Most guys would have taken advantage, or thought more of the situation. If Thomas did, he never let on, never even mentioned it as he wrapped one muscled arm around my shoulders and held me as I wound down the tale.
At that moment there was nothing more I needed than a sturdy shoulder to cry on. The closeness we shared was something I thought long lost. Even if it was temporary, I was glad to have it back.
He was silent for a while after I finished, giving me time to reflect on how fortunate I had been that he happened to go for a run at that time and not been deterred by the storm. I had no idea how he found his way out, even if I had been paying attention there was no way I could tell one branching path from the other.
I’d have been lost all night, cold and wet. I would have been lucky if I didn’t get pneumonia.
The coffee was the same delicious brew he’d served before and the whole living room smelled of it. When he got up to refill my cup, I inhaled the scent of his clothes around me.
There was something about the way his smell clung to the clothes. I’d always loved the way clean clothes smelled and the familiar yet new smell of Thomas was practically addictive.
I secretly plotted to keep his sweater and wear it at night. It was like being wrapped up in a blanket.
“Thanks,” I said taking the warm mug in my hands, letting it cool before I took a sip. His gaze lingered on me and I looked back into those dark pools questioningly. My eyes were probably still puffy from crying and all my makeup was gone, I must have looked hideous.
At least, I would have thought that.
The way he was looking at me, a slight smile hooking the corner of his mouth made me question it. There was a deep hunger to his eyes, a yearning I hadn’t noticed earlier. And on the face of it all, appreciation. If he thought I looked bad, he was doing a stellar job of hiding it.
He had this moony expression like in one of those sappy but secretly enjoyable Hallmark channel romances. Where the guy has eyes only for that one special girl. It never happened in real life, even if they didn’t cheat all men looked at other girls, even for a split second. It was biological.
True love just didn’t happen, not like that.
“Come with me,” he said finally. Before I could set the coffee down, he added, “You can take that with you.”
Without another word he grabbed my hand buried in his sweater’s sleeve and dragged me back out into the dark rainy night. The cold nearly burned my exposed skin, but the sweater kept me warm and toasty.
The smell of coffee and rain was a potent mix that made me wish for a covered balcony that I could curl up on and listen to the storm rage around me.
I didn’t even mind the cold, wet concrete beneath my feet, but without asking he swept me up again after he locked his door and carried me down into the rain and to the back of the bakery. Somehow he managed to unlock the door while keeping me held aloft. Rain sprinkled against us both, and I hid my face in his collar to stay dry.
The lights inside flicked on and Thomas set me down on my feet on the cold tiled floor. “Over here,” he said, guiding me with one arm on the small of my back past a tall glass cabinet with dozens of trays with small pale blobs on them.
“What’s that?”
“That’s a proofing oven, I put the dough in there overnight and it makes sure it doesn’t dry out or get too cold so it rises properly. Now, stand right here. There you go.”
My feet fell on something slightly squishy and soft. I looked down to find my bare toes on a soft rubber mat, warm compared to the cold tiles. “What am I doing?”
“We’re going to make some bread,” he announced.
“But I don’t know how to make bread.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
With practiced motions, he got out several bags and began dumping flour onto the steel countertop by the handful. He sprinkled some salt and what looked like sugar into the pile and finished it with a pinch of powdery tan stuff.
“What’s that?” I asked pointing to the last ingredient.
“Yeast.”
“Don’t you need a bowl?” I asked.
“Not really. or larger batches I might use a stand mixer, but I like the feel of kneading it by hand. Nothing is quite as accurate. You can really feel when the dough is ready this way.”
I gave him a skeptical look.
“You’ll see.”
While he went to get some water from the sink I poked and prodded the mound of white in front of me. It was so airy and soft, my finger practically met no resistance as I swirled it around playfully. I felt like a kid again.
Thomas came back with a small jug of water he set to the side. “You remember when we were kids and we used to make a mashed potato volcano?”
I rolled my eyes at him.
“I’ll take that as a yes, we’re going to make that now.” He waited a moment and then nodded at the mound of flour. “If you don’t mind.”
I hadn’t realized he meant for me to do it. I dug into the peak of the mound making a crater and looked expectantly at him.
Flashing me a grin, Thomas poured in a bit of the water. Just like he had said, it resembled a mashed potato and gravy volcano. The water created little rivulets as it overflowed and ran down the sides. I had expected the whole thing to come apart but it stayed together remarkably well.
“Now comes the fun part,” he said getting behind me. I let out a little squeak of surprise and set my coffee mug to the side. He gently and with surprising care rolled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt and put his strong hands on top of mine.
The objection froze in my throat.
Part of me wasn’t sure I wanted this, the other wanted more. The heat of his strong hands warmed mine as he worked our fingers into the flour and water with flexing, grabbing motions.
He guided my hands, kneading and mixing the dough into a shaggy ball that stuck to our hands and the counter in equal measure. Every so often he’d pull a hand away to scoop out some flour with his hand and sprinkle it atop the mixture.
