When he lifted his head, she let out a sigh, disappointment hitting her swift and unwanted. Her eyelids fluttered open slowly, like her whole body was loathe for this to end.
His eyes were warm. Kind. His lips were curved up ever so slightly at the corners. The look he was giving her was just as tender as the kiss had been, and he seemed in no hurry to let go of her.
Which was a good thing, really, since she had a tiny fear that her legs might not work and she’d go tumbling to the kitchen floor like a ragdoll if he loosened his grip. “What…” She cleared her throat which had grown hoarse. “What was that?”
He bit back a smile. “Practice.”
Right. Practice. He’d said that already, hadn’t he? The word dimly registered in her slow-moving mind. But then he was setting her away from him, positioning her against the counter like the ragdoll that she was. It seemed that little bit of distance helped her mind to click into gear. When he dropped his arms from her entirely she was once again able to draw a deep breath and that helped her head to clear even more.
He’d kissed her.
Cole Harding had kissed her.
Butterflies that she’d never been aware of before took flight in her belly and the light, tickling sensation spread throughout her body, making her heart flutter and her toes curl. “Practice,” she muttered, more for her own sake than anything else. She needed the reminder, apparently, because while she could logically understand that the kiss had been a tactical maneuver, her body was having a difficult time processing.
“Like an acting exercise,” she said.
His lips were doing that thing again—that thing that she’d never seen them do in all the years she’d watched him on TV. They were twitching like he was fighting against a smile, and his eyes danced with amusement.
“Exactly,” he said. “Just an acting exercise.”
“Pretending,” she said the word a little too loudly. “We were just pretending.”
One of his shoulders lifted in a half shrug. “Sure, we can call it pretending.”
She wasn’t sure if she was mistaken or if that was laughter in his voice.
“A practice test,” she said. Oh brother, she was babbling. She couldn’t seem to stop it. Her mind was reeling to make sense of what had just transpired. “That kiss was like a practice test…right?”
“More like a pop quiz, I’d say.” He turned away and started to pace the kitchen, his gaze moving over the fixtures, the ceiling, taking in all the work she’d done, and all that was left to do. “You passed with flying colors, by the way.”
She stared at his broad back, her mouth parted in surprise. His tone had almost been…teasing. For a stunned moment she didn’t know how to respond, but humor won out and he turned to flash her one of those rare, gorgeous smiles when she burst out laughing.
Any lingering tension in the air lifted and she moved from where she’d stood by the counter to join him in his perusal, trying to see her beloved kitchen through his eyes. “The cabinets need to be replaced,” she said.
He gave a grunt of acknowledgement that she took to be a yes.
“I was thinking of doing something a little more modern, keeping the oak but maybe turning it into an open shelving unit over there.” She pointed to the far corner. “But Brent thought it would be best if we kept the traditional cabinetry in here.”
He didn’t say anything and she instantly regretted having mentioned Brent at a time like this. A time when her lips still tingled from another man’s kiss.
After another tense silence, she looked up and found that Cole’s expression was…intense as he studied the room. Serious. Now this was the Cole Harding she’d seen so many times on TV. The professional who threw himself into each renovation project like it was his very own home.
She felt those butterflies in her belly again, but this nervous, giddy energy had nothing to do with kisses and everything to do with the fact that her TV hero was in her kitchen and about to put his mad skills to work on her house.
She placed a hand on his arm. “Let me show you the rest.”
And just like that, they were back to where they’d started before her friends had shown up, before her panicked meltdown, and before that kiss.
The kiss which she refused to think about any longer. It was practice, like he’d said. It wasn’t like she had anything to feel guilty about.
When he left and came back in with a small suitcase…that was when she experienced a flicker of guilt. “Which room should I use?” he asked.
If he felt any discomfort moving into one of his client’s homes, he didn’t show it. But even after spending this little bit of time with him, Callie wasn’t surprised. When he wore the look he was wearing now—what she was starting to recognize as his TV face—it was impossible to tell what he was feeling or thinking.
“When did you get so good at that?” she asked him as she ushered him into the only room that wasn’t too drafty or in too much disrepair for a guest. Just so happened it was Brent’s room.
“Good at what?”
She gestured to his face. “Pretending.”
To her surprise the mask faltered, surprise had his brows hitching up and his eyes widening. It wasn’t until those magically soft yet firm lips of his twitched with suppressed laughter that she realized what she’d said…what it sounded like…
She might as well have said ‘when did you get so good at kissing?’
Looking at those lips brought that kiss front and center and now this tiny bedroom was filled with awkwardness. “I didn’t mean…” She cleared her throat. “I wasn’t referring to…”
He lost the battle with his mouth and when that full-fledged, eye-crinkling smile hit her it might as well have been a physical blow. The air whooshed from her lungs at the sight of it and her legs—her normally strong, reliable legs—threatened to give out right then and there.
“You think I’m that good at pretending, huh?” There was no mistaking the innuendo.
