“God, you’re such a peach. I don’t know what I would do without you. Have I thanked you lately for taking on his surly ass?”
“Not today, but feel free to fawn all over me once I’ve determined he’s alive.”
“I’ll send you some of that whiskey you like, too.” Kennedy clearly knows how to sweeten the pot.
“Deal. I’ll be in touch.”
I stand outside the door with the tray precariously balanced in my hands. Holding it steady to one side, I lean it against my body freeing up the other hand to knock. I had decided on a variety of pastries as I’ve noticed over the past few days that he always looks at them longingly and takes only one. I’ve got a fresh carafe of coffee and all the fixings.
I knock and then wait a few moments. I don’t even hear a sound coming from behind the door. I knock again and wait. Oh hell, Kennedy is going to kill me if he isn’t okay. Finally my hand raises to knock one last time, and the door swings open.
There he stands in all of his full glory. Slightly disheveled, clearly just woken up, his hair’s a mess of chocolate brown strands. He has what I would assume is multiple days of scruff and his eyes are just barely open. My eyes drift lower and take in his shirtless form. I didn’t fully realize how soccer did a body good.
And damn, does it do a body good. Fully sculpted pecs with a dusting of hair made way to an eight pack of abs. The curves and lines are deep and make me want to run my tongue down them. The best part though? That V. Yes, the one that is always on the cover of all romance novels but is essentially the Chupacabra of dating.
That V.
“What?” His tone is sharp and cold.
“Oh hey.” It comes out as a stutter. “I just thought I’d bring you up something to eat and some coffee since you didn’t make it down this morning.” I hold up the tray. “Uh, there’s a few muffins, or some danish. I also brought some coffee and all the things you like in it.” I’m slightly rambling but the sight of his chest has made me stupid apparently.
“I was sleeping.” His eyes are narrowing.
“Oh, well, all that salt air sure does lead someone to get a good night’s rest.” Elodie. Stop talking now, I mentally chastise myself. If I could whack myself right now, my palm would meet my head.
“I don’t want breakfast.” Again, narrowing of eyes and cold, clipped words.
“Oh okay, I can just bring this back down. Do you want the coffee?”
“I don’t want anything from you.” His eyes peruse down my body. The look on his face shows almost the same thing that my ex-husband’s did. He finds me wanting—on all levels.
“Yep. Got it.” I turn on my heel, taking the tray with me.
“Elodie.” I hear his voice from behind me. I try to turn gracefully, but my feet get stuck under me. In something that looks right out of a slow motion montage in a movie—I end up falling. Pastries are flying everywhere, the coffee has come out of the carafe almost drop by drop and is now painting the hallway wall. And there I am, sitting in the midst of all of it looking up at this Adonis with a chip on his shoulder.
“Don’t bother me again,” he clips out. Then his face breaks into what can only be described as a sinister smirk. “Oh, and you may want to clean that up.”
My face flames red as I drop to my knees to begin to clean up the mess. Crumbs have fallen in between the cracks of the old wooden floors, and this is going to be a bitch to clean up. I try to hold back my tears of frustration as I slowly start to pick up the pieces of broken pottery.
“Here, let me help you.” Ryan is crouching next to me, hands filled with pastry. His tone has changed drastically and is softer and kind.
“I’m all set,” I barely whisper out. I don’t want or need his help. What I want to do, is clean up this mess in silence by myself and then get the hell out of dodge.
“No really, I can help.” He’s now placing the pieces of pastry on the tray.
“No. I’m all set, Ryan.” My voice comes out firmer, less shaky. I need him to be out of my vicinity and behind his door. I continue to work with my face down, so I don’t have to look at him. I can feel his body moving as he stands to move toward his room.
“Okay,” he says and slowly opens the door and walks in. I hear the click of the knob behind me, and I finally let the tears silently fall.
Chapter Six
Ryan
The door clicks shut and I stand on the other side for a moment. A feeling I’m not totally comfortable with starts to come over me. Could that be guilt? Am I actually feeling guilty for being a dick to Elodie?
I was so taken aback by her standing on the other side of that door holding that tray and looking up at me with her big, kind eyes. What have I ever done to deserve that kindness? All she did was bring me breakfast, and I acted like a right tosser. Holy shit, this is what guilt feels like. I should probably do something to make it up to her. What do women like when you fuck up? Flowers? I could do flowers. I wonder how far the town is from here.
Running my hand down my face, I also realize that it’s been quite a few days since I’ve showered. I’ve been wallowing in my self-pity and that clearly didn’t involve taking care of myself. The only time my mind has been quiet in the past few days has been when my feet hit the sand. There’s something so cathartic about running on the beach.
After a long, scalding hot shower, I throw on some clean clothes. Ripped jeans and a basic hoodie topped off with some trainers. I grab my wallet and my key for the room and head out the door.
The first thing I notice is the fact that the hallway is sparkling clean. The wood floors are gleaming and there isn’t even a pastry crumb to be found. Clearly Elodie was hard at work while I was showering off my shame.
Sneaking down the stairs, I can only hear quiet. There’re no sounds of Elodie working in the kitchen or the hum of the washer and dryer. It’s just silent. It’s unnerving. There’s always some kind of noise happening here, especially mid-morning. It’s close to lunchtime, and usually, Elodie is busy making lunch.
I push open the door to the kitchen and find that while Elodie is nowhere to be found, there is someone sitting at the counter.
“If you are looking for Elodie, she’s out running some errands.” The voice is deep and rumbly and belongs to none other than meat-stick, Elodie’s brother.
“Oh, I was just wondering how I could get into town?” I figure it wouldn’t hurt to at least ask, right? “Is there a car service I could call?”
“Well, old Mr. McJohnson runs a taxi service sometimes, but it’s hit or miss if he will be sober. So you could roll the dice and try that or I could just take you myself.”
I must make some kind of astonished face.
“I won’t kill you. Today, anyway.”
“That would be great. I would appreciate it.” I’m going to go for kindness, as I’ve already fulfilled my quota for being a jackass today, and I’d like to be alive to see morning. Deacon puts his cup in the sink and motions for me to follow him out the door.
I wordlessly follow him to the giant truck parked in the driveway. I’m a tall guy and I almost need a stepladder to get in. It makes my G-wagon look like a damn roller skate.