by R. R. Banks
I turn in my chair so I can look at him. He’s probably around my age, but he looks so exhausted that he could pass for a couple years older. His voice scared me, but his whole demeanor pings an alert in the back of my brain. In prison, there were guys like me who were one and done (or two and done, but I don’t count my juvenile hall stay), and then there were guys who had Problems with a capital P. Harrison reminds me of the latter group.
He’s a plain-looking guy — brown hair, brownish eyes, not too tall or short — but he has anger bubbling under the surface of his skin. It doesn’t seem like it has anywhere to go, so I guess it’s coming out in spurts. I know the feeling well, and it’s what landed me in jail twice.
“You don’t have to sell,” I whisper quietly, like soothing a horse. “This guy’s full of shit.”
Harrison looks at the ground. “I know, I know. But that’s a lot of money I can’t always find doing farm work.”
He turns his attention away from me and back onto Edgar. I turn back to the front as well, feeling a little unsettled. The town’s mostly blue collar, but the job market’s tough right now. The amount of money Edgar’s offering, even though it’s nowhere near what the land’s actually worth, would be tempting for anyone who’s having trouble making ends meet. I’m surprised Harrison’s as reluctant as he is, if he really is broke.
I sit through Edgar trying to kiss the asses of the elderly couple who came — the Greens, though I’ve forgotten their first names — and a series of questions from the single older woman, Jenna, about the construction and potential timeline of the project.
It’s tiring, at least mentally, and I want to go home, but I stick it out until Edgar calls the meeting. No one seems to be overly swayed in his favor, so at least that’s a notch in today’s win column. I say goodbye to everyone, letting them know that I’m up for discussing the plans elsewhere if they want to. I try to emphasize that the meetings are business only. I’m not up for anything else.
By the time I’m out, my stomach is growling, and I’m itching to get back to work. I pick up a few bagels before hopping back into my truck to go back home. I get home in record time and head into the house to put away the stuff I bought before the meeting. It’s still weird seeing Simone’s car parked out front next to mine.
I can see her through the windows of the kitchen into the little house. She has her hair up in a bun that exposes her long, slender neck, and a huge pair of headphones on her head. She’s completely lost in her work, bobbing her head to some song and looking at something — a sketch, a laptop, I’m not sure.
We listened to a lot of music when we dated. She had a nice voice, but she didn’t like to sing much around people besides me. The memory makes me feel warm inside, which hasn’t happened in a long ass time. Most memories of our relationship back then still make me feel pretty nice. Too bad things have been so damn awkward now.
Maybe I should go say hi or something. Or apologize for earlier, both in town and this morning. I finish off my third bagel and sweep the crumbs off my hands and into the sink. Nah. I can’t handle another awkward interaction today. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Chapter Five
Simone
I haven’t felt this rested in my adult life. Jay’s property is always dead silent at night, aside from the sound of an occasional critter, so I’ve been sleeping hard, and a lot, these past two weeks. The sofa bed is really comfortable, too, to my surprise, which helps. I was a little worried when I moved in, but it’s been great.
My interactions with Jay have been limited to passing each other on our way to the bathroom (fully clothed, of course) and small talk whenever we’re both in the kitchen. It’s better than the awkward, maybe flirting thing we had going on before. There’s an unspoken barrier we’re both holding up, and it’s working so far. This solitude is great for my productivity.
I stretch in bed and roll over onto my stomach to check my phone. There’s a text from Gigi about her birthday party in a couple of weeks, but that’s about it. Nothing from Max, thank God. It’s already eight in the morning, so I need to get dressed and get back to work before I head out to Maya’s family’s farm. I’m psyched that her parents were open to me coming by. I’ve never actually seen any of the materials I use being made. Plus, I like Maya. Her enthusiasm for learning new things is infectious. Our emails setting up our design lessons had about ten gifs to express her excitement for some take-home work I said I’d give her.
