to now, I will always worry about you, Delilah.”

  My racing heart calms as if I was tucked into his arms like I used to be. It’s wrong, and my head is swimming in confusion, but it feels good to feel cared for again.

  8

  Delilah

  Staring.

  I’m staring at him again. The way his muscles work fluidly together, the veins popping out with the least bit of effort he puts into a task.

  His arms . . . they’re better than any porn I can imagine.

  Jason Koster was always gorgeous. Tall, dark, and handsome was envious of what that man possessed. His body is hard, the fittest I’ve ever seen him, and he was fit when he played football, but this is different. This peak physical fitness makes me even more curious how he stays in shape, and why to this degree. “Do you still play football?”

  He stops and stomps a plank of the dock with his heel. When he glances up, he replies, “No. Billy and I have tossed the ball around a bit, but that’s all really.”

  “You got a tattoo.” I run my hand over his bicep and tilt my head. The tattoo is on the underside, kind of hidden. “On your arm,” I add, as if he doesn’t know it’s there.

  “Two years ago. It’s a design I saw graffitied under a bridge in Seattle. I took a pic. I wish I knew the artist so I could show them.”

  “Why did you choose that design?”

  “It spoke to me. If you look closely, the detailing of the clouds mixed with the darker sky. Blurring the night with the day.” He shakes his head gently. “Can the light fight the dark? Can it survive?”

  “Is that how you feel? Are you surviving the dark?”

  “Right now? I’m living. For the first time in a long time I’m living.”

  Looking satisfied, he comes back to me . . . back to me . . . He’s now staring deep into my eyes, and I can’t seem to look away. When a smile crosses those full lips he asks, “Can I have the blanket, Delilah?”

  Snapping me back to reality, my eyebrows shoot straight up. “Oh, yeah, here.” I shove the blanket I was holding like a lifeline into his hard, brick-like abs. Peeking down, I can see the muscle beneath the button-up shirt, that six-pack calling my attention right to it.

  From his close proximity, my heart begins to race. With the blanket bunched in his arms, his eyes lower to my lips before he leans forward. My lips part as I suck in air, needing help to breathe. Stopping, he looks at me and whispers, “Did you think I was going to kiss you?”

  Mortified, my head jerks back. “No!” Yes. “Not at all.” Oh my God! I’m so embarrassed. And I was going to let him. Not just let him but kiss him back. I know I was. Oh, good gracious. I walk around him and point at the dock like that is actually going to deflect the humiliation creeping up my skin in a fiery, blotchy haze. “Is the dock safe?”

  Staring. He’s staring again. “Yeah,” he chuckles when he speaks. “It needs a little work, some planks replaced sooner than later, but for tonight, as long as we don’t jump up and down on it, it’s good to go.”

  He goes to the dock and spreads the blanket. I grab the picnic basket from the truck to keep my mind off the fact that I would have totally kissed Jason Koster if he’d kissed me. The man is magnetic, and I’m weak to his pull. Will this never change? Even after he broke my heart?

  Reaching in after me, he grabs a small cooler, a few pillows, and follows me to the dock.

  The scene is set, the sun going down. The cicadas get louder as early evening becomes twilight. He’s thought of everything, including wine. He fills two glasses with Sauvignon blanc, while I pull the containers out of the basket. I expected beer, but he’s pleasantly surprising me. “You went all out.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you like chicken salad?”

  He may have avoided the question, but I don’t point it out. Sometimes we need time to work through things. I’m still curious why he was so insistent to see me though. “I love it.”

  “My mom taught me how to make her recipe. She makes the best with the grapes and celery.”

  “Hers is the best. She’s a wonderful woman.”

  He takes a baguette out and starts cutting it into pieces. “She says the same about you.”

  The compliment makes me smile, but the baguette fascinates me. “Where did you get that? I know Smally’s Grocers doesn’t sell French bread.”

  Glancing up, his darker eyelashes highlight the golden centers of his eyes. “I ran over to Kerbyville. They have a bakery just this side of downtown.”

  “That’s forty-five minutes away.” I’m not so much asking a question as questioning why he drove so far.

  Returning to the bread, he slices the pieces open, and takes the chicken salad container from me. “It was the closest bakery.”

  “But it’s bread.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  I struggle to comprehend why he would drive two towns over for specialty bread. “I love it. I just . . . you really didn’t have to go to this much trouble, Jason.”

