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Nothing with memories, good or bad.
Halfway down the stairs, I hear a cabinet close in the kitchen.
I exhale, glad I grabbed shorts and bracing for at least one comment about Piper. I got the impression Mabel was disapproving of my decision—not so much that I’m leaving country music, more why—but there’s only one way that Piper could have ended up staying in the bunkhouse. Mabel’s interference says a lot more than anything else she’s actually spoken about my choice to abandon my career.
But when I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn the corner, there’s no sign of my aunt.
Piper is the one standing in the kitchen. She turns at the sound of my approaching footsteps, the plate she just pulled out of a cabinet clutched to her chest.
“Fuck,” she breathes. “You scared me.”
There’s an immediate flash of déjà vu, back to the first moment I saw her in a different kitchen. I doubt that moment has stuck in her head the way it’s remained in mine.
“You startle easily,” I observe.
Piper rolls her eyes, spins, and opens another cabinet, rising up on her tippy-toes to peer inside.
It’s one hell of a view. She’s wearing a pair of cotton sleep shorts and a tank top. They don’t match, which makes me smile for absolutely no reason, except it’s weirdly endearing.
Any amusement fades as the gap between the hem of her shirt and the top of her shorts grows, revealing more smooth, pale skin.
With a quiet sigh, Piper sinks flat on her feet. I quickly direct my gaze upward right as she turns around.
The view is just as good—or bad—from the front. She’s not wearing a bra, which becomes very obvious when she sets the plate down and folds her arms across her chest, tightening the thin fabric.
Unfortunately, I’m already aware of the fact that I’m attracted to Piper. That and the irritated expression she’s aiming my way are the two things that haven’t changed since the last time we faced off near a fridge.
“What are you doing?” I ask, walking past her and over to the shelf that stores glasses to grab one.
Piper sighs, then admits, “I’m hungry.”
“Veggies less filling than you thought?”
I can’t see her glare, but I can feel it. The stab of guilt in my gut is equally uncomfortable.
I hate being this guy. I hate contributing to negativity when it’s already so prevalent in the world.
“Never mind. I’m going back to bed.” She turns toward the front door.
“Wait,” I say, even as I’m asking myself what the hell I’m doing.
Making Piper feel unwelcome is necessary.
The sooner she leaves, the better. She’s not a guest to be catered to.
But her in my house, hungry, doesn’t sit right with me.
I open the fridge door and glance over the contents. “You eat cheese, right?”
“Why am I not surprised you don’t know the difference between being vegan and—”
“It was a yes or no question, Piper.”
When I glance over my shoulder, she’s hovering by the stove, twirling a curl around one finger.
She sighs. “Yes. I eat cheese.”
“Great.” I grab a block of cheddar out of the drawer and a jar of mayonnaise off the door, then shut the fridge with my foot.
