by T. S. Joyce
She inhaled the frigid air and struck a pose as he lifted his phone and took a picture. “Do I look okay?” she asked.
He turned his camera and showed her the picture. “You know what my favorite part of this picture is?” he asked.
“What?”
Burke zoomed into her face. “It’s that smile. It’s a real one.”
He was right. How long since she had seen that smile on her face? It wasn’t posed or frozen there for the perfect Wilson picture. Or the fancy professional ones she’d had done with Braden every year at Christmas time. It was just here in a parking lot, dressed casually, out in the snow beside an old jacked-up Bronco, grinning from ear-to-ear at a man who was snapping the picture.
The UGGs and the leggings and the hoodie weren’t the biggest gift Burke had given her.
It was the feeling inside her chest and the beaming smile on her lips.
It was the feeling that, for a minute, everything was okay.
Chapter Six
Bison hash was amazing.
Kimberly, however, couldn’t fit a full pound of it into her body. She’d done well to eat two-thirds of the meal. “I can’t physically finish this,” she told Burke in between stories of him and Kieran growing up as little lion shifter hellions.
“You did good,” he murmured, sliding the remainder of her food in front of him. He began eating the remnants of her dinner without question, and she loved it. Loved the familiarity of him finishing her food for her without shaming her for ordering more than she could eat.
Kimberly stretched her legs under the table and fidgeted with an unpainted moose ornament someone had left on the table. Outside, snow was falling but in Leslie’s little pottery shop, it was warm and safe and comfortable. Perhaps the good company added to that atmosphere.
“Okay, Kimberly’s turn,” Burke said. “What shit can you tell us about Leslie growing up?”
Dread filled her stomach. There weren’t any funny stories. There were a dozen memories where Leslie had looked sad, though. “We weren’t close like that,” Kimberly murmured.
Leslie’s smile was slow and soft when she crossed her arms. “When I was ten and Kimberly was fourteen, she came into my room one night, said she was sneaking out of the house, and not to tell. She asked if she could borrow one of my shirts.”
“Oh, my God, I remember this,” Kimberly uttered. She was shocked that Leslie remembered. God, she wished she hadn’t. Kimberly had been a terrible older sister and she hated where this story would end up. She’d yelled at her for all her clothes being ugly and then yelled at her the next morning because Leslie had tattled on her.
“Kimberly grabbed my favorite shirt from the closet, took a pair of scissors to it, and cut it into a crop-top. She snuck out to meet up with this idiot boy who was throwing rocks at my window so hard, I thought it would shatter. She left, and I stayed up all night, paranoid that Mom and Dad would figure out she was gone. Kimberly’s room was right across the hall from mine, so I kept my door open a crack to see if Mom or Dad checked on her. I stayed up all night. I started to think she’d gotten away with it until Beth went into her room for a stash of candy bars Kimberly kept hidden under her bed. She came into my room and asked me where Kimberly was. I told her she was in the bathroom. I didn’t know what else to say. I was the worst liar. So, she punched me in the arm before she checked the bathroom and came back yelling that Kimberly had run away. She woke up Mom and Dad, and then they all asked me where Kimberly was. I told them you had a stomachache and had to use the bathroom downstairs. So right around the time they were searching the bathroom, Kimberly came home, and everyone freaked out. There was yelling, and I think Mom cried.”
“Yeah, because you tattled on me.”
“I didn’t tattle. I told everyone you had diarrhea downstairs. Beth was the little bloodhound trying to discover your whereabouts.”
“Wait…what?”
“Yeah. I never gave up that you’d snuck out. I was stressed as hell trying to cover for you. I remember how mad you were at me, but I didn’t understand why. You threw my cut-up shirt at me, but after that fight, I wore it sometimes. It was so cute I wore it when I wanted to feel pretty because you had looked so good in it. You were so cool. You were my big sister.”
