Shelter

by Stephanie Fournet

  She blinked once, and then her eyes tracked from my mouth to my bare chest before landing on my feet and making the return trip back to my chest. I’d come down in a rush, not wanting to miss the show, and I was still just wearing the sweatpants I’d slept in. They way her eyes rounded when she saw me, I wondered too late if I should have put on a shirt.

  Her gaze met mine again, and it was full of confusion. “What?” Elise asked, almost inaudibly.

  I suppressed a chuckle. “What are you doing?”

  Elise looked down at the project in front of her as though she’d never seen it before. Then she blinked again. “Oh,” she muttered without looking back at me. “I’m making a present for Mama.”

  She gripped her paint can and started spraying again, but I noticed that her cheeks were pink. Pinker than they’d been a moment before. Was she embarrassed I’d caught her singing? Did I make her nervous?

  “What is it?”

  Elise passed the stream of paint evenly along the bottom of the drawer, keeping her eyes on her work the entire time. “Well… when I’m finished, it’s going to be a jewelry organizer.” She spoke absently, as though the paint job required her full attention.

  An unexpected surge of impatience hit my bloodstream like an injection. I wanted her attention. I couldn’t help it. I stepped closer. “Speaking of presents, I have something for you.” I watched her eyes widen as I drew the box from behind my back. “So you can be a proper business woman.”

  Elise blinked at me. “What?”

  “Open it,” I said, shaking the box in front of her. Bewildered Elise was really cute, and I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she opened the phone.

  Eyeing me with her familiar look of suspicion, Elise slowly reached forward and took the box from me.

  “I promise, it’s not a snake or a box of spiders.”

  She arched a brow at me. “That would be too predictable,” she muttered under her breath.

  I pressed my lips together, fighting the urge to laugh at her jab. She wasn’t afraid to give me shit, and I loved it.

  Elise tore through the wrapping paper and gasped at the iconic black box. “An iPhone!” Her amber eyes shot to mine. “You didn’t get me an iPhone.”

  I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. “Yeah, I did.”

  “You did not.” Her voice had gone breathless with disbelief.

  Laughing harder now, I took the box from her hands and opened it, revealing the sleek silver device. I’d chosen the silver one because it reminded me of Elise’s jewelry.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

  I held down the side button until the screen lit up with the Apple icon. “There’s something else,” I told her. I dropped into a squat beside her, opened the Safari app, and typed in the URL to her website.

  When the home page came up, Elise sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, my God,” she said again. “This is too much!”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I owe you a lot. Just think of this as a thank you for helping me and Ava over the years.”

  Her eyes met mine, and I could see my words meant something to her. I’d never thanked her. Not once. And the look in her eyes made me wonder what the hell had taken me so long.

  I swallowed and cleared my throat. “It’s WordPress, so it’s really easy to use. I took a few pictures of some of your jewelry Ava has, but you can replace them if you want—”

  “These are great,” she said, her eyes gleaming. She looked up from the screen. “Cole, no one’s ever done anything like that for me.”

  Yeah, the late night working on the site was totally worth it. The way she was looking at me made me feel like I could do anything.

  “I set up an email address for you, and I sent you an email with all the logins and passwords so you can access everything.”

  She tapped the email icon at the bottom of the screen, and I watched her read the text once. Then twice. Then she arched a brow. “Colerocks2009? That’s my password?”

  I shrugged innocently, fighting my grin. “I figured it was easy to remember. You can change it.”

  She looked to be on the verge of laughter, but then her smile sobered. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to say.” Elise shook her head. “And I don’t have anything to give you in return.”

  “You’ve given me plenty,” I reminded her. Then I nodded to the project in front of her. “But if you want to humor me, tell me about Flora’s gift here.”

