He pads behind me as I head into the kitchen. My anxiety thrums because I can’t stop thinking about the encounter with Stone this morning. I’m worried I didn’t make the right decision, I’m worried about him, and I’m worried that I can’t stop thinking about what might have happened if I’d let it go on.
He’d said, You can be damn sure it would be good for you, and that shot straight to a place that caused an ache I haven’t felt in, well… ever, really. Not like that.
The promise and determination to focus on my pleasure.
The understanding that yes, he’d be using me to ease his own pain, but that he would be the type of lover who would never leave me unsatisfied.
“Shit,” I curse, hating where my thoughts keep going. Yes, I haven’t had sex in a long damn time.
And yes, I like sex. A lot.
I’m a progressive woman, and I believe in taking pleasure if there’s a genuine connection with a man.
Safely, of course.
I open the refrigerator, and Odin peers in expectantly. I’m not hungry, even though it’s approaching dinnertime. My entire being is just “off,” and it’s Stone Dumelin’s fault.
For the briefest of moments, I think about having a drink. Not that it would be an easy task since there’s no alcohol in my home. The St. Patrick’s party was a BYOB event, and at the end of the evening, it was a TYOBH—take your own booze home.
It’s not even a desire for alcohol that I’m feeling. It’s more of a memory than anything. The remembrance that when things got wonky in my life, a drink to steady myself was commonplace.
It was a necessity.
It’s not that now, but it does enter my mind, and I know that will never go away.
Tonight, though, it’s easy to push aside. I’m not stressed by Stone, but I am perplexed.
Not just because he’s a conundrum and I care for him because he’s Brooks’s brother, but because I’m attracted to him and I don’t want to be.
“Ramen?” I ask, glancing down at Odin. He looks up at with me warm, expressive eyes as if to say, “That’s disgusting, woman. Let’s do steak.”
I close the refrigerator and remind him, “You already ate your dinner, Bub.”
With a sigh, I turn to the counter and grab an apple from the bowl, knowing I need to eat something. I take a bite, enjoying the crisp, tart flavor, and my stomach seems to wake up.
Feed me.
As I chew, I hear a faint rustling at the door, as does Odin. He trots that way, and I see something’s been pushed under the gap.
An envelope.
I’d like to say that Odin is trained enough to pick it up and bring it to me, but he’s not. He sniffs at it, jowls chuffing as if the scent is unpleasant.
Setting the apple on the counter, I head to the door and retrieve the envelope. It’s white, regular size, and completely blank on the outside. The flap isn’t sealed, so I open it and peer inside. There’s a folded paper, which I pull out.
It says, OPEN YOUR DOOR.
Frowning, I look down at Odin and flip the paper toward him, as if he could read it. “Think I should open the door? There’s a chance it could be a serial killer luring me out.”
Odin wags his tail.
Shrugging, I unlock my door and swing it open. I immediately see a poster board taped to the wall across from me, bearing a message scrawled in black Sharpie.
I’m sorry. My behavior was atrocious.
Those words are big and easily readable. Something smaller is scrawled below, and I have to step across the hallway to read it. Under the word atrocious, it says, I had to look up how to spell this one.
Clearly, these messages are from Stone. While I don’t know his handwriting, I do know he’s the only person who owes me an apology.
There’s one more line at the bottom. Look left.
Odin waits obediently at the threshold of my open door, but I glance back, palm outward and give him a command. Stay.
Taped to the wall about fifteen feet away is another poster board. I walk to it and read the message:
I ordered Chinese if you’d like to join me for dinner. There is more to the apology, and well, if you’re reading this… you’re already close to my place.
And down below that: P.S. Odin is welcome too.
My eyebrows raise. This is one serious apology as Stone and Odin don’t exactly get along. When he was over for the St. Patrick’s Day party, they essentially ignored each other, but there’s clearly harsh feelings on Odin’s part. He’s a sociable dog and is always moving from person to person, seeking out head scratches. Stone was persona non grata—despite the meatball bribes—and he never approached him after that.
Do I want the apology? Chinese for dinner?
Yes to the apology, and also so I can see if Stone is all right because he was so upset this morning. I’m ambivalent about the food, though.
I move back to my condo and step in to grab my keys. I call Odin to my side, and we leave, pausing only to lock the door.
When I reach Stone’s condo, I put Odin in a sit. Taking a breath, I knock.
He must have been waiting for us because the door swings open. Stone stands there with a bouquet in his hand. He looks unsure of himself as he hands them to me. “I’ve been told that flowers aren’t quite dramatic enough for the extent of apology I owe you, but I thought they were pretty, so I grabbed them, anyway.”
Shit. The absolute worst thing that could happen… happens. I’m so thoroughly charmed by his thoughtfulness, along with his awkwardness, that he’s forgiven without even officially asking.
I take the flowers and give them a sniff. It’s a spring mix, but there’s a stargazer lily putting off a delicate, lovely scent. I tip them down to Odin to smell, which he does and then looks up at me expectantly. “Think we should forgive him?”
“Oh, not yet,” Stone says and moves back from the door, indicating we should come in. “There’s more.”
I smile and step over the threshold, Odin following me. Stone regards him warily, and my dog ignores him. He’s familiar with this unit as Odin was always welcome when it belonged to Brooks.
Stone and I both watch as he struts into the place as if he owns it, moves over to a camel-colored leather couch that I helped Brooks pick, and jumps on it. I glance at Stone, expecting a tightening of his jaw at such blatant disrespect by my dog, but he seems nonplussed.
Closing the door, Stone leads me into the kitchen where containers of Chinese food have been set out on the counter. He starts to open them. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a bit of everything.”
“I’m allergic to Chinese,” I say, and his head whips my way, jaw dropping. “Just kidding.”
Stone laughs, and it’s a nice sound. Easy, not forced. Genuinely amused. And damn if it doesn’t quicken my pulse. He has a beautiful smile when it’s given freely.
“Do we need to put your flowers in water?” he asks dubiously before turning to grab plates out of a cupboard. He clearly doesn’t know his way around yet as he opens two cabinets before finding what he needs in the third.
I round the island to the silverware drawer, as I know exactly where it is, and pull out utensils. “The flowers will be fine until I get them home.”
The most unbidden thought comes into my head. They’d be fine unless I stayed the night, and then they’d probably wilt without water for that long.