Kimberly was stunned into silence. She’d always held a grudge against Leslie for ratting her out, but she hadn’t. She’d gone up against Mom, who was terrifying when they were kids, and Dad and Beth. She’d tried to cover for her and still looked up to her even after Kimberly had been so angry with her.
She couldn’t feel any lower than she did right now. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” Leslie said softly.
“No, it’s not. I’m so, so sorry. I was a shitty big sister.”
Leslie’s eyes filled with emotion, and she shrugged up a shoulder. “I still thought you were cool, Kimberly. You were pretty and well-spoken and you were so good at managing everyone’s attention. I wished I could be more like you.”
Kimberly’s eyes burned with tears. “And now look, Leslie. It’s me who wants to be more like you.”
Leslie set her beer on the table and stood, pulled Kimberly up out of her chair, and hugged her tighter than Kimberly had ever been hugged before. “Everything is okay. I’m still proud you are my big sister.”
“Why?” she asked thickly.
“Because I know what you’re about to do.”
“What am I about to do?”
“Become the person I always thought you could be.”
And she wanted to. Kimberly wanted to be the woman Leslie thought she could be. Kimberly had potential? It lit a fire under her to be a better person.
She didn’t know where she would end up when all was said and done, but when she eased her eyes open and saw Burke sitting there, his hand still draped on her empty chair, nodding, determination and pride in his gold eyes, she felt like she could do it.
Like she could be good.
And suddenly, there was more value in her potential than in the caliber of her last name.
****
“You aren’t ready yet,” Burke murmured as he came to a stop in front of her tiny house. He’d walked her across the parking lot after Leslie and Kieran had left. Walked her home because even though her house was so close, his protective instincts were getting bigger by the minute around her.
Kimberly looked so pretty out here, the glow of the streetlight casting her face in gold tones and shadows. Perfectly arched dark eyebrows, hair curled into soft waves around her face, her eyes on him. They found him often when he was around her. He liked that.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You aren’t ready for a man to pressure you. You need time to heal.”
She swallowed audibly and nodded. “Of course, you’re right. I’m a mess.”
“No, you aren’t a mess at all. You’re coming into your own, and it’s going to be so damn fun watching it. But what good am I to you if I push you too fast? I’m no better than your parents. When you’re ready, and you’ll know when you are, you let me know.”
Her smile stretched her face but then faded, just before her cheeks turned pink. She ducked her gaze. “And then you’ll do what? Hold my hand and kiss me, shifter?”
“More like pin you down and fuck you, but you can paint a more romantic vision in your head if you’d like.”
When her wide eyes jerked up to him, he hid his grin. God, she was easy to rattle. So fun to poke at. But when he smelled her arousal, he knew he’d pushed them too far. His inner lion perked right up, and he took an accidental step closer to her. Clenching his fists at his side, he cleared his throat and said, “Good luck at work tomorrow.”
“I’ll try my best to suck less.”
He chuckled. “Atta girl.” He hesitated. Her lips were full and pink and kissable as hell. He wasn’t going to ruin this, though. He would be damned if he got in too deep too soon again.
She didn’t match him. Yet.
And he didn’t match her. Yet.
“Goodnight, snob,” he told her.
Kimberly leaned her shoulder against the open doorframe of her small home. “Goodnight, shifter.”
She wanted him to kiss her. Right? She wasn’t in a rush to leave him, wasn’t hurrying to disappear inside, and her pretty gaze kept dropping to his lips. Fuck, he wanted to give her what she wanted. What he wanted. He wished he could kiss the devil out of her and get that heart of hers tethered to him. He could kiss her if he wanted to. Just a little kiss. Just see what she tasted like.
Before he could tempt himself more, Burke turned and shoved his hands in his pockets, refused to look back as he walked to his Bronco. If he looked back at her pretty face, her cute leggings and UGGs, and those long legs he wished he could wrap around his waist, he would cave. He would push her back into that little house, turn off the lights, and push her too far too fast. Push, push, push. That’s what the lion did. That’s what he wanted to do.
