“Come on in.” I relented and moved back, allowing him access to Stamped. Like the first time, he wandered to the display cases, most of them empty since I’d sold so much. The more expensive pieces were on display because I didn’t think they would do well at a street fair. People tended to like less expensive things they could pick up while they wandered, so I’d left the larger, more elegant and intricate designs in their cases, showing them in photographs in a display book.
I was taking them the next day—the last day of the show. I’d had too much interest.
“Have you been working all night?” he asked, dragging his eyes to mine. They lacked the anger he had carried in them earlier, and now he looked tired.
Dark circles under his eyes, a slight slump to his shoulders. The man looked like he needed to go to sleep at least four hours ago.
Remorse for my behavior flickered down my spine.
“I can’t get over how talented you are.”
His praise washed over me like a gentle caress. “I’m sorry about my phone. I turned it off, but I shouldn’t have done that.” I waved it in the air. “At the very least, it’s not safe.”
“And you were pissed because I took off after Serena.”
He laid it out there straight, no hesitancy, like he had nothing to hide.
“We’d been talking before you came up. You hadn’t ever mentioned her, although Beaux told me some. I was waiting for you to bring her up, though. It seemed like something you’d share with someone...”
My voice trailed. I had no idea how to finish that thought. Three weeks before, we were strangers; a week before, we’d ended a ridiculous timeline. Now…I had no idea what we were except great fuck-buddies and maybe friends.
“Someone I’m in a relationship with?”
He took a step toward me, but my eyes stayed fixed on where he’d just been. If he was expecting me to put that out there, I was too vulnerable. Too afraid.
“Shannon.”
It was just a word, rolling off luscious lips that could be firm and sweet, soft and gentle, and hard and demanding. It sounded like a song.
“What?”
“I was going to tell you about her. I didn’t know how. She’s not someone I talk about—like to think about, for that matter.”
He tugged off his hat again, another swipe of his hair. Unable to help myself, I hid a smile. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who played with their hair when they were nervous.
I made it easier for him, stepping aside like I always did. “You don’t owe me anything, or any explanations. It’s not your fault it hurt me when you walked away like that.”
Looking so lost, like he just had to be with her.
“That’s not it. It’s not at all, but the story is long and twisted. Are you done here?”
“Yeah.” I wanted to know. I had to know before anything could move forward, if that was the direction we were heading.
Plus, I’d been killing time in my determination to avoid him.
My phone buzzed in my hand and I glanced down. It was Beaux.
You don’t fucking tell me you’re not battered and beaten behind the alley in two minutes and I’m calling the cops or kicking your ass.
I’m alive.
I quickly texted back.
Oliver is here. Stand down, cowboy.
Don’t do that to me again. Was worried sick about you, Sis.
I glanced up at Oliver. His eyes still on mine. “Sorry. That was Beaux. You made him worried.”
“Glad someone else was.”
It was sick and twisted. I liked knowing he cared enough to worry. When I went out with girlfriends, I would always text Patrick to let him know when I was coming home. He’d go out with friends and I’d never hear from him.
Some nights he wouldn’t come home at all. But had he been alone those nights?
I shook the errant thought away and sighed.
“Sorry. Again. It was immature and not me—I was just angry. And confused that I didn’t have the right to be.”
“Of course you do.” His voice tightened and his words clipped staccato sounds. “Fucking hell, Shannon. I’ve been fucking you for weeks. Don’t you think that entitles you to at least some honesty?”
I would figure. I was also new to the fuck-buddy, dating-rebound stage.
“Fine. Serena then.”
He glanced around the building and cringed. “You might need to sit for this.”
“Fine. We can go upstairs.”
“To your place? I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Don’t be impressed. I’ve got a bed and a couch.”
“Two of my favorite things.” He walked straight to me and pressed his hand to my check. “I’m sorry I pissed you off and hurt you.”
Only honesty shone in his eyes.