  “I had some time to kill this afternoon.” He hands me a sandwich and says, “Did you know Smally sold the store?”

  Smiling, I reply, “Yes, I live here. It was big news when he announced it. Raina Smilth and her fourth husband bought it and promised to keep the name.”

  “I hope so. It’s a legend around here.”

  “Well, Raina’s fifth husband disagrees, but I heard she filed for divorce last week, so he won’t have a say anyway.”

  He laughs. “Wow, isn’t she only like fifty?”

  “She brags she’s had one for each decade of her life.” I laugh now, feeling silly talking about this.

  Silence seeps in as we eat our sandwiches. I notice how his eyes take in the area as if he’s scanning more than casually looking around. He says, “It’s not changed at all out here.”

  “The whole world seems to except this little plot of land, which forever remains unchanged.”

  “I like it. It’s exactly how I remember.” I look up when I feel his gaze lay heavy on me. He adds, “You haven’t changed either.”

  My head lowers and I feel self-conscious. I hate that my cheeks heat under the most innocent of comments. Setting my sandwich down, I tug at my skirt with one hand and pick up my wine with the other. A single finger touches the base of my chin and lifts up. “I like seeing your eyes and your sweet face.”

  “I don’t feel so sweet these days.”

  “Can I ask you something, Delilah?”

  I know what it is. It’s always the same. People are baffled with how I ended up with my boyfriend’s best friend. Gullible. Naïve. So stupid. Something about Cole or the divorce.

  Coming out on the other side of this nightmare I survived, I see how he twisted the truth and made me believe I wasn’t good enough to hold on to Jason’s love, to keep his attention when he would soon be surrounded by so many girls and then the NFL would call. I stood no chance at all. Sabrina taught me that jealousy makes women vicious. I’d be an embarrassment on his arm. My accent would be mocked. He’d eventually see what he could have would be better than what he had at home.

  Cole did a number on my head, which destroyed my heart. I don’t understand why Jason is back, but I can’t deny I still have feelings for him. Does one ever get over their first love?

  “God, I’m the most boring person ever, Jason. What could you possibly want to know about me?”

  “Why are you still here?”

  “I live here.”

  “No, why are you still in McKinney?”

  Taking a sip of wine, the cool liquid is counteracting the heat of the evening. I like how I feel less pressure with a little wine in me, more relaxed, or maybe it’s that Jason puts me at ease. He used to. I never had to be on guard with him. Not like Cole. He made sure I stayed on guard and the few unfortunate times I forgot that lesson, I paid the price. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’ve got the time.”<
br />
  Leaning back, he relaxes as he settles in as if this story is worth the attention. “It’s not exciting.”

  “I’ve had enough excitement. Now I want to hear about you.”

  I want to redirect conversation away from me, but I have a feeling he’s much better at this game than I am. “When my dad died, he left the farm and all fifty acres to me and my sister. We also inherited a lot of debt that went with it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Your father was a good man. I know he thought hard work was the answer to everything.”

  “Except to get him out of debt. He struggled to keep up with the crops.”

  “How do you keep up?”

  Pointing across the property, I reply, “We only have two working plots. The others have gone to weeds.”

  “We?”

  “Shelby and I. Oh, and Billy. He helps us more than he should.”

  “He’s a good guy.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been trying to get my sister and him to go on a blind date.” My giggle bubbles up.

  “I don’t think that’s how blind dates work. They’ve known each other their whole lives.”

  “No,” I start, my excitement to hook them up taking over my voice. “Not like this. They still see the gawky sides of each other. They need to see each other the way they are now. It’s been a few years.”

  He finishes his sandwich and leans back on one elbow facing me. “Where is Shelby?”

  “After college she went to Chicago. We thought she was starting her career, but what she ended up doing was saving the farm.”

  “How so?”

  “Although the debt was overdue, the bank gave us a three-year extension to pay it off. We have one year left. She works and pays money toward the loan.” The fun of the dating conversation is over and the burden that weighs me down with worries returns. “I gave up leaving to stay here and work it.”

  “Is it what you want?”

  “I used to. It’s really lonely.” I laugh humorlessly. “That’s not a hint by the way.”

  “I didn’t catch it if it was.”

  “I have a feeling you don’t miss much.” I finish my wine. “Tell me about what you’ve been doing since I last saw you.”