Tragic

by Devney Perry

  Or maybe we were both just needy. Piper ached for my touch as much as I craved hers.

  It had been three years since I’d touched another person. Three years of no handshakes. No hugs. No nothing.

  For three years, I’d avoided all physical contact because I never wanted to forget the last person I’d held in my arms. I didn’t want to forget how her little body had rested against my chest. How her weight had felt in my arms.

  I still felt her. I still felt that ghost.

  But I felt Piper now too.

  And that scared the hell out of me.

  Another door landed in the Dumpster across the way and I pushed off the couch. There’d be no work in the shop today, so instead, I decided to do something I’d put off for too long.

  Clean.

  It had been over a month since I’d done any kind of tidying up in the cabin. It was an old place that would always have a slight hint of must, and most days, I didn’t care. But after eating dinner in Piper’s Airstream, I’d taken a more critical eye to my own home.

  Her camper was brand-new with top-of-the-line finishes. She kept it spotless with gleaming countertops and crumb-free floors. I wasn’t sure if she kept it that way because it was her boss’s rig or if it was just her—probably her.

  I’d caught a glimpse of her closet the other night while we’d been lying in her bed, recovering from the third or fourth orgasm—I’d lost count after the second had nearly left me blind. Everything in Piper’s closet was either folded or hung, the wardrobe color coordinated and the hangers evenly spaced.

  When she ate, she set her fork down pristinely on the edge of her plate between bites. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin, not wiped, then gently returned it on her lap. Her glass of wine was sipped, then placed right back on its coaster.

  Aside from sex with me, Piper didn’t seem like the type of woman to act on whims and impulses. She was so orderly and proper. So . . . restrained.

  Was that how people acted in the city? Was that how she’d been raised to behave? Or had she learned those habits from practice?

  Whatever the answers, they all added to her allure.

  Even her movements were a mystery, one I was already trying to solve. Why did she tuck her hair behind her left ear but not her right? Why did she absently rub the small scar at the top of her hand? Why did her stare make me want to stay inside of her bubble and never leave?

  Why her?

  “Fuck if I know,” I muttered to the empty room.

  I stood, taking my cereal bowl to the sink. I set it down without rinsing it out and turned away. But not two steps out of the kitchen, I sighed and turned back.

  My conscience, something that sounded a lot like my mother’s voice, told me to do the damn dishes. Usually, I left them until every single piece I owned was dirty and I had no other choice but to wash.

  I went back and rinsed out my cereal bowl of the leftover milk, then put it in the dishwasher. I did the same with the plates and utensils I’d stacked up over the last two days. When the sink was clear, I towel dried my hands and surveyed the cabin.

  When had I become such a slob?

  A visible layer of dust coated the television. Dust bunnies were breeding like, well, rabbits in every corner. As I took a deep breath, I smelled the foul odor coming from the refrigerator.

  I’d been playing a little game these last two weeks, opening the fridge door as quickly as possible, retrieving my target with a lightning-fast strike before slamming the door closed and trapping the smell inside.

  “It’s got to be those damn eggs.”

  How old was that carton? I’d bought those eggs thinking I’d swap out my morning cereal for something with protein. But it turns out, I hadn’t miraculously learned how to cook eggs, and I didn’t like them much to begin with.

  I plugged my nose, sucked in some air and held my breath as I braved the door. The expiration date on the egg carton read three months past edible.

  The smell had gotten steadily worse and worse, but I’d been too lazy to deal with it. That voice in my head came back, but this time it sounded like Piper’s gasp of disgust. So I got out a garbage bag and cleared away the rotten eggs along with all of the other expired items.

  There wasn’t much left at that point, so after taking the trash outside, I emptied the refrigerator shelves and cleaned until the foul odor had been erased with bleach.

  That one simple task sparked a cleaning rampage.

  My bathroom was atrocious, with beard clippings on the countertops stuck in toothpaste-spit splatters and soap residue. I was ashamed of myself for letting the tile in the shower become so coated with grime. It took me an hour to make it clean enough that I wouldn’t be embarrassed if a certain neighbor stopped by.