  “Sure.” Elise carefully placed her new phone back it its box and set it behind her. Then she scooted closer to the dresser drawer. “When the paint dries, I’ll screw these little crystal drawer pulls I bought at Guidry’s Hardware onto this part,” she explained, tapping the bottom of the drawer. For the first time, I noticed the pre-drilled holes. “And she’ll be able to use those to hang necklaces. And then I’ll run a line of steel gauge wire across the top here — like a little clothesline — for her earrings.

  “What about her bracelets?” I asked, knowing that Flora always wore one of Elise’s beaded creations on her wrists.

  The question won me a smile, and Elise looked up at me. “I’m going to use two little towel hooks here,” she said, pointing to a pair of larger holes on the left side.

  As always, she’d impressed me. She’d envisioned a complete design that would be both elegant and functional. I wondered if she knew that not everyone could do something like that.

  “That’s really cool,” I said. “She’s going to love it.”

  Elise’s bow-shaped smile grew, and her color rose higher on her cheeks. Then her eyes fell to my chest again, as though she couldn’t help their movement, and I watched her shut them and give her head a little shake.

  “Aren’t you cold?” she asked, bringing her focus back to the drawer.

  I wasn’t cold. Not now that I knew she was trying to stop herself from looking at me. The thought made me grin like a fool.

  “It’s not that cold out here,” I said, a hint of teasing in my voice.

  She kept her face averted. “Yes, it is,” she said flatly. “If you’re going to stay here while I work, at least go put some clothes on.”

  I choked on a surprised laugh, loving that she wasn’t afraid to tell me off. But I laughed, too, because in her own way, Elise Cormier had just invited me to stay. I could work with that.

  “Okay,” I chuckled. “I’ll go put some clothes on.”

  She still didn’t look at me, but I could see the way she held her mouth tight that she was fighting a smile. I knew she wanted to hide that from me more than she wanted to look at my naked chest, and in that moment, it seemed fundamental that I change those values.

  “Can I bring you something? Coffee? Cocoa?”

  That made her look up. “Mama and Mrs. Abigail are doing the big Christmas party grocery run. There’s no cocoa.” As she spoke, her eyes had darted to mine before dipping to my bare torso just for an instant and then coming back up to my eyes.

  Victory.

  Grinning, I put my hands on my hips and watched her eyes follow them. “I am in college,” I purred. “I do know how to make cocoa.”

  She blinked then, looking flustered, and pulled her gaze back to her work. “W-well, knock yourself out, then,” she said with a shrug. But that shrug was a lie. The shrug said she didn’t care what I did. I knew the opposite was true. And it made me inexplicably and ridiculously pleased.

  I stood and let myself take in the sight of her for just a moment longer. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail with her long, soft bangs tucked behind her ears. The ponytail fell over her shoulder as she worked, and I resisted the urge to take it in my hand and pull down the elastic band that held it back.

  The impulse mirrored what I felt for Elise Cormier. Without knowing why, I now wanted to be the force that took away whatever held her back.

  “I’ll just be a sec,” I said, turning away before I could actually reach out and touch her.

  Inside, I put a saucepan on the stove and filled i
t with milk, half-and-half, cocoa powder, sugar, and salt, the way I’d seen Flora do a hundred times over the years. I left it on low and ran upstairs to change. As I tucked myself into a pair of jeans, I tried to ignore the obvious fact that talking to Elise and feeling her eyes on me hadn’t left me unaffected.

  “She’s sixteen,” I whispered aloud. Then I took a deep breath and pulled a sweater over my head.

  I won’t touch her, I told myself. I just want to hang out with her. Make her smile.

  This wasn’t unreasonable. I’d done little more than that with girls throughout high school. Back when my life was too complicated to date anyone. I’d dated plenty of girls since going to Tulane. Some just once or twice. Others for a few weeks. Nothing really serious.

  And I didn’t want anything serious. Things were easier now that I didn’t have to worry so much about Mom and Ava. My threats had kept my father under control, but I sure as hell wasn’t ready to settle down with anyone. And, luckily, most of the girls I’d met at Tulane felt the same.