She grimaced. Was he…flirting?
The butterflies leapt into flight, and her heart skipped a beat with excitement at the thought. But she crushed the thought just as quickly. There were no cameras here and she couldn’t pretend that this was practice. Not to mention, they were standing in Brent’s room.
It was impossible to not feel guilty.
Cole seemed to become aware of this fact at the same time she was thinking it. He wandered over to the dresser where Brent’s things lay untouched. He’d taken most of his clothes, but had left in such a rush that he hadn’t grabbed everything. The book he was reading still lay beside the bed on an end table.
Callie tried to ignore the stab of pain. Coming into this room was a constant reminder of that day. The day when her well-ordered world had turned upside down. When everything she’d thought she knew to be true was put to the test.
“This was Brent’s room?” he asked.
His voice was mild, his expression unreadable—but that didn’t stop her from squirming in place, crossing her arms over her chest as if that could stop this conversation. “Yes.”
He nodded, looking around. “You two had separate rooms?”
She glowered at him. “We weren’t married yet and he was traditional like that, just like me.”
This was none of his business. She didn’t need to explain herself to him. But she hated the feeling that he was judging. That maybe he was thinking that was why Brent had left. It wasn’t. They’d been in perfect agreement about waiting, just like they’d been in agreement about everything else.
Their life together had been perfect. Period.
Cole held his hands up in defense. “Easy, tiger. I’m not judging.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she didn’t. But she did drop her arms from her defensive stance.
“I’m just surprised his stuff is still here, that’s all,” he added.
“I told you. He’ll be back.”
He stared at her for a long moment and she was proud of
herself for maintaining eye contact.
“Did he tell you he was coming back?”
A muscle near her eye twitched and she rubbed at it. Lately she’d been getting stress headaches and this was how they always started. “No,” she mumbled. “He hasn’t said much of anything since he left.”
Cole shifted so he was leaning against the dresser, his posture relaxed but his gaze so intense it hurt to look at him. “What has he said?”
There was that tick again. Ugh, she couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t think. That pounding was starting up like it did every time she had to think about that day and the long silence since.
“He, uh…he sent a text.” One text. Just one.
Cole continued to stare.
“He said he was sorry. He said he needed time and space, and…”
“And?”
Anger surged up in her. “And that’s it.”
End of topic. She turned and headed into the hallway to find the spare set of sheets for the bed. She’d stripped it after her brother left and hadn’t bothered to replace the bedding.
When she came back in, he was still standing where she’d left him. Waiting. Apparently this conversation wasn’t done. He picked up Brent’s abandoned book—a true crime story that she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole because it would give her nightmares.
Cole looked up at her, his head still bent toward the book, and a mischievous glint in his eyes that made her belly flip. “I would have had this in a dumpster by now.”
She pressed her lips together but didn’t respond.
“And then I probably would have set fire to it.”
He said it so casually that she found herself stifling a laugh. “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted.
He arched his brows.
She shrugged. “What? I’m human.”
His look warmed her to the core. “But you’ll still take him back…if he comes back.”
She let out a huff of air. When, she wanted to say. But she didn’t. She was through trying to convince him.
“Have you tried calling him? Texting?”
She eyed Cole with suspicion but there still didn’t seem to be judgment in his tone, just curiosity.
Avoiding that searching look, she tossed the sheets on the bed and got to work. He went around to the other side to help and several long moments passed before she answered.
“I called. A lot,” she said with a rueful laugh. “I called his phone about a hundred times in those first few days after he left but it went straight to voicemail.” When Cole said nothing, she sighed, tugging at her corner as she allowed herself to go back to that horrific time which she couldn’t believe was only four weeks ago. “I texted, but no response. I emailed, but again…no response.”
He muttered something under his breath but when she glanced over and saw the sheer, unadulterated anger in his eyes she swallowed her shock and decided it was best if she didn’t ask what he’d said.
She focused on relating the facts instead. “I reached out to his family and friends, but they were no help. They all kept repeating what he’d said in the note.” She dropped a comforter on the bed, even though it was too warm out to need one. “He needed space.”
A long moment passed and she wondered if the bitterness in her voice had been as obvious to him as it was to her.
“Coward.”
This time she heard him loud and clear. She lifted her head in surprise and her jaw fell open in shock at the pure rage on his face. For half a second she feared that anger and his comment were directed at her.
“He’s a coward.”
She swallowed. No, not at her. Why would it be at her?
Maybe because I am a coward…
She swiped away the thought. Loyalty wasn’t cowardice. Having faith in someone wasn’t being weak, and being open to forgiveness did not make her a doormat.
Right?
“How are you so sure he’s coming back?” he asked.
She bit her lip and had to force her gaze away from the bedspread to meet his. Some of the anger had faded, but it was still there, turning those dark eyes even darker.
“I have faith,” she said with a helpless shrug.
