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At 2:45 p.m. I’m almost ready, touching up my makeup in the bathroom, when there’s a knock at our door.
“Shit.” He’s early. I stuff my makeup into the bag, yelling, “Can you get it?”
As I go into my bedroom to pack the makeup bag into my case, I hear her open the door and then say sharply, “What are you doing here?”
Frowning, I straighten and listen.
“Where’s Belle?” A man’s voice asks. Oh fuck. It’s Cole.
“She’s out,” Jo replies.
“Where?” he demands.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Come on, I just want to talk to her.”
“Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Why are you looking over at the door? She’s here, isn’t she?”
“Hey!” Jo sounds alarmed. “You can’t just walk in. Hey!”
It’s not fair to ask her to deal with him. I walk out and discover him striding through the living room, obviously with the intention of coming into my bedroom to find me.
“What are you doing here?” I snap.
He stops and studies me, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. I haven’t yet put my boots on, unfortunately, as their two-inch heel would have given me a bit of height. Cole is only five ten, but it still feels as if he’s towering over me in my socks.
He’s the same age as me, and a good-looking guy, with longish dark-blonde hair and unusual light-blue eyes that still give me goosebumps.
I take a step back, and he follows me. “I want you to leave,” I state.
“I just want to talk.” He gestures to the bedroom. “Can we go in there?”
“Absolutely not.”
“If you’re happy with Jo hearing everything I have to say, then fine.”
I hesitate. Jo is wonderful, and I love having her support, but she’s outspoken and a tad judgmental. It’s going to be difficult for us to talk in front of her. “Come on,” I say grudgingly.
“Belle,” she snaps.
“It’s okay.” I hold up a hand to her and lead him through to my room.
He closes the door. “Thank you. She’s so mouthy.”
“She cares about me, that’s all. What do you want? Why are you here?”
He tips his head to the side. “You look nice.”
I look down at myself. I also borrowed half a dozen items from Jo that I hoped would make me look more sophisticated than my usual baggy tees. Today I’m wearing my normal bootcut jeans, but I’ve topped them with a cream cashmere V-necked sweater and pearl earrings that give me a touch of the sophistication I feel I’ve been missing.
His gaze slides to my breasts in a very obvious eye-dip before returning to mine.
“What do you want?” I repeat. He still makes my heart race, but I wish it didn’t.
“Just to talk.”
