But the way she's looking at me says otherwise.
“I don’t believe that for a second,” she says.
I have to turn away before I do something stupid. Like kiss her in my shed at three in the morning while the world stops around us. “Come on, let’s get back before we all freeze.”
“Rustin, thanks for letting me in.”
My jaw tightens. “I’ve always let you in, Kara. That was never the problem.”
5
kara
I wake up warm and to the smell of coffee and bacon. For three blissful seconds I forget everything. Then the sound of Rustin coughing floats in from the hall and reality slams back into me.
I'm in his bed. Rustin. I'm wearing his clothes. Holy shit. His sheets smell like pine and sawdust. I ran from my wedding… Holy shit.
I sit up too fast and catch sight of myself in his dresser mirror. My hair is a half curly, tangled mess. The flannel I borrowed gaps open at the chest. His sweatpants pool around my feet when I stand.
From the kitchen I hear pans clattering. Either the man’s brought in a team overnight or he's stress-cooking. I wash the sleep from my face, brush my teeth, and wipe the remnants of mascara smudge from under my eyes. Then I practice normal faces in the mirror.
Come on Kara, get it together. Be cool. Casual. Unaffected. Like you didn't just blow up your entire life to be here.
My pep talk doesn't do a thing for me. After ten minutes I give up and make my way down the hall. The floorboards creak with every step... Of course they do. This house is as shocked by my presence as I am. I stand in the doorframe to the kitchen.Rustin doesn't turn from the stove, but his shoulders tense. He knows I'm here.
"Coffee's hot. I don't have your special creamer." He glances at me, but doesn't turn around.
"You okay?" His whole body is rigid, his grip white-knuckled on the counter edge.
"Fine," he says, voice rougher than intended.
I move closer and he steps back, still not looking at me.
"Rustin?"
"You need to... give me a minute. Or put on more clothes. Something."
My eyes drop down as understanding dawns. Heat floods my face as I take in the mountain between his legs. "Oh." I let out a giggle.
"Yeah. Oh. You'll have to forgive me. Wasn't exactly expecting you." He slides a mug toward me across the counter, still avoiding eye contact.
I reach for the mug and freeze when I read it.Lumberjill in Training.It's mine. The one he bought me on our first date.
"You kept my mug."
His hand melts to the handle. When he turns to face me, there's something raw in his eyes. "I kept everything," he admits quietly. "Your mug. That book you were reading. The pillow that still smelled like your shampoo until last winter." His jaw clenches. "Pathetic, right?"
"No," I breathe. "It's not pathetic at all."
The space between us crackles. He steps closer. He’s close enough that I can feel his body heat. I smell the cedar and coffee on his skin. For a moment, I think he's going to kiss me. His hand even lifts, hovering near my face.
Then he steps back, voice rough. "It's just a mug." He shrugs, turning back to the stove. "Listen, your sister called me six times this morning."
"Did you answer?"
"No. I like your sister, but my loyalty lies with you and I had no idea what you'd want me to say." Finally, he turns fully.
The half chub is gone, but the full force of Rustin Reynolds in the morning still hits me like a punch to the gut... The stubbled jawline, the dark hair mussed, and that thermal henley that looks like it's painted on.