  So, I knew that just hanging out with Elise would be easy enough. It should be easy enough, anyway.

  I just want to get to know her.

  Downstairs, the hot cocoa steamed from the saucepan, so I gave it a few stirs and poured it into two mugs. When I went back outside, I found Elise still at work. She had stood the drawer up on one end and was painting the back.

  “Here you go,” I said softly, offering her one of the mugs.

  She gave me a surprised look and blinked at the steaming mug in my hand before taking it carefully between hers. “Oh… thank you.” She blew across the top. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I said I would.” I dropped down onto the patio beside her, and she sat back and crossed her legs in front of her, mirroring my pose. We were almost knee-to-knee, facing each other. It took a sip of the hot chocolate. It was good, but not as good as Flora’s. Maybe I hadn’t used enough cream.

  Elise took a sip. “Mmm…” she hummed, a smile peeking out from behind her mug. “Thanks. My stomach was starting to rumble.”

  I frowned. “How long have you been out here?”

  She shrugged. “About an hour, I guess. Right after Mama and Mrs. Abigail left.” She brushed a stray hair back behind her left ear, and my eye followed the motion. “I had to drill the holes and sand them down before I could start painting.”

  I pointed my chin at the near-finished drawer. “Why red?”

  “It’s vermillion,” Elise said with a smile. “Mama’s favorite color.”

  I found myself staring at the brilliant red. “I have no idea what my mom’s favorite color is.” The words were out before I realized I’d spoken them aloud.

  I glanced up to find Elise watching me with a cautious expression, her smile gone. “Well… most of the house is white. Maybe she likes white.”

  Shaking my head, I brought my gaze back to the mug in my hands. It was easier to look at the steaming cocoa than to meet her all-seeing stare. “I don’t think so. I think white is a cover-up.”

  Elise was silent for a moment. And then she wasn’t. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. Having a favorite color seemed like far too normal a preference to possess in the life we lived. “White makes everything look perfect.”

  “And you don’t like white.” The certainty in Elise’s voice made me look up. Her amber eyes were free of pity, thank God, but they were clear, conviction stoking their heat.

  “I hate it.”

  She gave me a slow nod. “Have you ever asked your mom about that… about everything looking perfect?”

  Her question had my stomach tightening. Where did she get the courage and the composure to just come out and say it? And how was I to answer her?

  I loved my mother. She knew I loved her just like I knew she loved me. But we didn’t talk. We couldn’t. Because when we did talk, the conversation would always come back around to the same thing.

  Why didn’t she leave?

  And I couldn’t stand to hear her say the things that just weren’t true. Things I had never believed. “He loves us… He doesn’t mean it… It breaks his heart when he loses control like that… We just have to try harder…”

  Of course, lately, the mantra had changed. Because the beatings had stopped. Because I’d threatened to kill my father if they didn’t. But Mom didn’t know that. So, she believed he’d changed. “It’s like a miracle,” she’d say. “My prayers have been answered. He’s like a new man…”

  Hearing her talk like that made me want to puke, but I couldn’t bring myself to level with her about my father’s one-eighty. The truth was I’d never seen her so happy. What kind of dick would I be to take that away from her?

  “No,” I said simply. “She doesn’t listen to me.”

  I watched Elise take a calm, measured breath as though she understood completely what this meant. And, still, I didn’t see any trace of pity in her gaze. Just understanding.

  “You want her to leave him,” Elise said, her voice dropping but also softening in a way that tugged at something deep inside me.

  “Yeah,” I managed, my throat suddenly tight. “More than anything.”

  She set down her mug and lowered her gaze for a moment before looking back at me. “I would too.” Again, her conviction knocked me off balance. “And, just like you, I’d probably want to kill him.”

  A lone laugh erupted from me, turning the moment from near agonizing to exhilarating.

  Elise blinked once before her face cinched into a scowl. “Are you laughing at me?” I could see she spoke through clenched teeth, and the sight of it made it harder to wipe away my smile.