“He must be an amazing man to be worthy of that sort of trust,” he said, his voice so low that it made this moment feel oddly intimate.
“He’s a good man,” she said. “He’s just…confused.”
She hoped.
“Or maybe he was confused when he proposed,” Cole said.
She stumbled back a step. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Just wondering how you’re so certain, that’s all. I’ve never met anyone who’s so sure of the future.”
She pursed her lips as she struggled for the right words. “It’s not the future I’m certain of, it’s him.” No, that wasn’t right. “It’s me. It’s…” She flapped her hands—no one had pushed her on this before so she’d never had to verbalize it. It was proving harder than she could have ever imagined. “Haven’t you ever felt like things are just…meant to be?” she asked.
His eyes widened and he seemed to honestly think it over. “No.”
Her chest fell with disappointment. “Oh.”
“You think you and Brent are meant to be?”
She licked her lips, unable to say a simple yes. A few weeks ago she would have, no doubt in her mind. But now? Well now she was facing a TV star who had swooped in to save her from humiliation while her erstwhile fiancé was who knew where doing who knew what.
She didn’t know much of anything anymore.
“Everything was going so well,” she said, her voice small and weak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “It all happened so fast and so perfectly,” she said. “We met during my last semester of college and it was a whirlwind courtship. He was exactly the kind of guy I’d always envisioned being with. He was easygoing and kind…”
The word kind mocked her in this room. Had his leaving without a word been the actions of a kind man? Hardly.
“Life with him was so…”
Cole arched a brow.
“Easy.” She frowned because that sounded lame.
“Easy, huh?”
She nodded. “He seemed to want the things that I wanted, and when I found the perfect house, and the perfect job, it all just seemed to fit, you know? Everything was just so…”
“Perfect?” he supplied when she trailed off.
She winced. He hadn’t sounded mocking, but the word still sounded silly when he said it. Juvenile, even.
“In my experience, no relationship is perfect,” he said.
She sniffed. “I just meant…we got along so well. We never disagreed, and we never fought, and—”
“That sounds like a whole lot of avoiding and denying to me,” he said.
She stared at him. “What?”
He shrugged, like he hadn’t just jabbed a knife into her belly. “From what you’re saying, he doesn’t sound easygoing, he sounds…weak.”
She gaped at him. “You’ve never even met him.”
The sudden anger in his eyes had her blinking as she took a step back. “I don’t need to have met the man to know that his actions were weak. Leaving a woman without telling her why, without manning up and taking responsibility for the decision and his actions...” His dark gray eyes met hers and wouldn’t let go. “That’s what I call weak.”
She opened her mouth and closed it. Her anger took her by storm. She’d never been one for tantrums or drama, but right now she was shaking with emotion. She wanted to lash out at him, but she wasn’t even sure why.
Maybe because he’s right…
She shut her eyes and clamped her jaw shut, afraid of what might come out if she opened it. Three deep calming breaths later she opened her eyes to find him watching her with a mix of emotions so confusing it made her want to shut her eyes all over again. Instead she blurted out the first thing she could think of. “Are you hungry?”
His brows rose.
; “I’ll go get dinner started.”
She didn’t wait for him to answer before heading out.
Running away.
She just needed to regroup, that was all. By the time he joined her in the kitchen she’d gotten out everything she needed to make spaghetti and meatballs. Not fancy but she had the ingredients and making it was almost as comforting as eating it since she’d made her mother’s meatball recipe no less than a million times since leaving home.
“You don’t have to cook for me.” His voice came from the doorway.
“Are you good with spaghetti?” she asked.
“Always.” She heard him moving behind her, coming to stand close but not touching her. Good. She knew she needed practice, but right now…right now she needed space.
“Callie…”
“I know I don’t have to cook for you, but we both have to eat, right?” she said, her words coming a little too fast.
She took his long silence to be a yes, and the next time he spoke, his tone was once again casual and businesslike. “So, what were you thinking to paint that trim?”
Chapter Nine
The next day was remarkably easy. Cole woke to find Callie at work again, and he joined in beside her. He and his crew had bigger issues to tackle but for this morning, helping Callie strip paint was a decidedly nice way to start the day.
She made them coffee and he insisted on making them breakfast. She argued, but when he informed her that omelets were ‘literally the only thing he knew how to make well, so please let him show off his skills,’ she’d acquiesced with a laugh.
Her praise for said omelets had been over the top, but it had made him laugh.
Breakfast had been followed by showers and then a trip into town to get some materials and pick up some groceries. Callie had been stiff for all of five minutes when she realized all the attention he was getting—they were getting, but when he leaned over and whispered that this was all just practice she gave him a grateful smile and her shoulders lowered by about three inches.
He’d admit it, when she wrapped an arm around his waist in the checkout aisle as they laughed at one of the more absurd tabloid articles, it had been…surprising. And nice. Maybe too nice.
The (Not So) Perfect Fiancé Page 9