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“I was a marketing manager.” He nods, but the bright moonlight highlights his thoughts because they’re mine too. “I couldn’t think of anything worse. The thought of being confined to a desk, of rubbing shoulders with corporate players with no soul makes my stomach turn.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to do instead?”
Pondering his question, I nod self-consciously. “Yes. I think…I think I’d like to do something that involves drawing.” I’m waiting for a snicker, for a “go get a real job,” but I get neither.
“Like an artist?”
I peer over at him, and he smiles, meeting my eyes. “Yeah.”
“Are you any good?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know. I think I am. I’m assuming the notepad I found in my lap with a sketch of this”—I sweep my hands outward toward our backdrop—“was done by me. If it was, then yes, I am damn good.”
Cayden smirks at my confidence. “Then what’s stopping you?”
My shoulders sag as I feel like a complete chicken. “Me. Stella…my mom,” I explain, realizing I still can’t refer to her as my parent.
His grin soon turns into a sour scowl. “I don’t think she’d be happy with any profession you chose. The operative word there being choose, as in your choice and not hers.”
Remembering the way she treated him when they first met, I sigh, embarrassed and appalled. “I’m sorry about the way she treated you. Don’t take offense. She treats everyone that way. Even her husband.”
Cayden shakes his head. “I didn’t. I’m used to it.” I raise a curious brow. “This side of the lake, remember?” he clarifies while my mouth forms an O in understanding.
“Seems ridiculous.”
“It is ridiculous,” he counters, tonguing his upper lip. “But that’s the difference between my world and yours.”
“It isn’t my world,” I state, hating that he sees this absurd distinction between us. “I may have been born into it, but that doesn’t mean I went along with their barbaric ways.” When he remains silent, I add, “Well, I hope I didn’t.”
My comment has the desired effect as a grin tugs at his full lips. “You could always ask Stella. Or your siblings, if you have any.”
A laugh bursts from me, but it’s not a happy sound. “I have asked Stella. Our argument the entire ride down here is an indication of what our conversations are usually like. And as for my siblings—” I pause, attempting to find the right words. “They’re either afraid of her, or maybe they’re afraid of me. The jury is still out on that one.” I’m not looking for sympathy because it’s the truth.
The moment I entered a room, they’d all scatter like mice. They all had somewhere else to be. Everyone except Isla. She knows more than she’s letting on, but Stella made sure we were never alone for too long.
Only when I taste a sharp metallic taste do I realize I’ve bitten my lip hard enough to draw blood. “Hey.” Cayden grips my bicep, coaxing me to a stop as he spins me to face him. “This will all come together. I promise.” When I rivet my attention to the ground, he lifts my chin with two fingers. I expect him to release me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gently thumbs my bottom lip until it pops free.
Each touch sends me into a frenzy, and they just seem to be getting worse. I am so screwed. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” I state, hoping the waver in my voice doesn’t reveal my utter delight that he’s touching me yet again. He remains transfixed on my mouth as he traces a line from the middle of my bottom lip down my chin. He rubs over the small cleft before eventually pulling away.
It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to pounce on him and sample if he tastes as good as he smells. As usual, I’m lost in a Cayden bubble, and it’s not until his eyes narrow that I realize he’s listening for something. I don’t know what until I hear the clear sound of a branch snapping in the distance.
Goose bumps coat my skin once again, but this time, they’re not the good kind.
Peering up at Cayden, it’s clear he’s attempting to wade through the darkness to make sense of any shape or sound. “I-is someone there?” I question, not game enough to look over my shoulder. He’s quiet, still scanning our surroundings. The distinct feeling of being watched swarms me for the second time tonight. “Cayden?”
“Let’s go inside,” he replies, not answering my question. Just as I’m about to ask him again, I’m deprived of all air when he slips his hand in mine. I follow as he leads me toward the house.
We briskly march up my front steps. Cayden glances over his shoulder, and he’s making me nervous. When I turn the handle and my front door squeaks open, he clucks his tongue. “Peyton. I told you to lock your doors.”
On most occasions, I would tell him to calm down. I’d also remind him that I don’t like being told what to do. But not tonight. Something sinister lingers in the air. “I know. I will. Promise.” He seems satisfied with my pledge, especially when I hold up three fingers—Scout salute style.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
