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ChapterFifteen
Delaney cleared the breakfast dishes from the table. The steady pulse of bass from whatever music James listened to while he was in the shower drifted down the stairs. Three days. That’s how long it had been since he’d kissed her in the kitchen.
Her eyes lingered on the spot where he’d backed her up against the counter and boxed her in and sent electricity racing down her spine when their lips met. It was something that should have terrified her—being that close to a man—but it didn’t.
It had unsettled her, though. As soon as he left her alone in the kitchen, she lurched for her phone and immediately started looking up other places to stay. Motels in better neighborhoods, vacation rentals that gave discounts for long-term stays, and even a few short-term lease apartments.
All of them were fine; she’d obviously stayed in worse places, but she found a reason to shoot down every single one. They were too rundown or too expensive or too far from the Orchid.
By the second day, she’d convinced herself that leaving Philly altogether was the smart thing to do. She had more than enough money to make her way down to one of the Carolinas and ride out the rest of the winter there. If she slipped into a smaller town, she could even rent something cheap and not have to work for a month or two. She’d saved up enough to lay low for a bit and get her bearings.
Except every time she tried to convince herself to leave, she lost against the voice that argued that it was safer here, that she felt safer here. Every sharply honed instinct told her men couldn’t be trusted, yet she couldn’t ignore the fact that James didn’t put every survival sense she had on high alert. She’d never even heard him raise his voice.
It confused her that she felt safe here, that she felt safe with him. A huge part of her wondered if, after a year on the road, her loneliness had finally surged beyond the fear and the anxiety of being hurt again.
It would be laughable if it wasn’t so pathetic. That her need for affection was beginning to outweigh her survival instinct. Maybe she was as incapable of taking care of herself as she’d always been told.
She wiped the now empty table with a damp cloth and carried it to the sink to rinse before draping it over a little bar hanging on the wall. Pushing her sleeves up to her elbows, she decided to skip the dishwasher and wash the dishes by hand. She wanted something to keep her hands busy.
She filled the sink halfway with hot, soapy water and submerged the pan he’d used to fry up some potatoes. Another oddity about the man. He could cook and cook well. It was something else she couldn’t reconcile about him in her mind.
She set the first glass on the drying rack and heard James and his music on the stairs. He silenced his phone before he reached the bottom and smiled at her when she peeked over her shoulder at him. He hadn’t touched her again since the morning he kissed her, but just looking at him made her chest tighten.
Not in fear. She was familiar with that sensation. This was something else entirely. It had been much easier to pretend he didn’t affect her when she didn’t know the taste of him, when she couldn’t recall with crystal clarity the way his hands felt skimming along her hips or pressed against the small of her back.
“You didn’t have to do those. I would have gotten them when I got home later.”
He meant it too. Another thing about him that surprised her. He lifted his jacket from the hook by the door and slipped his arms into it.
“You did the cooking. I don’t mind doing the washing up.” When he lingered, she dried her hands on the towel and turned to lean back against the sink. “Early meeting?”
“Yeah, I have to meet my cousin to go over some paperwork.”
“Declan?”
He smiled. “No. Different cousin. Declan’s brother Aidan.”
“Oh. How many cousins do you have?”
She bit her lip as soon as she asked the question. It was none of her business how many cousins or siblings or nieces or nephews or whatever else he might have. She didn’t want him asking those questions about her, so she shouldn’t be asking them of him. He didn’t seem particularly put off by it, though, answering her easily.
“Three surviving. Finn died in an accident a few years ago.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that. Were you close?”
“Yeah. We all grew up together. It was hard losing Finn so close to losing Maura.”
Maura. Was that his wife? The articles she’d read about him at the library had only ever called her his wife; they’d never mentioned her name. He looked as if he expected her to ask more questions, but she’d pried enough for one morning. She’d shoved her way into more than his family tree in the last few days, taking up far too much space in his life.
“Well.” He drew out the word. “I shouldn’t be gone all day unless something wild and crazy comes up.” He said it like it was a distinct possibility. “You going to be okay working with the new girl?”
“I thought I was the new girl?”
He grinned, and there was that familiar flutter deep in her chest. The one he’d been giving her since the night they met.
“She’s the new new girl. She’s been training mostly under Clara for the swing shifts, but I think she’s solid on her feet now. I trust you to show her the ropes.”
“James,” she said when he turned to go. “I’ve been looking at motels and stuff.” His smile faltered, but she ignored it and what it might mean, pushing forward. “I’m trying to figure out my next steps. You’ve been very generous, but I’m sure you aren’t interested in a roommate.”
