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“No,” I frowned. “We’re talking about you. Not staying here. Nathan is not a problem.”
All twinkling and smirking ceased. “He’s not,” he shifted his position. “I watched his taillights leave town limits less than an hour ago.”
I blinked at him several times. “Excuse me?”
“Watched while he packed a bag then watched him get in his car and leave Jupiter.”
I tried to digest all of these details.
“Wait, you drove him out of town?” I asked. “You literally drove him out of town.” It wasn’t quite a question because the intensity in his eyes told me he wasn’t bullshitting, nor did he strike me as a man prone to hyperbole.
Rowan hummed in agreement. His demeanor was still somewhat intimidating, with the tight shoulders, the stiff jaw, those stormy eyes. But there was no longer that simmering intensity that had taken over the bakery earlier today. That still lingered on my skin. Something else had replaced it. Something slightly softer but no less powerful.
“But Nathan’s family has lived here for years,” I spluttered. “They were some of the founders, if you believe his mother, which I do not.”
Fiona and I were of the opinion that his family were the ones who likely pushed out the rightful settlers of this place—either with force or bribes… I thought it was the former—then buried the truth down deep in order to lord their power over everyone.
Rowan didn’t respond to this. Not so much of a shrug of his shoulders. Nothing. Just that intense, unwavering stare.
“He’s gone?” I repeated.
A nod.
Nathan had always been a big fish in a small pond. He’d spent all of the time we’d been together talking about how he was better than Jupiter. How this town was backward and stuck in the past, how the people were all small-minded idiots. I did not agree with him on any of that. Though I wasn’t one to push back on much, I pushed back when he talked shit about the town that had become my home and the people who had become my family.
So, he didn’t talk shit about the people in my presence. Not often, at least. But he had made it known that he was better. He always talked about moving to the city, to New York, L.A., where he could reach his full potential. Except I always knew he wouldn’t because then he wouldn’t be a big fish in a small pond. He’d be a tiny fish in a vast ocean. He wouldn’t be the richest, the Ivy League educated, important—in his eyes, of course—person in town. He wouldn’t be important at all. On some level, he knew this. Because he never left. He never would leave.
Except he did.
Tonight.
With Rowan following him.
“I’m struggling to digest this information,” I informed him, turning back to my unfortunately empty glass in search of some relief.
Though it did give me something to do, and I was thankful for that. I was sure if I stayed under Rowan’s stare for much longer, my feet would burn holes into my lovely, restored hardwood floor.
I gave Rowan a wide berth while walking to the bar where the decanter was. Such a wide berth that I slammed into my console table, almost knocking over a vase. It toppled for a couple of moments before righting itself once more. I mentally cursed my klutziness, especially considering my audience. I continued my journey to the bar, feeling Rowan’s eyes hot on my back.
I focused on the act of opening the bottle of wine, not bothering with the decanter… There was no time.
My hands shook as the amber liquid splashed into my glass.
It occurred to me that I was feeling somewhat tipsy. Fiona and I had cracked into the bottle of wine as soon as we walked in the door. Normally, I would’ve arranged an extensive charcuterie board at the very least. But I was off-kilter. So, we’d polished off an entire bottle of wine between the two of us, without consuming anything to soak up the alcohol.
Therefore, I was tipsy.
When I turned around, Rowan was still standing where he’d been previously, except now he was facing in the other direction… Toward me. Eyes on me. He stood in the middle of my house, looking like something an ancient Greek or French artist might use to make a sculpture from.
“Although you are an uninvited guest, I cannot physically have you in my house without offering you a refreshment,” I told him, my voice somewhat breathy. I didn’t want it to be breathy because I wanted to be firm and adult-like, and sober.
But one could not be looked at the way Rowan was looking at me and not be breathy. Sober or not.
“So would you like a glass of wine?” I nodded to the bottle I just opened. “Though you don’t exactly look like a guy that drinks wine,” I squinted at him. “I’ve got a plethora of spirits… I could whip you up a cocktail. I don’t have beer, unfortunately. And you look like more of a beer guy than a wine guy... or a cocktail guy.”