Burke got into his truck, tossed Kimberly a wave, and smiled when she lifted her hand and waved back. She watched him go. He knew because he kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
His phone lit up with a text, and he checked it at the first stoplight.
Thank you for helping me find me.
It was a simple text. Just a few words but, damn, what an effect it had on him. His breath came faster and his heart pounded harder as he typed in a quick response before the light turned green.
The real you is pretty damn awesome. Send.
Chapter Seven
She didn’t understand the contraption that sat beside her little home.
Kimberly walked around the dented metal barrel someone had set near the tiny house. There were fresh boot prints in the snow like someone had just dropped it off in the last hour. The light snow falling would’ve covered the prints if they’d left it in the middle of the night. Inside, there was a stack of firewood and a cardboard box beside the barrel. She squatted in the frigid morning air, her breath freezing in front of her face.
Inside the box was a lighter, a few pages of yesterday’s newspaper, and a note.
Kim,
This is for box number five. When you’re ready, put the newspaper under the woo, and light the edge. Then toss your old memories in there at your own pace.
From,
Burke
The Burke who is late for work
She giggled at the rhyme at the end. Okay, she’d always hated when anyone called her Kim, but when Burke called her that, it felt like a pet name that no one else had the rights to. Secretly, she liked it. Kimberly pulled her phone out of her back pocket and texted as she meandered across the parking lot to Leslie’s pottery shop.
Kimberly nearly tripped twice while she texted and walked, but that was okay. It was early, and no one was here to see her go flying face-first into the snow.
I’ve decided to spend my last thirteen dollars on a yummy meal of Hamburger Helper. If you like Hamburger Helper, this is your invite to come over and eat some tonight at six. This is repayment for the bison hash. P.s. thank you for the pyrotechnics. I’ll try not to burn down my new shack.
From,
Kim
The Kim who has two shins
(that doesn’t really rhyme, but I am C-Team at poetry)
She sent that to him and smiled to herself.
As she reached the door, her phone vibrated in her hand. She stomped snow off her UGGs while she checked the text. It was a picture of Burke in his truck with a big cheesy grin, holding a can of Spam.
Why do you have a can of Spam in your truck? Send.
That also doesn’t rhyme. Look, if I ever break down on one of these country-ass backroads and get stuck in a snow drift, I have enough canned-meat-of-the-gods to last me and my lion about a week. Spam is my hero. You cook the Hamburger Helper. I will bring the Spam.
Kimberly giggled as she typed out, Pass. I wouldn’t eat that if it was the last thing on earth.
Burke’s answer was quick. What? This relationship is over. I can’t think a girl is hot if she doesn’t like Spam. Have a nice life.
She stood on the welcome mat of Leslie’s Pottery Shop in shock. He thought she was hot? Her? But she was a divorcé. She hadn’t even been able to keep her ex-husband satisfied. He hadn’t wanted to touch her the last few years.
Okay. Okay! So Burke had said she was hot, and here she was overthinking it. Planning their future wedding just because a handsome man—er…shifter-man—gave her a nice compliment? God, how thirsty for affection was she?
It was probably a good thing he was ending their relationship over something as dumb as Spam before it even started. For her sake and also his.
He deserved better than some has-been divorcé who had seven hundred pounds of baggage and the Wilson family name extending a shadow across her entire life.
Be free, little gazelle. Go find a woman dragging less weight.
I’ll be there at six. His text lit up the screen she was still staring at. Wait, what?
Do you want to come to my family’s New Year’s Eve party with me tomorrow night? She hit the send button before her brain could catch up to her heart. Geez, what was she doing?
Do we have to dress up? he texted back.
Yes. Send.
Her heart was drumming against her breastbone. Seconds ticked by. A minute. Two. Shit. He had ghosted her.
