Two days later Bailey was in her office—the living room of her apartment—staring at her two large computer screens and trying to finish up a job for a local health-food store. She’d been commissioned to create a new logo that would go on everything from T-shirts to menus to coasters. The job had been a huge coup and she’d been hugely excited when she’d landed it over several other, bigger graphic design companies.
But all she could think about was the resort, specifically one Hudson Kincaid, and how his lean, hard, hot body had been pressed up against hers. She could still feel his warmth and strength…
She’d ordered supplies for the mural, which she’d assured herself had nothing to do with Hudson.
And she’d meant it when she’d told him she wouldn’t be invoicing him. In spite of the fact that she was—and would be for a long time to come—digging out of medical debt, she was doing this one pro bono. She was doing it for Carrie, the woman who maybe couldn’t keep her mind straight but loved her boys so very much.
Because it absolutely was not for Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy Grumpy Ass.
Bailey glanced over at the small picture of her grandma on her desk and smiled. “And maybe it’s also a little bit for you,” she said, blowing a kiss to the woman she missed every single day.
Behind her, the front door opened. A heartbeat later, two hands settled on her shoulders and a mouth brushed a kiss into her hair. “You’re tense.” Fingers gently kneaded the knots. “You should take a break.”
With a sigh she turned to face Aaron, and his handsome face creased into a smile.
“I don’t need a break,” she said. “And what are you doing here?”
“You usually nap in the afternoons,” he said. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”
She did her best to hold back the temper because he was right. For years she’d napped in the afternoons because she’d barely had the energy or stamina to make it through the day. “I haven’t napped in months.”
“You’re pale, you’re tense, and you’ve got shadows under your eyes,” he said.
“Aw. You say the nicest things.” She turned back to her computers, uncomfortable with her conflicting emotions, which had her torn between hugging him and strangling him.
“Bailey, honey, we both know you went back to work too soon. You’re pushing yourself too hard—”
“Aaron, stop.”
“Just because you dumped me doesn’t mean we’re no longer friends,” he said.
He said this mildly. He said everything mildly. Just as he’d loved her mildly. She knew she owed him, that she should be grateful for all he’d done for her, and she truly was.
But she had so many emotions swirling through her at all times, wild uncontrolled emotions, and sometimes she resented that he didn’t.
“Don’t ask me to watch you run yourself into the ground,” he said quietly.
“I’m not asking you to do anything.” She took her hands off the keyboard, mostly to resist the urge to chuck it at his head—a terrible thought and a terrible instinct that she hated herself for—as she slowly turned to face the first and only man she’d ever loved.
She’d fallen for him on her first day of ninth grade. She’d just had her first chemo treatment for non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and had been feeling sick, but she’d refused to miss the first day of school. One hour into biology, staring at the slide on the big screen in front of the classroom showing a dissected frog, and she knew she wasn’t going to make it out of there in time.
She tossed her lunch and what felt like her guts… right into Aaron’s backpack as he held it open for her, somehow managing to hold her hair back as well.
He’d been holding her hair back ever since. Metaphorically. But God, how she wished that he’d show her an emotion, any emotion other than empathy and pity. She’d wasted a lot of time yearning for that.
Too much time.
Wanting him to stop treating her like a piece of fragile glass that might shatter, wanting him to be wildly passionate about… something, anything. Yearning to see him express a strong feeling, even temper.
Aching for him to grab her and take her against the wall…
“How about lunch?” he asked.
“Ex-fiancés don’t do lunch.”
“Maybe not, but you’re not just my ex-fiancée,” he pointed out.
Their eyes met, his revealing uncertainty. He wasn’t sure if they were still friends, not after what she’d witnessed a month ago.
He’d tried to discuss it with her but she’d refused.
What he did, who he did, was no longer any of her business.
Then he caught sight of what was spread out on her second screen—a draft of the mural.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“I’ve been commissioned to paint a mural up at Cedar Ridge,” she said, and watched him calculate the two-hour travel distance from Denver to Cedar Ridge. Watched as he started to shake his head.
“Not your call,” she said. “I plan to do this.”
“Does your plan include running yourself into the ground then? Because that’s what will happen if you work twenty-four-seven.” He softened, his voice gentle. “Honey, you still have to take care of yourself.”