I slip on my robe over my knee-length sleep shirt, tucking my phone into my robe’s pocket. Usually Jay is awake by now, and he always makes a pot of coffee that can wake the dead. I look over my shoes by the door. It’s wet outside from rain last night, so I don’t want to wear flip flops and get my feet dirty. I slip my toes into my old Keds without putting my heels in and open the door.
Right as I step onto the stairs outside, I get a text. Being impulsive and impatient, I pull out my phone immediately, and all of the air in my lungs leaves my body instantly when I read it.
Who’s living in your apartment, love? Where are you?
Max is the only person who’s ever called me love. How did he get my number? I went through the trouble of getting it changed just so he wouldn’t find me.
I can’t immediately block his number because before I know it, I’m airborne and falling onto the ground. A sharp pain shoots up my ankle as I slam into the mud, catching myself on my forearms. On the upside, it cushioned my landing, but on the other, my robe is wrecked. It’s going to be a pain in the ass to wash since it’s one hundred percent silk. Why can’t I go back fifteen minutes and pick out my cotton one? And also burn my phone?
“Ugh, why!” I yell before I can stop myself. It echoes throughout the area, which only adds to my mortification. My ankle is throbbing, and the tears in my eyes are a mixture of pain and frustration.
I delicately pull my arms from the mud and try to sit up. My phone is a few feet away, but I don’t know if I can handle looking at it again. My heart is pounding so hard that I’m worried I’ll faint if I try to get up.
“You okay?” Jay calls from the house. He’s in a T-shirt and sweats.
“Mmhm!” I try to put weight on my ankle, and shit that hurts. But I can do it, so I guess it’s not broken.
“Yeah, you aren’t.” Jay’s beside me in an instant, taking my shoe off and looking at my ankle. It’s already swelling, but not much. “Come on, you’re coming inside.”
“What? I’m fine. Just need a second,” I insist, pushing his hands away.
“What happened? Did you slip?” He looks at my shoes. “There’s no tread on these things.”
I take a deep breath out of my nose, closing my eyes and trying to take my mind off the pain. I hope my face isn’t betraying my emotions. “I just slipped. It’s fine, really.”
“Give me this.” He pinches my robe. “I’ll put it in the washer —”
“No, please,” I shake my head, feeling overwhelmed. His brows furrow. “It’s silk. You can’t just throw it in the washer, or it’ll destroy the fabric, and it’s my favorite.”
He has the restraint to not sigh. “Fine, just take it off and hold it so we can handle it inside. We don’t want to get even muddier than we are now.”
I do as he says, begrudgingly, folding it into a little roll that isn’t as messy to hold. I go to hand it to him, but instead he scoops me up like I don’t weigh anything. I’m so thrown off that I nearly go flying out of his arms.
“Hey! Hold on!” I accidentally smack him on the neck trying to get a grip. “Where are you taking me?”
“Inside the house to clean you up. You’re bleeding, too, you know,” he explains, walking back toward the house.
“I can walk, kind of.” Hobble, at least. I could lean on him and get there.
“No, you can’t, Simone. Christ, it’s a miracle you haven’t fallen off a mountain with that attitude.” Jay kicks open the door and walks toward the bathroom.
He nudges the bathroom door ope
n with his foot. I look teeny in our reflection, and with my disheveled appearance and his size, I look like I’ve just been kidnapped by the beast in the fairy tales. He gently puts me on the sink counter and steps back to examine my ankle. He treats it delicately, despite his enormous hands, brushing his fingers over my skin. It looks a little swollen, and it’s throbbing gently with the pulse of my heart.
I’m so mad at myself for getting distracted and falling like a wounded gazelle that I can hardly focus on the pain. My phone seems to be on fire, wrapped in my possibly ruined robe. I need to take it out, but I don’t want Jay to see what’s on my screen. I take more slow, steady breaths.
“Doesn’t look broken. Might be a bad sprain, but we can keep an eye on it.” He goes under the sink and comes up with a well-organized first aid kit. It’s filled with a lot of bandages and burn ointment.
“Do you burn yourself a lot?” I ask, gesturing toward the ointment.
