Why the hell did she cover herself? I’d already memorized every part of her body—petite, slim, dark, and sexy. She tripped over her unsteady feet and lunged for a pair of panties. In a rush, she tugged them up. Backwards. She might have tried again, but instead she tossed a shirt over her head and attempted to cover the mistake.
What the hell was she doing?
“Get in bed,” I ordered.
I’d have dressed too, but I hadn’t come that much in a year. For all I knew, my heart would explode in exhaustion or relief.
Josie ignored me.
“It’s late,” I said.
She brushed her hair from her face. Without her usual headband or scrunchies or pretty little scarves, the curls bounced everywhere. She smoothed them down. Didn’t work. They bounded and teased, as playful as ever.
“It’s not late…” She wagged her phone at me. “It’s early.”
Like I could read the numbers. No blood stayed in my head. “All the more reason to sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure, you can. Get in bed. Pull the covers up. Rest your head right here.” I pointed to my chest. “You used to do it all the time, Sweets.”
“No, really, I—”
“It’s me, Josie.” My voice lowered.
Her gaze snapped to meet mine, but I didn’t trust how far she moved from the bed.
Was it the scars? They were ugly, only a year to heal the burns. The flames ruined my tattoos, but at least they’d disfigured me and not her.
“It’s me,” I said again. “Come to bed.”
She didn’t hesitate, not even a fake reluctance. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Where else would I go?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. Anxious?
“I don’t know,” she said. “I had no idea you were out. I thought…you shouldn’t be here.”
“Why?”
Her voice hardened. “It’s my apartment. Do I have to explain why?”
I snorted. Where the hell was this firecracker coming from? My girl wasn’t confrontational, she was resourceful and adaptive. Two years ago, Josie couldn’t even return a bucket of the wrong colored icing for her cupcake orders. Valentine’s Day turned blue, and everyone in Saint Christie kissed each other with indigo-tinted lips.
I moved from the bed. Pride got me to my feet, but stupidity opened my mouth.
“You don’t have to explain.” I grunted. “Just figured you’d miss me or something. Been a year, Sweets.”
“Yeah. A long year.”
She reached over a laundry basket filled with spare bags of flour to search for clothes. Something to hide her delicates. Josie and lingerie didn’t mix—not around open flame and splattering bacon and pancake breakfasts. That was fine. I preferred her padding in the bedroom wearing only my shirt.
Josie wrapped herself in a robe instead, a frustratingly oversized puff ball that hid everything I took beneath a force-field of a fuzzy, knotted belt.
Point taken.
I followed her to the kitchen though I tugged on my jeans before I bobbed cock-first after her. I wasn’t some lovesick puppy, but I deserved more than shifting from the heat between her legs to enduring a cold shoulder.
She aimed for the flour—her usual stress relief. I preferred working out, hitting a punching bag until my fists bled. Josie kneaded instead. Piping bags and sugar crowded her countertops. She didn’t have enough room for a rolling pin between the wall and the sink. A tower of unevenly stacked baking sheets threatened to topple.
This wasn’t a good apartment for her. Hell, even her oven door came with a bungie cord.
I pointed at the make-shift solution. “Broken? I can fix it for you.”
Josie didn’t look at me. “It’s not big enough for a standard cookie sheet. I bungie the door closed when I bake.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She studied her ingredients. “I don’t have an industrial kitchen anymore.”
I asked the question that burned me since I got to town. “Why didn’t you rebuild the shop?”
“No money.”
“Insurance?”
This apparently wasn’t her favorite subject. She turned, clutching a bag of sugar. “Do you want the long or short version?”
“It’s just a question, Sweets.”
“Granddad got hurt in the fire. Bad. By the time the fire marshal was done with the investigation and the insurance paid out for the arson…” She swallowed. “We had medical bills. You know how it is.”
No. I didn’t. She was lying to me. Josie never fibbed because she couldn’t pull it off. A year away hadn’t changed that.