  From there, I tackled the rest of the kitchen and the living room.

  The only articles in my house that didn’t need a thorough scrubbing were all of the wood pieces I’d made over the last few years. Nightstands. My coffee table. The small, round dining table that I rarely sat at with its pedestal base. Those I oiled and kept dusted on a regular basis.

  Everything else got a long-overdue scouring. It took all day, and like work had been the last few days, thoughts of Piper kept me company. Though unlike in the shop, those thoughts didn’t distract me from my progress. Instead, they fueled me forward.

  I pictured her stepping inside my house, scanning each room with those brown eyes. I cleaned so there wouldn’t be a cringe on her features if she did stop by. I didn’t want her to flinch at the home I’d let go.

  By the time I was ready to tackle my bedroom at the back of the house, I’d already washed two loads of laundry. The first load had been my bedsheets. Clean linens hadn’t been a top priority for me in the past, but that was before I’d started screwing my neighbor.

  Stripping my bed, along with doing the dishes, would become a regular chore.

  I stopped by the laundry room to grab the clothes I’d shoved in an hour ago. The timer on my dryer didn’t work and if I let it, the thing would run for days. I filled a basket full of ratty T-shirts, briefs and socks.

  Then I brought the basket to my bed, tossing its contents out on the ugly, pea-green quilt.

  Not much thought had gone into decorating this house. That quilt was the first one I’d touched at the home store, so I’d bought it. The same was true with my towels and sheets. I’d furnished this place in under twenty minutes at a department store in Kalispell, shoving items in my cart and getting the fuck out of that hellhole.

  Nothing matched. The colors were dull. And before today, I hadn’t given a shit.

  But then Piper’s face flashed in my mind. She looked at my bed and grimaced.

  This woman. She was ruining me.

  I’d never cared about matching things. As long as I was warm at night, the color of my bedding was irrelevant to how I slept. I hadn’t even cared what color Shannon had picked out for the nursery.

  Pain slashed through my chest, stealing my breath, and I sank onto the edge of the bed.

  When was the last time I’d thought about that nursery? When was the last time I’d even let myself think Shannon’s name?

  A year. Maybe two.

  I’d blocked it all out. I’d spent years refusing those memories.

  My eyes drifted slowly to the closet. At the top, shoved in the farthest corner, was a box I hadn’t opened since the cardboard flaps had been closed.

  Of all the belongings in my former life, that box was the only thing to come with me up here, except for the clothes on my back and the truck that had carried me away. Everything else had been left behind and forgotten.

  I stood and stepped to the closet, taking down the box. Then I went back to the bed, collapsing on the edge with shaking knees. With the box on my lap, the log-and-mortar walls closed in. The air was too thick to breathe.

  Before my brain could throw up roadblocks on this trip down memory lane, I jerked one flap open, sending the rest popping free. />
  Pink. The inside was full of pink.

  The color stung my eyes.

  While one hand trapped the box flaps open, the other carefully reached inside. My fingertips grazed cotton.

  I jerked my hand free, and my entire body jolted like I’d just been pricked by a needle.

  With more force than was necessary, I shut the box, practically throwing it into the closet. Only when it was shoved away could I breathe again. The walls pushed back, giving me space. I fisted and unfisted my hand, shaking away the sting.

  I never should have started cleaning. I never should have worried about what Piper would think of my house. I never should have opened that fucking box and let the memories trapped with a pink baby blanket escape.

  Damn her. This was all Piper’s fault.

  No, not her. This was all his fault.

  My roar filled the room as I swatted the laundry basket off my bed and onto the floor. I picked up the lamp on my nightstand next, ripping the cord from the outlet. My arm was cocked, ready to send the lamp flying across the room, when someone knocked on the front door.

  I threw the lamp onto my bed instead of into a wall, then I stormed down the hallway. My boots boomed on the wooden floor as I marched straight to the door, ripping it open so hard all three hinges moaned.