As I got the hang of it, he relaxed his guidance and let me take over. The nerdy girl inside me who always got straight A’s was excited at his confidence in my ability. The woman in me missed the touch. The warmth of his hands, so firm and strong, on mine.
So maybe I intentionally made a few mistakes to get some extra help from my teacher. Nobody needed to know that.
My arms started to get tired. I never knew baking bread was such laborious work. His muscles never seemed to weaken, they bulged and rippled beneath his warm skin and I marveled as he guided my hands to help with the shaping and kneading.
The dough went from a shaggy ball to something resembling a sagging blob as we worked it. I let my arms go slack and he took over for me. There was something deliriously thrilling about him controlling my body, moving my arms and hands with the power of his to work the dough.
And I had to admit being able to hit and punch the dough then roll it over and knead it helped me get some aggression out. By the time it formed a satiny mound I was slightly breathless, but whether it was from Thomas or the workout I wasn’t sure.
I was surprised by how much better I felt.
He never said, “Here, let me do it,” or told me to do it myself. Thomas worked through me, and as strange as it was I never felt closer to anybody as I did to him at that moment.
We were making something. Together. It was oddly sensual.
“Let me go get a cloth to cover it and we’ll let it rest.” I felt the keen loss of his warmth from my hands and looked at his back helplessly for a moment before I mastered myself.
When he returned with a white cloth I was back in control. “What now?”
“Now, we clean up, have something to eat and wait for the dough to rest. When we’re done we’ll knead it again and let it rise in the proofing oven overnight and it’ll get baked in the morning.”
He took out another towel and lifted it up. “Hands,” he commanded.
I fou
nd myself obeying without conscious thought, and it took all of my willpower not to flutter my eyes as he took great care to clean my hands of any remaining sticky bits of dough.
It was over far too soon, but when he got to his own I stopped him. “Let me,” I said, shocked by my own eagerness.
I cleaned his hands with the same towel, getting every last bit of dough with meticulous care. I don’t know what came over me. Heat filled my face and crept up my cheeks. When I looked at his face I saw the same blush, though it was hidden better by his stubble.
However, his ears were beet red. It was always his greatest tell and I used to tease him relentlessly for it. Now I found it endearing. He couldn’t hide, not from me. And suddenly I didn’t want him to.
But there was still something between us, something I couldn’t get over. And as nice as this was I couldn’t forgive him outright. I had to know.
It was the elephant in the room and it had finally come time to evict it.
After washing our hands he started up another french press of coffee, his back turned to me as I sat on a stool and thought about what I wanted to say. Instead of a carefully sculpted probing question, I blurted out, “How can you be so nice to me?”
He paused in the middle of scooping out freshly ground coffee. I would have liked to blame the sultry aroma, there is really nothing better on this earth than freshly ground, freshly roasted coffee. I dare anybody to withstand such an unrelenting assault on their senses and keep their wits.
“That’s an odd thing to say.” He went back to measuring out the scoops. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”
This was it. Go big or go home, and I didn’t want to go home. Not alone. “You weren’t very nice to me when you spread all those rumors about me.”
His back stiffened, all the muscles stood out taut in his neck. I’d done it. I poked the bear. I stood my ground and stared at him. He turned around slowly, hands fisted at his sides. The muscles in his forearms stood out like steel cables beneath his tanned skin.
Every word came out carefully metered. “What rumors are you talking about?”
Was he really going to play this game? I wouldn’t let it go. We had to get past this one way or the other.
I sat up straighter and placed my hands in my lap. “All those nasty things people were whispering about me in high school. People were leaving me their numbers, thinking I was an easy lay. They said they heard it from you, Thomas. That you said we slept together and I was willing to do it with anybody who asked!”
I don’t know when I got to my feet and started shouting, but the words poured out of me like an open wound. “I never felt so ashamed. So betrayed. I trusted you. They knew things about me that only you would, things I had only told to you. How could you do that to me?
“I wanted to stay in Sunrise Valley, did you know that? I was going to stay, for you. I had already talked to Dad about it, I would have taken over the bookstore and stayed. If only you wouldn’t have done that. I had to leave to get away from it all. To get away from you.”
I was breathing hard, heart-throbbing, blood pumping making me a little woozy. I sat down hard on the stool. I didn’t care that I had started to cry again, didn’t bother to brush the tears away. I stared at him, daring him to lie to me.
He reached out a moment to comfort me, read the mood correctly and backed off like I was a hot stove. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze fastened on mine.
So it was true. My world began to fall away piece by piece, but throughout it all, he never looked away in shame. He held my gaze and I could see true remorse reflected back at me. The secret hope that I had harbored so long ago dashed.
“But I didn’t say those things, I promise you, Claire.”
Fiery anger surged through me. “Do you really expect me to believe you didn’t say those things, didn’t spread those rumors about me? Did you even know I would have slept with you if you had just asked me? If you’d have only expressed interest in me? I was head over heels for you…and you broke my heart.” I was left weak and hollow, more vulnerable than I ever wanted to be again. I sagged in my seat, shutting my eyes.
