“Do we need to talk about it?” She finishes the fry.
As I move back to the cart, my stomach growls from the smell of the food filling the air around us. “I think it was obvious.” I start lifting dome lids to see what surprises are beneath. “The dude thought he’d flirt with you right in front of me.”
She covers my hand, stopping me from lifting the last lid, and tilts her head down to look me in the eyes. “And if he weren’t doing it right in front of you, how would you react?”
“Truthfully?”
“Of course.”
“If I knew about it, I’d probably find him and have a talk.” I grab one of the thick-cut fries.
She laughs, but the humor’s lost in it. Standing straighter, she asks, “And by talk, you mean . . .?”
“I’d punch his fucking face.” I bite off the top of the fry as if that somehow illustrates my voracity for her or the fries.
Surprise grips her—those pretty lips parting, eyes widening—and her head jars her neck. “You’d do that because he lifted a lid on my food and wished us a Merry Christmas?”
“No, for how he looked at you when you weren’t watching.”
The shock softens into a different form in her features. She’s about to say something but closes her mouth. Redirected on the cart, she takes a deep breath, momentarily closing her eyes, and licks her lips before sucking in the bottom one.
She slowly exhales, then looks up at me again. Touching her forehead, she says, “I think I’m feeling a bit light-headed. I should eat something.”
I pick up the plate with her burger. “The couch or the bed? Where do you want to eat?”
“The chair by the fire.”
Taking a glass of water from the cart, she also grabs a miniature ketchup bottle and leads me to the chair. When she’s settled, I hand her the plate and a rolled napkin wrapped around silverware.
I start eating on the couch. I don’t know why the silence is unnerving this time, but I can sense the change that’s come over her. On the surface, she’s curled up eating a burger by the fire. But her eyes give her away, and the distant gaze and measured blinks have me needing to find out what’s going on. I wait, though. I think she needs to eat before we dive into something heavier.
Transfixed on the flickering flames, she gets lost in her head, and I let her, knowing I’ll follow her anywhere, even into the recesses of her memories to protect her.
When I take my last bite and set the plate aside, I drink water to clear my throat, then set it on the coaster beside me. “Story?” I try to sound casual, but my own thoughts are spinning to fill in the answers I don’t have yet.
Her eyes find me, and, at that moment, sadness has shrouded the gold centers. I fucking hate whoever caused this woman any pain. I ask, “What happened?”
I don’t ask more. She knows. She knows exactly what I mean. Sitting with her food discarded after eating only half, she sets the plate on the coffee table, and says, “I’ve never told anyone before.”
“Then we’ll go slow and start from the beginning.”
20
Cooper
“I’ve always had a bad picker,” she says as if I’ll know what she’s talking about.
“A what?”
“A bad picker is my radar for attraction, like I always pick the wrong guy for me, a bad judge of character. There could be a lineup of nine kind, intelligent, and successful men, and I’d pick the tenth. The worse, the better in so many cases.” She hunkers down in the large, cushioned chair, dragging a small pillow from her back to hold to her chest. “It was an inherited trait. My mom had the worst taste in men. I just didn’t recognize the pattern until I was removed from the situation.”
“Should I be offended?” I grin, and fortunately, so does she, the levity welcome. I want her to feel safe and protected, and for her past not to weigh her down. It’s not something I can fix, but if I can help her get there, I’ll do whatever I can.
“No,” she says with a soft laugh. “You’re the change I purposely made.”
If she only knew about my past, she might not be saying that. But I can’t pretend it’s not music to my ears. Who knew I’d be considered one of the good guys?
She continues, “In high school, I never met a bad boy I didn’t like. The funny thing is, I was such a good girl.”
“Isn’t that what bad boys want? The good girls.”
“You’re probably right.” She smiles to herself while running her fingertips aimlessly over the top of the pillow and leaving designs in the velvet material. “I had straight A’s and was treasurer of the photography club, if you can believe it.”
“I can believe it. Well, I have no idea about the treasury part, but the pictures you sent me have a unique perspective on life.”
She snuggles her legs to her chest with the pillow squashed between the two. “Thanks. I find the mundane, the overlooked, or abandoned so interesting through a lens. Even if it’s just my phone lens.”
“You don’t have a camera?”
“It’s not been something I considered a necessity.” She perks up. “If I have any money left after buying books in a few weeks, maybe some of the tip you left can go toward saving for one.”
Some might consider it strange that she’s keeping the money, especially now that we’re dating, but I love that she is. She would never take it directly but siphoned through as business has her seeing things differently. Anyway, I wouldn’t have given it if I didn’t want her to have it.
I nod, but then say, “The glove, the bottle, the bed, and the rain. They already make a great collection.”
She stares, and then pink colors her cheeks. “You remembered each one,” she says in awe. Tucking her hair behind an ear, she lets out a peal of soft laughter that rattles her shoulders. “I think it would be amazing to be a professional photographer.”
“You’re already of that caliber.”
“Thanks, Cooper, but you know me and don’t want to hurt my feelings.”
“So I can’t have an honest opinion without it coming off as tainted because we’re dating?”
Amused, she relaxes, releasing the tight hold on the pillow. “No, you can’t have an honest opinion because you’ve been inside me.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Settle down there.”
She starts laughing. “It’s true. No one will believe you’re being honest about my photos once they find out we’ve slept together.”
“I have an idea.” Her eyebrow rises in piqued interest. “What if we don’t tell them? What if one day, when your photos are hanging in a gallery, we pretend we don’t know each other? That way, I won’t ruin the sale for you.”
Her smile slowly fades away, and her gaze lowers, drifting to the fire. “Us not knowing each other . . . That sounds tragic.”
“Don’t all great love stories end in tragedy?”
“No, only the ones that were never meant to be.” She gets up and stretches her arms above her head, revealing a sliver of skin in the middle. “Want to take a bath with me?”
“If you give me five minutes to set it up.”
“Deal.”
Shoving my hand in my pocket, I feel for the foil packet I shoved in there earlier. I enter the bathroom and start the water flowing in the tub. Grabbing the bag of petals, I toss them in and then grab a small bottle of bubble bath. I pop the cork and smell. It’s a nice floral. I think Story will like it, so I empty it into the tub.
Setting two big, fluffy towels on the small wooden table next to it, I think I’m ready. I look around and realize, nope, I’m missing the champagne and strawberries. Operation Seduction is in full swing. If it happens to make up for the other night, even better.
In the suite, I grab the bottle from the ice bucket, but when I reach for the plate of strawberries, half are already eaten. I glance at Story, who’s standing near the bed. She shrugs unapologetically, still chewing the evidence.