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“Don’t be,” he said. “I want to do that again as soon as this is taken care of. We can throw some tape on it or something and I’ll be good to go.”
She laughed, a breathless and disbelieving little giggle that sounded foreign to her ears. “No. I’m going to try and tape you up and then you’re going to go home and sleep till you feel better.”
“I can stay,” he offered, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth when she hesitated.
“What about Winston?”
He frowned and ran a hand over the hair on his chin. “I don’t suppose you’d let him sleep over, too?”
She glanced around at her spotless rugs and the cream fabric that draped her elegant chairs and streamlined sofa. The man had a perfectly good bed at home and a puppy still in the potty-training phase. She knew precisely what her mother would have advised her to do in this situation and looking back on it later that was exactly where she’d put the blame for her sudden rebellious impulse. “Bring him over,” she agreed.
“Can I kiss you again in the morning?”
He was persistent and irresistibly charming, flashing her a boyish smile that made her own lips twitch in response. “I suppose you can,” she agreed, “if you’re feeling better.”
“With that as a reward?” The humor in his eyes faded, replaced by something hungrier. “I’m feeling better already.”
Eleven
He was still there the next morning, his face relaxed and surprisingly boyish as he slept on her couch with his long legs extending over the armrest. He’d brought over Winston and a plush dog bed and then fallen asleep while they watched couples search for houses on some HGTV show.
He didn’t stir as she crept around the kitchen, keeping an eye on him through the doorway as she mixed the batter for pancakes and added bacon to a skillet. The routine of it was soothing and it helped calm the surging feeling of panic she’d been trying to battle back since he’d shown up bleeding on her doorstep. She still couldn’t quite figure out when he had gone from irritating neighbor to something more, but the sight of all that blood and the thought of losing him … well, she was just glad it hadn’t come to that.
The strangeness of it all seemed less overwhelming in the fresh daylight. He was fine and no one had gone to the hospital or to jail. She hadn’t even thrown up on his shoes, despite the brief moment where she’d thought she might. He really needed a new job, if customers at the bar were this dangerous and unpredictable, but that was a concern for another time.
She was humming happily as she added a pancake to the pan and jumped when her phone rang. A quick glance at the name on the screen was enough to have her tensing up again. The timing was terrible but she’d avoided it as long as she could. If she put it off any longer, she was likely to find concerned police on her doorstep making sure she hadn’t drowned in her own bathtub or some other tragic mishap. Ethan hadn’t moved from his position on the couch and after peeking her head around the corner to make sure his eyes were still closed, she took a deep, centering breath and answered.
“Hello?”
“There you are.” Her mother’s voice was curt. “This isn’t the first time I’ve called.”
Eloise clenched her teeth and put the phone on speaker so she could slide the spatula under the bubbling pancake. She flipped it with one smooth motion and tried to keep the irritation out of her own voice. “I’ve been busy, Mother.”
“Busy?” There was a soft scoff. “You’re always busy with work and those little friends of yours but you still answer my calls. I do hope you’re not dating.”
Eloise glanced at Ethan’s sock-covered feet, just visible from her spot at the stove. “I’m twenty-seven,” she said simply. “I have a home and a successful career.” She could have said more. That they were demanding. Unfulfilling. Empty. But she had learned years before that her mother had little patience for such things.
“All the more reason not to waste time.”
Deep breath. Flip. “Is that why you called?”
“Of course not. Can I not call just to see how you’re doing?”
“You never have before,” Eloise reminded her.
“I’m certain that’s a lie, Eloise. Why would you say such a thing to me?”
“I’m sorry, Mother.” The apology was routine, a flat gesture of habit devoid of any remorse, but even if it hadn’t been she knew it wouldn’t have been enough. No amount of sincerity would do once Deborah Mason decided she was the injured party.
“You always were an ungrateful child,” she said with a sniff. “You’re coming soon to visit? Your father misses you.”
He didn’t, but there was no point in mentioning it. “When I can,” she said. “Busy, you remember?”
“Career first,” her mother said, as she had nearly every day of Eloise’s life. “Very sensible of you.”
“Always,” she agreed. “You’ve made it clear what’s expected of me.”
“You make it seem like such a burden.” Her voice returned to its previous pouting tone. “Would you rather I’d raised you to spend your life barefoot in the kitchen?”