  “What?” I shouted.

  Piper’s dimples didn’t falter. “Is that how you always answer your door? Or is that greeting just for me?”

  “I, uh . . .”

  She stood there, grinning, as I looked her up and down. Her hair was tucked behind that one ear. Her eyes were laughing. And in her hands, a cake sat on a white platter rimmed with scallops.

  She’d brought me a fucking chocolate cake.

  Piper balanced the plate in one palm while her other hand pointed a slender finger past the porch. “Is that your shop? I hadn’t noticed it before, and I can’t see it from my camper. It’s enormous. After we eat some magic cake, maybe you could give me a tour.”

  I blinked at her once. Then twice. The burning fire that had been coursing through my veins moments ago was just . . . gone. Somehow, she’d smothered the flames before they’d been able to take on a life of their own.

  How did she do that? It wasn’t the first time either. What was so goddamn special about Piper Campbell that she had that kind of power over me? Until I got a handle on those answers, I should tell her to take that cake and go the fuck home.

  I stepped back, waving her inside without a word. The smell of her hair hit me as she passed by. My eyes raked over the fitted, sleeveless dress she wore that hugged each of her curves. It was a deep khaki color, a few shades darker than her naked skin.

  Her smile curved higher on one end as she crossed the threshold. She scanned the living room on the left, then the kitchen on the right without a grimace or a flinch in sight.

  A rush of relief hit that I’d chosen today to clean. It irritated me how happy I was. Piper’s reactions were controlling too many of my feelings.

  “What’s your stance on cake for dinner?” She set the cake down on the dining table situated close to the door.

  “I’m not against it.”

  “Good.” She nodded. “Where are your forks?”

  I pointed to the drawers along the far wall of the kitchen. “Middle drawer.”

  Her ass swayed on her tall heels as she strode across the kitchen like she owned the place. The front of her shoes were made up entirely of olive-green straps, all balanced on a thick heel in the same shade. They were sexy, like her dress, but I had no idea how she’d walked over here on the rough dirt trail without tripping.

  But Piper had this grace in the way she walked, a surety with every step. She looked as comfortable in those chunky heels as I was in my boots.

  “Plates are—”

  “No plates.” She turned from the silverware drawer and waved the forks in the air, shaking her head as she walked back over. “Magic cake doesn’t need plates.”

  Magic cake?

  Before I could ask, she took a seat at the table, set down my fork in front of the other, then dug in.

  She didn’t start on the outside, placing a dainty bite on her fork like I would have expected. No, she dug in. She scooped a piece of cake right out of the center, one so large I was sure it wouldn’t fit in her mouth. But somehow, she balanced it on the fork so it wouldn’t fall and then she shoved it past her lips.

  Her cheeks bulged like a chipmunk. Her lips were covered in cake crumbles and creamy frosting. Piper’s eyes drifted shut, her head lolling to the side. Then she let out a moan that was nothing but sheer pleasure, like the ones I’d coaxed from her in the camper’s bedroom.

  The sound sent a jolt through my veins, stirring the lust I’d been fighting for days.

  She finished chewing, opened her eyes and went back to the cake for another gigantic bite. But before she brought it to her mouth, she paused to look at me and raise an eyebrow. Then she pointed to my fork with her gaze.

  Right. Cake. For dinner.

  I unglued myself from the door and pulled out the other chair to sit. Following her lead, I scooped a bite from the middle of the cake.

  “Jesus Christ,” I groaned as the flavor exploded in my mouth.

  Piper grinned as she chewed. “Magic cake.”

  This cake was magic. Any remaining anger or frustration or irritation evaporated. It was just me, Piper and the best cake I’d ever had in my life.

  The texture of the cake was fluffy and moist. The flavor of the frosting was rich but not too sweet. It was like happiness in physical form. This cake had actual healing powers. I hadn’t felt this good since . . . well, since I’d last had sex with Piper.

