Moving again wasn’t the plan. But I’d figure it out. After tonight, if I truly felt like we were over and there was no chance, I’d walk away.
“Fine. Six thirty.” She spun, her ponytail whipping through the air.
I popped another fry in my mouth.
And grinned at the beautiful woman storming out of the cafeteria.
CHAPTER FIVE
FOSTER
“You’ve got Vivi. Leave a message. Beep. Wait. Did you think that was the actual beep? Gotcha.”
I chuckled. “Hey, it’s me. Was hoping to catch you. I’ve got dinner plans tonight, so I won’t call at the normal time. I’m not sure when I’ll be free. So if I don’t get to talk to you, have a good night. I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
I hung up and set the phone on the coffee table. The scent of glass cleaner and whatever solution came with the Swiffer WetJet filled the apartment. From the moment I’d walked through the door from the hospital, I’d spent every minute cleaning.
Painting had been put on pause.
“What else?” Jesus, this place was empty. Tomorrow morning, I was ordering a dining set. Eating at the coffee table wasn’t a long-term option. And I needed window shades.
Granted, the view beyond the glass was beautiful. Darkness had already fallen, the days short this time of year, but tonight’s sunset had been breathtaking. The yellow and orange sky had reminded me of my favorite lemon and tangerine sherbet. I’d stopped cleaning long enough to take a picture and send it to Kadence and Jasper.
Still, even with the sunset, maybe curtains or blinds would make it feel homier. Decorating wasn’t my forte. Vivienne had taken charge of our house in Vegas, and I had no doubt that when she came to visit, she’d roll her eyes and demand my credit card so she could shop.
I walked to the gym, going to a window that gave a better view of the road. It was six forty-five and there was still no sign of Talia. I’d run into town to pick up pizza earlier. She hadn’t come and gone while I’d been away, had she?
Or maybe she wasn’t coming at all.
No, she’d come. She wanted me out of town badly enough to show tonight.
What the hell was I going to say? I’d spent years dreaming of this opportunity. One would think I’d have my speech prepared.
“Shit.” I rubbed a hand over my beard. My body felt like it was coming apart and my heart was beating too fast.
How did I tell her the truth? How did I start? There was no gentle way to do this. Maybe I could just start with the crux of it all.
That I was a fucking fool.
What I wouldn’t give for some equipment right now. Just something to punch. That’s when I was the most centered. When I had a target.
I strode to the middle of the room, to the space where I’d set up the ring once it arrived. I closed my eyes and lifted my hands, balling them into fists. Then I shifted my feet, getting into a good fighting stance, before I let my jab fly.
Pop. Pop. I followed both punches with a right hook.
I bent my knees, sinking into the balls of my feet and did it again. Jab. Jab. Hook. Then I added an uppercut and winced when a pinch came beneath my shoulder blade.
“Ah.” I rolled my left arm in a wide circle, loosening the muscles.
Jasper would have my ass if I injured myself while I was renovating this place.
I bounced on my toes a couple times, not exactly agile in my boots, but there was familiarity in the movements. Then I did the same combination again. Jab. Jab. Hook. Uppercut. No pinch this time.
“Thank fuck.”
I moved around in a circle, shadowboxing until some of the jitters eased. Then I took a long breath, filling my lungs until they burned.
Just lay it out there.
Whatever it takes.
My only job tonight was to share with Talia what I should have told her years ago.
The truth.
Headlights swept the wall and I hustled out the door, waiting on the landing as Talia parked beside my truck.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she rounded the hood. “A guy cut his hand open while he was working in his shop this afternoon, and I got caught up at the ER.”
“It’s fine. He okay?”
She nodded. “It was a pretty deep cut. I did my best to sew it back together. He’ll have a scar.”
“But he still has a hand.”
“Yeah.”
I held the door open for her. “Then I’d say it was a win.”
She stared up at me, and for the first time since I’d come to Quincy, there wasn’t any anger or resentment in her eyes. Talia just looked . . . exhausted.
She slipped past me, walking into the gym and taking the same path she had before, lapping the room. “You’ve been busy.”
“It’s been an undertaking.” I closed the door, hanging back and giving her plenty of space.
She went to the orange wall, trailing her fingers along the surface. Her shoulders were slumped, her ponytail hanging loose.
“You’re tired,” I said.
“I’ve had a hard time sleeping this week.” She moved to the paint buckets, examining the dot of color on the lids. “Didn’t want to keep the orange, huh?”
“It’s hideous.” I grimaced. “Should we do this another night?”
“No.” She stood tall and turned, her spine stiffening. “You’ll really leave if I ask you to go?”
“Yes.” I jerked my chin toward the apartment, leading the way. “Mind if we eat on the couch? It’s that or stand at the kitchen counter.”
“The couch is fine.” Inside, she stripped off her coat, laying it over an armrest. “I didn’t have time to go home and change.”
I walked to the kitchen, flipping open the pizza box. “Your scrubs are fine.”
“I don’t wear much else these days.” She took a seat, undoing the tie on her hair. “Good thing I look decent in blue.”
Decent? She was fucking stunning.
I stood frozen, afraid to blink because I’d miss it as she fixed her ponytail.
She was here, in my home. She was real, wearing scrubs from a long day’s work. Her fingernails were short because she’d never been a woman to fuss over manicures. No jewelry because she didn’t need it to make her sparkle.
She glanced over, caught me staring.
I jerked my gaze away, reaching for the paper plates I’d picked up with the pizza. “I don’t have anything fancy.”
“I don’t need fancy.”
No, she didn’t.
Except I’d thought she’d needed fancy. Or maybe that was just me. It had been my own hidden desire for an expensive life that had pushed me over the edge.
I plated a couple of slices, then took them over, setting them on the coffee table. “Water? Or Gatorade?”
“Water, please.”
I grabbed two bottles from the cooler, then a couple of paper towels for napkins, joining her on the sofa.
“You don’t use the fridge?” she asked.
“I opened it last week. Took a whole day with the windows open to clear out the stink. So instead of trying to figure out what died inside, I bought a new one. Should get here Friday.”
“Ah.” She nodded, taking a bite.