“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Coop.” She lifts her chin and stares me down. “I didn’t know your dad died in a fire until today.”
“Eden,” I say softly. “The town council, which I sit on, wrote to you after. We requested money to help rebuild the part of the school that was destroyed and erect a memorial for my dad. It wasn’t my idea, but I went along with it. I mean…we figured you were rich beyond measure and it would be a nice charitable donation you’d want to make, given you went to that school and knew my dad.”
Eden started shaking her head in denial at about the time I said we requested money from her. “I didn’t get any request from the town council here.”
And fuck if she doesn’t sound completely adamant.
“But you sent money,” I point out. “Five hundred dollars to be exact.”
Eden gasps and looks completely offended. “If I knew you needed to rebuild the school and put up a memorial to your dad—a man who I greatly admired and cared for—you can bet I would have sent a fuck of a lot more money than five hundred dollars.”
And it hits me all at once. She’s telling the honest-to-God’s truth. That look on her face, her vehemence and offense over this. She has no clue what I’m talking about.
“Then who sent the money?” I ask in bewilderment.
Eden turns away from me, wrapping one arm around her stomach and bringing her opposite hand to her mouth to nibble on her fingernail. She always did that when she was thinking. She takes a few paces away from me, pauses, and then turns back staring hard at the floor.
Finally, her gaze comes up and her eyes are filled with misery. “I’m going to have to ask my business manager, Colleen. She manages the staff that screens my mail.”
I don’t even know what to say. There’s been a lot of hard feelings for Eden floating around this town. When word got out that she donated only five hundred dollars, it swept through the town like wildfire and she became a pariah. I had a hard time reconciling the sweet, caring Eden I’d known with the Eden that I believed basically thumbed her nose at our town’s pain.
And yeah, it was little more personal to me, since it was my dad who died.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her bluntly as I step forward and take her by the shoulders. “I hate that people thought something about you that wasn’t true.”
“You thought it too,” she says bitterly, turning her face away from me.
I take her chin and turn it back so she meets my eyes. “Yeah…I did. And I’m sorry for that as well. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt, but honestly, Eden…you were a stranger to me by then.”
She nods in understanding and swallows hard. Pulling away from me, she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before folding her arms protectively over her stomach. “I get it. I’d think the same thing too about me if only five hundred dollars showed up after something so horrible. But, um…you know…I could donate money now. Maybe I could build a new school or something.”
I shake my head. “Eden…it’s fine. I’ll set the record straight and you don’t have to do anything else.”
A halfhearted smile graces her beautiful face but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She nods and drops her eyes again. “Listen…I’m beat and I think I’m going to go to bed now. In the morning—”
“Come on,” I interrupt her. “Let’s go make some pancakes.”
“Excuse me?” she says as she blinks at me in surprise.
“Pancakes. I make a mean one. And I’m starved. You totally ruined my dinner at Tilley’s tonight.”
I’m rewarded with the barest of smiles. That bolsters me, and I reach out to grab her hand so I can pull her toward the door. She resists slightly, but I’m determined. I tug on her harder and she finally follows me.
“You know how to make pancakes?” she asks timidly as we walk down the stairs. I don’t let her hand go.
“Well, I’ve been single a long damn time since we broke up,” I tell her. I wonder what the expression is on her face with that admission, but she’s slightly behind me as we walk down and I don’t look back at her. “I had to learn to cook or I would starve.”
I almost stumble and miss the last step when she says, “But Ashley…she called you baby at Tilley’s. You reached out for me, and she told you not to, and you stopped. You’re in a relationship with her.”
As soon as Eden’s feet hit the foyer floor behind me, I spin on her and give her hand a squeeze. “No…I’m not in a relationship with her.”
“But she called you—”
“I’m sleeping with her, but there’s no relationship,” I clarify. “She has never stayed the night in my bed.”
Eden actually grimaces and tries to pull her hand out of mine. I hold tighter, squeeze again to keep her attention. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t ever have sex again, did you Eden? Fourteen years is a long time to go without.”
“No, I’m not thinking that at all. It’s just…Ashley? Really? She was so shallow in high school.”
I chuckle and toss back at her. “Brad Wright? Really? He’s a total douche.”
She actually laughs, and the light hits her eyes. “He is an absolute douche. We sure know how to pick ’em.”
“That we do,” I agree, then turn toward the kitchen, pulling her behind me. “Let’s eat pancakes and commiserate.”
Chapter 9
Are those butterflies in my stomach?
Eden
The kitchen in Goodnight House is my second favorite place, outside of the master suite. It sits at the back of the house and is overly spacious. When it was built, it included two large double doors on opposite sides that could be opened up on hot days to let the breeze go through. It’s midsummer in Georgia now, and the luxury of central air-conditioning had been added to this house years ago, so the doors are now shut. But on early spring evenings or late in the fall, my favorite thing to do was swing those doors open, sit at the large kitchen island, and just sip on coffee while I listened to the birds and crickets.
When Coop and I were dating, he’d often come over after dinner and we’d sit out on the front porch and talk while watching the fireflies. Because my grandmother was hardly ever around, this often involved moving up to my bedroom, where we’d make out, or sometimes we’d just legitimately study. Regardless, we spent a lot of time together in this house.
Coop busies himself at the long counter that holds the stove, putting the ingredients for the pancake batter into a large bowl. I pull out my phone and dial Colleen. She picks up on the second ring.
“Are you on your way back?” she asks crisply, and I’m now more annoyed than I was just before I dialed the number.
“I’m coming back when I’m damn good and ready,” I snap at her, but I know she’s just doing her job and just being Colleen. I’ve paid her well over the years to be just like that.
“But Brad’s people are demanding an immediate meeting to make sure there will be no hiccups when filming starts,” she points out.