  I swallowed the first bite quickly, needing more. I scooped another heap from the middle of the cake, letting another groan loose as soon as I’d fit it in my mouth.

  Across the table, Piper giggled with her mouth full.

  We ate with abandon. There was nothing prim or proper about how we attacked the cake. She didn’t take tiny bites. She didn’t ask for a napkin. She just wiped the crumbs away with her fingers if she couldn’t catch them first with her tongue.

  This cake brought out a relaxed and carefree side to Piper I’d never seen.

  Magic cake.

  Piper and I demolished the cake until all that was left was the outside ring with a hollow crater in the center.

  “Please tell me you have milk.” She stood from the table and walked to the fridge.

  As she opened the door, I gave myself a mental fist pump that it no longer smelled. Then I stood and went to the cupboard for glasses.

  She poured from the carton and we each downed a glass. When her glass was empty, she set it down and leaned on the counter, smiling with a sigh. “I love magic cake.”

  “You have a milk mustache.” I stepped closer to wipe it away.

  The moment the pad of my thumb touched her skin, an electric shock ran up my arm. She sucked in a sharp breath, holding it in her lungs as I dragged my thumb from one corner of her mouth to the other. Her gaze was locked with mine.

  Blood rushed to my groin and my heart rate spiked. Instead of my thumb, I wanted to kiss that milk away. I wanted to devour those lips and see if they tasted like chocolate.

  I leaned in, seconds away from hoisting her onto this counter and fitting myself between her legs. But then she blinked, tearing her eyes away and aiming them at the floor.

  “I, um . . .” She blew out her breath. “How about that tour of your shop?”

  I dropped my hand and took a step back. Then another. The smell of her hair and the heat from her skin made me lose my mind, and I needed some distance to think straight. I took a few breaths to get my racing heart under control. I ignored the sting to my ego that she’d just shut me down.

  We’d been seconds away from a hot, sweaty night in my bed, but she’d put on the brakes. If she didn’t want to go there tonight, I’d respect that. Though we needed to get far away from my bedroom and to a place
where nothing reminded me of sex.

  “A tour sounds good.” I turned and crossed the room, taking the shop key off a hook by the door. With my back to her, I made a quick adjustment to my stiff cock, then held the door open for her.

  Her heels clapped on the floor as she went outside. “I like your porch. I’m surprised you don’t sit out here.”

  My eyebrows came together. “I do.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “I just assumed you didn’t since there aren’t any chairs.”

  “Huh.” I guess there weren’t.

  Normally, I just sat on the railing, leaning against one of the posts. The porch ran along the entire front of the cabin. From here, I could see through the trees and down the slope of the mountain. I’d sit out here and spy on deer or other animals.

  A year ago, a black bear had come through here every now and again to scratch her back on one particular tree. A different summer, there’d been an eagle that had built the beginnings of a nest in one of the trees before giving it up to relocate somewhere else.

  Maybe some chairs would be a nice addition.

  I was mentally sketching a design by the time I walked down the steps and joined Piper by my gray truck parked in the narrow gravel driveway.

  I didn’t have a yard up here so there was no mowing or maintenance. It was all natural, including the footpath I’d worn between my house and the shop.

  “Can you make it in those shoes?” I asked.

  “I’m good.”

  “You sure?” I could carry her down if I needed to, though that might be dangerous for us both. I’d probably get so distracted by her in my arms I’d trip and crash us both.

  “I’m sure.” She waved me off. “I’ve had years of practice in shoes like this. I’m just as steady on heels as I am in sneakers.”

  I scoffed. “Uh-huh.”

  “I am! See?” With that, she skipped down the trail. She fucking skipped, like a little kid. Her hair bounced on her shoulders. Her arms swung at her sides.

  I about had a damn heart attack, running to keep up just in case she slipped.

  But she made her point, arriving safely at the shop without so much as a hint of a wobble on those shoes. I scowled at her smug grin, then unlocked the shop.