“It happens. I use a lot of heat in my work. Blacksmithing, welding, shit like that.” He shrugs and takes my arm. There’s a big, ugly scrape up my forearm where I landed.
He gets to work on cleaning my wound first. It stings a little, but he’s careful with me. The silence forces me back to why I fell in the first place. Anxiety stews in my gut. If Max has my new cell number, what else does he know? Am I even safe here anymore? Sure, he was controlling, but besides the time he grabbed my wrist and pushed me against the wall, he was never violent. But the potential is there.
All I need to do is block that number again and hope that he somehow doesn’t contact me in some other way. Maybe I can call Gigi and ask her to keep an eye out for anything suspicious or anyone doing anything weird around my place.
It’ll be fine. I can handle it.
“What’s going on in your head?” Jay whispers, smoothing a bandage on my arm. His voice is low and quiet, like we’re in a spa and not just his bathroom.
“Nothing,” I respond.
I can feel his steel grey eyes burning into me. It makes me tingle all the way down to my wrecked ankle. Without saying anything, I see the moment that he realizes I’m bullshitting him pop into his head. How? We’ve only had polite conversations, not the deep, soul-wrenching ones we had when we were teenagers, where we told each other our deepest fears. How has he gotten to read me in such a short time? Maybe my pain tolerance is worse than I thought.
And since when was he this gentle and caring? He’s treating me like I’m made of porcelain without making me feel too… I don’t know… Babyish? I don’t know how I’m feeling about it. Not quite pleased, but not displeased either.
He moves on to my ankle once my cuts are all bandaged, wrapping it up just snug enough. Once he’s done, he looks me over. I notice his gaze stop briefly at my breasts, free from a bra in my big soft sleep shirt, before moving quickly over to my arm. Is he blushing? I think he is, at least a little. I shouldn’t want to grin like an idiot, or worse, push my boobs up a little with my arm. It shouldn’t make me feel anything, because I cannot deal with a relationship or even casual sex right now, as evidenced by my inability to even walk if I get bad news.
“Thanks for this.” I slide off the counter. “I need to hop in the shower now or I’m going to be late.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jay asks, not moving from his spot in front of me.
“What are you, my mom? I’m going to visit an alpaca farm today.” I try to get past him, but I gasp when I step on my ankle just a little bit too hard.
“You can’t walk on that busted ankle.”
“Mm, I’ll pop an ibuprofen and get on with it.” My ankle really hurts, but it’s not the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. “I’ve been looking forward to this for days and I don’t want to miss it.”
“You’re being ridiculous. The farmer will understand if you can’t come because you can’t walk. Don’t make me pick you up again and put you on the couch.” He blocks me from moving with the slightest shift in his weight.
“You wouldn’t.” I glare up at him.
“Moni, did I not just pick you up off the ground outside?” he points out. No one has called me Moni in years. I didn’t know I missed it until now. “Fuck yeah, you know I would.”
Before I can respond, he puts me over his shoulder like a bag of mulch. I don’t even fight him this time, because if I do, I’ll probably screw up some other part of my body on the way down. God, he’s freaking tall. Even being over his shoulder feels way higher than I’m comfortable with, even though I feel secure with his arm across the back of my thighs.
He takes me to the living room and places me on the couch, then leaves the room for a second. I try to get up on my one foot like an idiot, as if I can outrun him, but he’s back before I know it, some pillows under his arm and an ice pack in his hand. He glares at me, as if to say, “really?”
“What’s it going to take for me to keep you here, so you don’t do more damage to yourself?” Jay asks, throwing the pillows down on the couch.
I look him over, trying to think of something absurd, even though I know I should take a damn day off. But being inside all day will give me too much down time to think. I’m already about to burst out of my skin and it’s only been five minutes since my fall. I need to be distracted, consistently and thoroughly, or I’ll lose my mind with anxiety.
