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“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
His voice trembled as he shifted into Drive and pulled away from the curb, navigating through the accumulating snow. “Don’t ever do that again. I thought I’d lost you. For real.”
When he parked on the square, she said nothing and silently followed him from the car. She tucked her head down as they pushed through the blizzard until he opened the door behind the bookstore that led to his apartment stairwell. As she stepped into his place, warmth rushed around her. It was so beautiful she wanted to cry.
“Thank you.”
He turned to face her. He was one inch taller than her. She’d always liked their proximity. But right now, he felt way too close. His blue eyes pierced through her, fierce with emotion. A wavy chunk of medium-brown hair flopped over his forehead, wet from melted snow. His cheeks could use a shave, but she liked the five o’clock shadow look on him best of all.
“You’re welcome.” His eyes darted up and down her body, left and right, assessing her. “You need a warm shower. Don’t start too hot. Increase it gradually.”
She was tempted to smile. She was one-hundred-percent certain she didn’t have hypothermia. “I’ll do that. Can you give me a ride home?” Why had he brought her here, anyway?
“Nuh-uh. You’re taking a shower here. I’m not letting you out of my sight just yet.” His cheeks reddened. “Of course, I’ll wait in the living room while you’re in the shower.”
She chuckled, something sweet stirring inside her. “Of course.”
He ducked his head, his neck flaming. “Set your wet things outside the bathroom door, and I’ll throw them in the dryer. Your clothes are soaked.”
She looked down to see that she was dripping all over his floor, a puddle forming around her feet. “I’m so sorry. I’m making a mess.”
“You’re worth it.” He reached a hand to her shoulder, prodding her in the direction of his small bathroom. “Now, git!”
She hadn’t felt so cared for in…forever. Literally.
The shower worked wonders, and when she cracked the bathroom door open, she saw a stack of clean clothes waiting. TJ’s pajamas. She slipped them over her head and breathed in the scent. Spice and caramel. Just like him.
“Now there’s a look I’ve never seen on you before,” he said when she emerged, his voice amused. “I like it.”
“Shut up.” She had used her hair tie to secure a wad of fabric along the waistline to keep the pants from landing around her ankles. Her upper body swam in the shirt. “You made it cozy in here.” Two candles burned in his living room, the scent of apples and caramel permeating the air. He was a man obsessed when it came to those smells.
She cocked her head at the wooden block tower centered on the coffee table. “Jenga?”
“Thought we could play before you go.”
“You always lose.”
“It’s that or Boggle.” His eyes lit with challenge, and she looked away. He knew how bad she was at Boggle. He didn’t know why. If he saw her deplorable messages to Jeremy, he’d run the other direction and find a friend who could utilize the English language properly. She didn’t know what she did wrong, only that something wasn’t right whenever she wrote. The rules of commas and such had never made sense to her, and her spelling wasn’t stellar. Since TJ’s writing was, well, perfect, she made sure to call him rather than text when her message couldn’t be kept short.
“Jenga it is.”
When TJ got tired of knocking the tower over with his large hands, he made hot chocolate and handed a mug to Melody.
“Want to tell me what sent you running through a whiteout?”
“Not really.” She hugged the warm drink against her, pretending to focus on the half-done painting on an easel in the corner. TJ had many talents. Writing was only one. Three of his paintings adorned her bedroom walls.
“I won’t judge you, Mel.” His voice was soft. Plaintive. “I promise.”
He’d already seen her at her worst tonight, and he hadn’t abandoned her. In fact, he’d come after her and was now taking care of her like a true friend. The longing to share, to be heard, to be understood by the one dearest to her heart was too strong to resist. Plunking down on the couch, she spat out the story.
“Now I have no lead male actor, the play is in two weeks, and Debra is already blaming me for the failure.”
Disbelief creased his face. “So you were going to run straight off the pier?”
“I wouldn’t have jumped in the lake, TJ.” A hefty dose of sarcasm coated her words. She wouldn’t admit she’d entertained the thought while running—straight toward the water—that there was no point to her life.
“Did you know where you were?”