Strong hands gripped my arms and I struggled to free them but couldn’t. His grip was like iron, but I didn’t tell him to let me go. He was kneeling on the floor looking up at me with those deep dark eyes of his.
“Please, believe me. I would never betray your trust. I didn’t say any of those things to anybody. I barely hung out with anybody else but you, Jemma and Beth anyways.” He let go of my arms and looked down. “I guess she was right,” he said defeated.
“Who was right?”
“Beth.”
“And what the fuck does Beth have to do with this?”
“She told me you left was because you wanted nothing to do with me. That you wanted nothing to do with this town or the small-minded people who lived here.”
I opened my mouth to speak, shut it, tried again, “I never said those things to Beth. In fact, I didn’t speak to her either.”
Thomas looked up at me, brow furrowed. “She said she spoke to you and that was what you said.”
A chill dripped down my spine as everything started to fall into place. The rumors. Thomas. The years of friendship with Beth and the way she acted when I came back. It all started to make sense. And the picture I was getting was ugly.
I couldn’t believe I never pieced it together.
“Thomas.”
“Yes?” He had a haunted expression, like a wounded animal. I wanted nothing more than to stroke his face, feel the rasp of his stubble against my fingertips and tell him it was okay. That we’d both been played by a petty, petty girl.
“When we used to chat online after school, where did you do it from?” It was something I hadn’t ever thought of until now. Everyone I knew had a computer in their home growing up. It was normal. Only, Thomas’ family barely had money to feed and clothe their only son. Would they have had the money for a computer?
“I don’t-” Dawning, horrifying realization lit up his face and a dark cloud of anger passed over it. “The library,” he said through gritted teeth.
Just as I thought.
“And who do we know was working at the library during high school part-time?” I added, even though I was certain he understood the depths of the betrayal now.
It wasn’t a betrayal he inflicted on me, or me to him. It was done to both of us.
We’d been played against each other and for years we let that stand in our way. What would our lives have been like if we hadn’t believed the worst of each other? If I hadn’t cut Thomas out of my life, if I’d read a single letter he wrote?
I don’t know, but I knew who to blame. Unfortunately, it wasn’t entirely Beth’s fault.
Oh, the blame largely was on her shoulders all right, but it was also mine. I could have reached out at any time, could have tried to see beyond my hurt, but I hadn’t.
“Beth,” he said getting to his feet. “But why?”
I shook my head, angry and yet lighter somehow. Like some massive creature had been sitting on my chest all these years and only now that it was gone did I notice the pressure I had lived with. The pain. Beth had probably laughed until she cried every day for the past eight years.
What was wrong with her? As much as I was furious with her, I felt so much better about Thomas. He hadn’t betrayed me after all. Not knowingly at least. Though I needed to have a talk with him about his computer security habits.
More than one company I’ve consulted for had trade secrets leaked through their hilariously poor security measures.
“Only Beth knows that.” I shook my head, how couldn’t I have seen it? Was she in love with Thomas, or was it that she hated me? I don’t recall ever slighting her, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t feel I had.
What a mess.
Thomas pulled up a stool and collapsed into it. The poor guy looked like he’d been through a war. “All these years,” he muttered. He p
assed a hand slowly over his face. He looked tired.
I felt that same aching loss in my chest. The could-have-beens and the what-ifs piled up until there was nothing else.
“I don’t know how,” I said raking my fingers through my wet hair, trying to get out the knots. “But somehow Beth was able to see what we were talking about or otherwise read the logs.”
I should have felt violated. Instead, I felt freer than I ever had before. If he didn’t betray me, I didn’t have to be so scared around him now. I hopped off my stool and wrapped my arms around his hard, muscular frame.
“I’m so sorry,” I muttered into his shoulder. “I should have known you wouldn’t do that.”
“Don’t be,” he said wrapping me in his warm embrace. “You had every right to think I did it, I’m still not convinced it’s not my fault. I’m just glad you feel you can trust me.”
“Of course I can.” He stood and I laid my head against his chest, soothed by the powerful beating of his heart. I should have pulled away. It would have been appropriate.
Thomas pet my hair, smoothing its dampness against me and giving me chills that had nothing to do with the chill in the kitchen. His heart pounded harder, I could feel it moving me with each powerful beat.
I looked up expectantly, curious what was on his mind. Eager to pull him closer after keeping him at bay for so long. His dark eyes met mine, the warmth of his thumb swept past my cheek flicking a tear away I hadn’t realized was there.
Our eyes locked and his hand cupped my cheek, tilting my head back as he lowered his.
A schoolgirl thrill ran through me. It’s finally happening.
I’d secretly been waiting for this all my life. Waiting and hoping he liked me the way I liked him. Throughout all the years and the heartache, and all that wasted time we were finally there.
His lips met mine softly at first, gently, then with greater heat and need he crushed them to mine. He stole my breath away as he swept me up into a twirling hug like he used to do. Only now we were kissing and I was falling madly, deeply into him, losing myself to the moment.
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