She set a mixing bowl on the counter and measured her flour. Her hand trembled as she dumped more ingredients into the bowl.
Why was she scared?
I thought a year separated from her would kill me. This was worse. I hated to bring up the fire, but I had no idea what else might have frightened her so much. I folded my arms. Didn’t help. Now my scars flexed, raw and ugly. They gave me cred in jail, but I wasn’t looking for confrontation now.
I just wanted my girl in my arms.
“What do you remember from that night?” I regretted the question as soon as I asked it.
She answered immediately, like a reflex. “Nothing. I woke up in the hospital after the fire. Can you please pass me the egg beaters? They’re on top of the fridge.”
She was no bigger than half a bite of cookie, but she could damn well reach. She meant to change the subject.
She was lying again.
What the hell.
“What are you making?” I asked.
“Cookies.”
“Why?”
“The pay is good.”
This wasn’t my Josie. My girl never shut up. She rambled about recipes and imported chocolates and ideas for her newest creations. Before her, I never gave a shit about the girls I slept with. Wouldn’t have talked to them, and they had nothing worthy to say. But once I fell for Josie, I gained five pounds and a new appreciation for the Belgians and their cocoa powder.
She tugged at her robe. Her lip trembled. It took a lot to make Josie cry, not when she had enough ideas and ambition to exhaust every plan before letting a tear escape. In her kitchen, crying was for spilled milk. And shattered sugar sculptures. And the DeAngelos dropped wedding cake.
I’d only ask it once. “What’s wrong?”
She stared at her bowl of flour. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Want me to go?”
That she hedged. “We broke up, Maddox. Remember? Before the fire? You were…” She hugged herself. “You got so mad.”
“Because I knew what we had. I knew we were wrong to let it go. I wanted to make it work.”
“Me too. I tried. But you’re…”
“What?”
“No one in the town trusted you. They said you were dangerous. And then you got arrested…”
“I was innocent.”
“Not to the town. Or the judge.”
“What about you?”
She didn’t answer. The silence was like a punch to the gut.
“You didn’t come to see me in jail,” I said. “You didn’t write. Didn’t call. You didn’t even say goodbye after the trial.”
“What was I supposed to do? You were convicted.”
“I was innocent. You fucking know that.”
She dropped the egg. It cracked over the counter. She swore, forgetting our argument to count the rest of the eggs in the carton.
Shit. Josie did have money problems. Who fretted about one lost egg?
What the hell had happened since I was gone?
A chill gripped the back of my neck, the hand of whatever god decided to hold me before I made another legendarily bad decision.
“Forget the past. I want to keep you safe.” I paused. She didn’t look up. “I’ll take care of you.”
“I’m safe on my own. And I’ve been taking care of myself and Granddad for a year.”
“Then I’ll help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
I offered her a towel from the stove. She mopped up the mess, still avoiding my gaze. My temper got the better of me. I forgot to think before I jerked off my own rage.
“There’s an arsonist in this town, Sweets. Someone who destroyed your store. And I got news for you—it ain’t me.”
“No one is after me.” Josie’s voice lowered, the once sugar-sweet now lost in bitterness. “Except you.”
“Damn right, I am. I’ve spent a year away from you. I’m done fucking around. I want you, Josie. I want you with me. I want you to be mine. Forever. You get that? I’m not wasting any more time.”
“We broke up, Maddox.”
“Yeah?” Easily remedied. “We’ll un-break up. Marry me.”
“What?” The flour spilled. She turned, her almond eyes wide.
“Marry me, Josie.”
“I know you were in jail for a long time…”
I moved closer. She stepped back. It never bothered me before, but this time, I wasn’t playing. I tossed my weight and strength around, but I wanted her to lean in, not seek shelter behind a pair of eggbeaters.
“Yeah. I was in jail. Gave me some time to think. To figure out what I want. Sweets, it’s you. I want it all. I’ll find a good job, get some money. We can buy a house. Get your shop rebuilt. Start a family—”
“A family?”