She shouldn’t have asked him. Going to a Wilson party wasn’t some laid back affair. It was drinking in judgement and all about appearances, and people would think they were a couple. Brayden would hear about it or, God, even worse, probably be there with his new girlfriend, and she’d pushed for something Burke didn’t need to step into. At all.
I’m sorry, she speed-typed. Forget it. That was so stupid to ask, and I totally understand you not wanting to go. Send.
Cheeks on fire, Kimberly unlocked the pottery shop and pushed open the door, wiped the soles of her shoes on the welcome mat, then locked the door behind her. She still had forty-five minutes before the shop opened.
Why did she feel so insecure right now? So raw and vulnerable? Probably because she hadn’t asked a man to do anything with her since she’d met Brayden. And even then, she’d been young, arrogant, and full of head-games. He’d done all the asking. How did a woman even date after a long relationship? What was the proper etiquette? Maybe she should just accept that she would die alone.
Her phone vibrated in her back pocket as she was opening the registers downstairs. She fumbled the phone and dropped it with a yelp. When she picked it up, she stayed there squatted on the floor, heart hammering in her chest as she looked at the picture he’d sent.
It was a picture of Shoreman’s, a men’s fine clothing store downtown.
Wait…what??
Another text came through. Was driving to this place. I’m between deliveries. It wasn’t a stupid thing to ask. I got my invite in the mail already. Pretty sure it’s real gold filigree on the decorative tissue that came wrapped around the invite. *eyeroll emoji* I wasn’t going to go because they’re boring as fuck but if you wear something slutty then yes. I will go and either stare at your cleavage all night, or keep others from staring at your cleavage all night. Date or bodyguard, your choice.
Date or bodyguard. Okay. She was supposed to choose one. Date or bodyguard. Bodyguard or date. She wasn’t ready to date, right? It was too soon. Sure, Brayden had found a nice, respectable girlfriend six months after they separated, but she was still… What had Burke called it? Getting to know herself.
Bodyguard. Send.
Fine. I have conditions though.
What conditions? Send.
You have to try Spam. And you have to ignore if I accidentally forget I’m a bodyguard and glance at your bodacious bod because I know what you wear to these things, Kim. You wear sparkly dresses with the inner curve of your perfect tits exposed and a high slit up your left leg with sky-high heels. I’m refraining from telling you e
xactly what I’ll want to do to you in that upstairs bathroom if you wear something like that because I’m trying to be a gentleman, but if I may make a suggestion on dress choice, your finest look was the red one you wore to your parents’ anniversary celebration in March.
Oh my God, oh my God!!
You paid attention to what I wore? Stalker. Send.
I pay attention to everything that happens around me. Not a stalker. A shifter. My lion has been watching you. Scared yet?
A little. Send. But not because of his animal. Scared because of how happy and confident he was making her feel. Scared because of how interested she was becoming. Burke was terrifying in layers.
Good. You should be scared. The red one.
It’s not Wilson family etiquette to wear the same dress twice. Send.
Be a bad girl. Break the rules for me.
Holy shit, she wanted to break all the rules for him! She loved how confident he was when he spoke to her. How direct.
She hesitated only a few seconds and then typed out, I’ll think about it. Send.
Do you want to pick what I wear? I can send you a few pics.
Her knee-jerk reaction was to type out, Give me three options. I’ll choose. But she stopped typing and deleted it. She frowned at the blinking curser waiting for her to respond to Burke. Brayden had always called her controlling. He’d said she was just like her mother when he’d filed for divorce from her, and he’d meant it as an insult. And then Leslie had said the same sentiments. She had become controlling and hard to please like her mom. Since that call-out, she’d thought about the similarities between her and her mom, and she didn’t like what she’d noticed.
This was the part where she would’ve bought Brayden a matching suit to compliment her new dress so they could look perfect in the pictures that would be taken at the party. But where had all those perfect pictures gotten her? The marriage had failed, and no one had been as imperfect as her.