He’d watched her so closely for years, and he knew that her pinky popped out when she lifted a glass to her lips. He also knew she was powerless to stop it, and they’d laughed at her inability to control her fingers when she held a cup before. He knew that she was ticklish, and the very spot that most sent her into spirals of laughter that would likely end with her wetting herself was right by his hand under her arm.
He could see the scar on the side of her neck that she’d gotten when Jess hooked her with a fishing lure, and he remembered the day so clearly. She’d had blood dripping from her neck, but they were still laughing like idiots to the point of having tears in their eyes. He’d been the one to wriggle the hook loose from her skin as her hands gripped the sides of his waist. It made concentration difficult for sure. Every inch of her was a memory to him, and they were really good memories—the kind you built a life around.
He touched the scar, and she arched her neck. He trailed his fingers out along her shoulder and down her arm to her hand. His larger fingers wound through her thin feminine ones, and he clasped her hand, pulling it up to her chest and tightening his hold on her. The smell of her shampoo was what he fell asleep to, but he jolted in a start when he heard himself tell her he loved her. For a moment he thought he might have said it out loud, but she was breathing steadily beside him, and when he leaned up, her eyes were closed, her chest was rising and falling slowly, and her lips were parted just slightly.
He closed his eyes again, settling in beside her warm body, and he imagined it. Loving her.
Chapter Thirty
She was alone when she woke. She was still naked, and she was still tired. But she wanted to find him. She tossed her T-shirt back on and her underwear, and she took a quick look at herself in the bathroom mirror. The hall outside his bedroom smelled of coffee, and she followed it downstairs. She could hear birds chirping outside, and when she looked toward the French doors that led to the back deck, they were standing wide open and a breeze was ruffling the drapes.
He was already in the kitchen, standing at the coffeepot and pouring himself a cup. When he turned to her, he stilled, and he watched. He didn’t smile, he didn’t frown, he just looked. He was already dressed for the day in slacks, dress shirt, and tie. He looked quite incredible in the very intimidating professional sort of way, and as she stared right back at him, she shuddered.
“Hi.” Seemed like an appropriate thing to say after the night before.
“Coffee?” She nodded, and he poured her a cup as she approached him. They reached for the creamer at the same time, and he pulled back quickly as though her skin were radioactive. She had no idea why or if she should be offended, and when he cleared his throat nervously, she peered up at him. His jaw was tight, and his body was tense. It was not as if she wasn’t struggling to stay calm around him too, but shit, she’d not expected this level of discomfort.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m just running late.” He set his coffee on the counter without even taking a drink. “I should go.”
She reached for the side of his waist, and the moment he felt her touch, he released a huff of breath and pulled away, walking toward the front door. “Sorry.” She muttered the word under her breath, and he stilled in place for a moment.
He didn’t stop when he reached the front door, and she watched his backside as he turned the knob, pulled the door open, and pulled it closed behind him without ever turning back to her. “What the fuck just happened?” She spoke to no one at all, but Macy suddenly perked her ears up from her place on the kitchen rug. She tilted her head to the side, watching Bailey inquisitively. “You’re dad’s a weirdo, Mace. Wanna go for a walk?” Macy knew that word well, and she bounced off the rug, following Bailey around the house until she was dressed and ready to walk out the door.
Bailey didn’t bother with her running shoes. They walked down the steep incline to the water’s edge far below, and it was a good hour and a half later before they returned. Macy didn’t stop moving the entire time, and when Bailey let her back inside, she lapped up the whole bowl of water on the mudroom floor. Bailey might not have jogged on her trek with Macy, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t sweaty as hell. It was just one of those humid days that felt more like a steam sauna than summer. She fed Macy, grabbed her running bag, and started heading for the door when the phone rang.
Caller ID said it was Michelle, and it was only then that Bailey realized she should have perhaps checked in with her worrisome friend. “Hey, Michelle. Sorry, I should have called you this morning.”
“Yes, you should have. But you can make it up to me.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Let me bring you lunch. Salads from the deli. I can be there in twenty minutes. I need to get out of here for a while. My dad’s driving me crazy with inventory problems.”
“Well, I was just running out the door to head to my place for a bit. I don’t have any clean clothes.”
“No clean clothes, meaning you spent the night?” Bailey didn’t respond. “Never mind. You can fill me in later. I’ll swing by and pick you up, and I’ll get the salads on the way. I can drop you back off there after. Deal?”
“Deal.” She sank back down to sit on the sofa and twiddle her thumbs for twenty minutes, and Macy ended up sitting her sixty-pound ass on top of her like a large, overgrown child. She had to push the dog off her just to answer the door when Michelle finally arrived, and the moment she closed the door behind her, Macy started howling. She wasn’t happy about being left midday.
“Soooo. . .” Apparently drawing out the word was supposed to be Bailey’s hint to spill the beans.
“So.” She didn’t take the bait.
“Oh, come on. I got ditched last night for a man. A man you have a somewhat sordid history with, and you don’t think you owe me an explanation?”
“I’m sweaty, you promised me a salad, and I’m not talking until I’ve eaten and showered.” She smirked at Michelle. She was really just stalling. She didn’t really want to have this conversation. Not because talking sex with Michelle was off limits, but because this particular conversation was difficult, and she wasn’t sure she really knew what was going on, let alone whether she could put it into words or not.
But her salad and shower, not to mention sex talk, took a backseat when they pulled into her driveway. Her home, normally plain and boring, was anything but at the moment. There was spray-painted lettering covering the open spaces between the windows, there was shoe polish on the windows themselves, and her garbage cans had been overturned, spilling garbage at her front door. If that weren’t devastation enough, she was forced to read the words that very much reeked of hate mail.
ROT IN HELL
KILLER
DRUNK
MURDERER
LEAVE SAVOY
NOT WELCOME
Bailey sat in stunned silence as Michelle sat quietly beside her. Michelle quiet was not a normal thing, and it spoke volumes. It was many long seconds before she could collect herself enough to deliver some sarcasm. “Ah, sweetie, you gots yourself a fan club.” Her eyes flashed around to the mess, the disdain evident on her face. “Fucktabulous!”
Bailey grunted or groaned or something close to the sound a zombie makes. Her tongue didn’t seem to remember how to get out of her mouth’s way, and she moaned an incoherent response. She stumbled from the car, trying to figure out what she was supposed to do.
“I think we need to call the police, Bay.” Bailey just nodded and let Michelle call from her cell phone. They didn’t bother going inside and instead, sat outside on an old garden bench eating their salads, reading, and then rereading the messages someone thought necessary to write to her. Fucktabulous was right.