After I ate a handful, my belly growled against the pathetic offering.
“Fuck it.”
Annoyed, I opened the fridge again and pulled a soup container out, ripped off the lid, then popped it in the microwave.
Five minutes later, I was dunking bread into the delicious soup. I ate over the counter like a damn animal, but my stomach stopped twisting with hunger. I wasn’t sure where the day had gone, but much like my apartment in California, I’d just zoned out for the day overthinking plot points and discarding them.
I tried to make some notes on the limited idea I’d scraped together with the newspaper clippings, but they were halfhearted at best.
I tried music.
I tried silence.
I tried podcasts—nothing sparked any interest.
I sopped up the last of the soup with another hunk of bread and dumped the empty container in the sink. I couldn’t stop myself from checking on the porch one last time. Thankfully there was nothing but a few paw prints fading in the drifting snow.
Good.
He’d gone back to Phoebe where he belonged.
I rubbed at my sternum, annoyed that I worried over a stupid dog that wasn’t even mine. I padded down the hall and flicked on the light in my office.
The little drawing peeking over my power strip had me snapping the light back off.
I didn’t need that woman in my head. Or the look on her face when I scared her.
I raked my fingers through my tangled hair and laced them at the back.
I thought maybe a shower would help.
It did not.
Well, not my head anyway. The hot water relieved the tightness of my ankle and the perpetual ache in my shoulders. Giving up on the day, I crawled into my bed naked and realized my mistake.
I hadn’t changed the sheets.
Wet dog and snow-soaked honey assaulted my senses.I wasn’t sure how snow and honey overlapped one another, but it did.
I flipped onto my back and stared at the ceiling again. The scent of both of them churned me up again.
Mostly her.
Phoebe.
Hell, I didn’t even know her last name. And she only knew mine.
Annoyance burned under the more concerning fascination with the strange woman with too much light in her eyes.
I’d written about darkness for most of my career, but I recognized incandescence when I witnessed it.
It was a rare commodity, but she owned it.
I draped my arm over my eyes, but instead of blocking her out, her face grew clearer. A strong jaw with a chin so stubborn it made my teeth ache. But it was her eyes. Those eyes that spoke of forests and secrets.
Of kindness.
I rolled over onto my stomach and flipped my pillow over my head.