Going to the farm would have been perfect. I would have been distracted by alpacas, which are pretty cute, and I would be focused on being on my best behavior around relative strangers. And that doesn’t even take my excitement of seeing the process of how their yarn’s made into account. Basically, Max would be the farthest thing from my mind if I hadn’t been such a klutz. Tears of frustration come to my eyes, but I manage to hold them in.
I hate that Jay is right. The logical half of my brain and the stupid, prideful part of my brain are wrestling in the back of my mind. They come to a compromise.
“If you can’t meet my demands, will you let me go?” I ask.
He plays with the ice pack, meeting my gaze with a playful spark in his eye. “Sure.”
“Okay. I want food. Lots of it. The exact kind of food to be determined in a bit.” I pause for a second, thinking of what he really wouldn’t want to do so I can get out of here. He mentioned a deadline for a project coming up… So, I continue the conversation by saying, “And I want you to stay in here with me all day, not working. Not even checking your email. But you have to watch whatever I want to watch.”
“Not a problem.” He smiles, and it lights up his face. “Anything else?”
Okay, that backfired. It’s nice to see him smile, though. It turns him from a slightly terrifying giant to a gorgeous, approachable man who happens to be gigantic.
“I want a dog to cuddle. And a pedicure,” I add. He still doesn’t look fazed. “And, uh, a steak dinner. Maybe a foot massage, too, on the good foot, obviously.”
“That’s it?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest like I just asked him to get a carton of milk from the store.
“Where are you going to find a dog for me to cuddle? You can’t just adopt one out of nowhere,” I say, starting to laugh. He’s so damn sure of himself.
“I have my ways.” He puts the pillows on the table and takes my leg, guiding my foot onto the cushions. “If that’s all that you need to stay here, I can deliver.”
“You’re seriously going to give me a foot massage and pedicure, too? What if I wanted a helicopter ride or something?”
He puts the ice pack over my ankle. It feels amazing, and he seems satisfied with the relief on my face.
“Simone. You’re just being ridiculous. I’ll meet all your demands even though I know you’d probably come back here limping if I let you go.” He cups my calf and adjusts my ankle on the pillows. His hands are so big — how are his fingers and hands so nimble? “Let yourself be taken care of, for fuck’s sake.”
I sigh. He doesn’t have to do all of this for me, but he’s going to. It seems like this protec
tive streak is in his blood and I can’t stop him. We lock eyes for another few moments.
“Okay, I will. But I get antsy if I’m not distracted from things like this,” I say. I leave out the fact that ‘things like this’ means Max stalking me and not my ankle.
“Alright.” He looks me over. “I’ll need a bit to get everything you need. You’re going to stay put?”
“I promise.”
“You need coffee while I’m gone?”
“Please, if it’s not a bother.”
He goes into the kitchen and returns with a cup from the machine, warm with just the right amount of my almond milk creamer in it. He remembers how I like my coffee when I make it at home? I don’t think any man I’ve been with, dating or not, has ever thought to notice it. Well, him included, but I didn’t drink coffee in high school.
“Remote’s here. Cable’s a rip off so I don’t have it, but I have all of the streaming services. It’s a smart TV, so go nuts.” He places the remote on my lap. “Text me all the food you want, too.”
I don’t even want to touch my phone. “Can I just tell you?”
“I guess?” His dark brows furrow and he pulls out his phone, no questions asked. “Go ahead.”
I rattle off a list of garbage food — bagels, ice cream, chips, cookies, all that. If I’m going to be laid up for a day, I might as well enjoy it.
“Got it. And then that steak dinner.” One side of Jay’s mouth quirks up. Does he know how attractive that makes him look? “And the dog. And the foot massage. And the pedicure.”
“Mmhm.” I sip my coffee, smiling.
“Your wish is my command. I’ll be back soon.” He grabs his keys and leaves, his truck rumbling down the driveway.
I can’t believe he’s doing this.
I’m way too alone right now.
I turn on the TV and turn on something mindless, sipping my coffee. My phone on the table might as well be on fire. I keep staring at it, the text unanswered. All I have to do is pick it up and block his number. I can do it.