I nodded. “Let me lock up and we’ll talk.”
***
“Don’t say a thing about the place,” I warned him as I unlocked the upstairs door. It was beautiful—had the potential to be beautiful, anyway. But at that time, I hadn’t bought anything new for it and I was waiting to get everything from the movers the following week. The only thing I’d stocked was the fridge with snacks while I was working, paper plates, and bottles of water. “I haven’t done a thing with it yet.”
I was planning on painting walls the next week, before the furniture showed up, so there were paint samples taped all over the walls.
Oliver’s eyes went to those first, and he pressed his lips together at the empty space.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said, walking into the open area, shock in his features. “You didn’t mention the kitchen table, but there really is only a couch.”
“Bed’s in one of the rooms.”
He shot me a look that curled my toes.
“Do you want some water? It’s all I have. I’ve got snacks, too, if you’re hungry, but not much.”
“No.” He walked toward me and reached for my hand. It was in his palm before I could pull it back. “Stop blabbering. This isn’t bad.”
He laughed softly and pulled me toward the couch. I’d draped a sheet over it—something I pilfered from Beaux’s place because the couch was old and gross. Oliver gave me a look before sitting on it, and I laughed harder.
“I know. It’s nasty. My things are coming next week, though. Then I’ll be all moved in.” I spread my arms out to the open living space. The exposed brick walls and ductwork made it seem more like a loft-style building, but I loved the character. The doorways were wide and curved, and all the baseboards and wood floors were original and after a polishing would be in excellent condition.
“I like it. It suits you.”
I was too nervous to ask what he meant by that.
He took his hat off and tossed it to the floor, then leaned to the side so he could face me fully before he let my hand go.
“Serena,” he said with a groan and wiped his hand over his mouth. “God, I don’t know where to begin. I haven’t talked about her in so long with anyone but my lawyers.”
“Beaux told me you’d loved her. That you didn’t start acting like a dick until she left you.”
“Yeah, well,” he huffed. “That’s what happens when the woman you think you’ll be with forever walks out on you.”
I gave him time and excused myself to get some water. I came back carrying two bottles, and when he didn’t seem to notice I was offering one to him, I set it on the floor.
“We were high school sweethearts. Started dating when we were fifteen. Seems like forever ago and yesterday at the same time, you know?” He didn’t look at me, didn’t seem like he really wanted a response, and he continued talking before I could, so it didn’t matter. His eyes glazed over and he stared at his hands when he wasn’t running them through his hair or down his face.
“We grew up in a small town outside Savannah. All we wanted was to go to college and get out of that town and make something of ourselves. She wanted to see the world and I wanted to play football. And I loved her. God, I loved her. She has this energy, this wild and frantic energy that pulls you to her immediately. I was wrapped up in her, wrapped up in football, and she swore she’d follow me anywhere. Worse, I believed her. I proposed to her the night I was drafted, after we got back to the hotel, and we were married in my parents’ backyard before I had to start the season.”
His voice had softened and his eyes became so glazed that I doubted he even knew I was in the room. The familiar burn of jealousy—that after so many years he still looked like that when he thought of her—began to flame, twisting my stomach.
“What happened?”
He made a choking sound and pulled his eyes straight to me. “Raleigh happened.”
My brow furrowed. “What?”
“We’d been in New England before here. Having the time of our lives. Newlyweds, exploring the big cities, traveling, partying it up like we always wanted to, and then I was traded to Raleigh.”
“I don’t get it.”
“That’s because you don’t give a shit about where you live, I suspect, but Serena…she wanted lights and activity and shopping and she never wanted to return to the South. She hated it. A year after being up North, she started trying to forget everything about where we came from. Bitched around the holidays when I wanted to go home and see our folks and friends. I didn’t want that stuff to change us, but she was changed by the fantasy before I ever got a paycheck. She wanted the high life—the condos in the city and the vacation homes in Greece. Raleigh…that was too big of a step down for her.”