  “No,” I answered honestly giving my head a violent shake so she wouldn’t mistake my sincerity. “Not at all.”

  Her frown deepened. “Well, then why are you laughing?”

  “Because,” I said, and then I put my hand on her knee. I touched her knee to reassure her. Because it was close to me. Within reach. But as soon as I did, I forgot completely what I was about to say. I even forgot what we’d been talking about. Because the feel of her under my palm commanded all of my awareness.

  In the small space where my hand met her body, she felt warm and womanly and essential. She felt like a mystery I had to solve.

  Touching her revealed two undeniable, elemental truths. Touching Elise Cormier was the best decision I’d ever made. And I wanted to keep touching her.

  The pajama bottoms concealed little of her heat and shape, and my fingers resisted the urge to spread over her and slide up her thigh. But this desire was easy enough to ignore. Much easier than the hum of life that seemed to pass from her body into mine.

  She was alive. And touching her suddenly made me aware that I was alive too.

  How about that?

  I brought my eyes to hers to see if she shared any of the feelings that now consumed me. But I found her gaze averted, her eyes locked onto the cocoa mug by her feet. The only hint that she felt anything at all was the rush of red that now claimed her cheeks.

  Chapter 11

  ELISE

  My face was going to burst into flames. Any minute now. I couldn’t look at him. I just couldn’t. If I did, Cole would know that I’d tossed and turned and obsessed about him the last two nights.

  Why me? Why now?

  I’d practically lived with the guy for years. Why was I suddenly cursed? It was like a snake bite or a fever. One minute I was fine. I could go to school… hang out with friends… work on my jewelry. All without thinking about Cole Whitehurst.

  And then Alberta had to go and open her big mouth and BAM! Ruined.

  All he had to do was touch my knee, and I wanted to fall into his lap. And, oh my God, did I want to fall into his lap. And not just to feel his body pressed against mine and know his kiss. I wanted those things. I really wanted those things.

  But I also wanted to hold him and kiss his temple. His expression when he said that his mother didn’t listen to him left me gutted. I
don’t think I’d ever seen that much pain in any pair of eyes. Ever.

  I’d always felt bad for Cole and Ava. And I’d felt bad for Mrs. Abigail, too. But over the years — and especially over the last year or so — those feelings had evolved. Mrs. Abigail, I felt sorry for because she’d married a horrible man. But even I would admit that those feelings were on the shallow side. I mean, she was a grown woman. Even if she had been young and stupid when she’d said “I do,” she wasn’t young anymore. And, yeah, maybe she loved Mr. Whitehurst. But even at sixteen, I knew that if I ever found myself in her shoes, any love I had for a man would dry up the moment he hit me. Much less pushed me down a flight of stairs.

  And even if I’d had such little regard for myself, I’d never be able to let my children stay with a man who hurt them. I could maybe understand her staying if she had nowhere else to go, but I’d learned in civics that Louisiana was a community property state. If Mrs. Abigail had really wanted to, she could have left Cole and Ava’s daddy and taken half of his money. And half of Garrett Whitehurst’s money should be enough for anyone. I mean, half of what he had was more than Mama and I would ever have.

  So why would she put her children through that?

  I knew from living in the guesthouse for so long that, over the years, Cole had gotten better and better at keeping Ava and his mama out of their father’s way. And the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that the person who suffered the most, the person who carried the greatest burden in the Whitehurst family was Cole. For years, he had been the human punching bag, the shield that had taken most of his father’s blows. He’d stood up for everyone in that house.

  But as far as I could see, no one had ever stood up for him.

  So, when he put his hand on my knee and connected with me like I’d just been plugged into an electric socket, I wanted to put my hand over his so he would know what it felt like to be covered.

  And so I did.

  One minute he was touching my knee, explaining to me that he wasn’t laughing at me, my face beet-red from his touch. And the next minute, my hand was on his, and he was looking at me like I’d just sprouted horns.