Page 5 of Saving Love

“Blakely,” I say in between sips.

“Blakely,” he repeats. “Beautiful.”

My eyes widen at his words. Me? Beautiful? No, just my name. Calm down, girl, I tell myself.

“Now that you’ve had some water, would you like to eat a real meal or take a hot shower?”

“Shower,” I blurt. At the same time, my stomach growls embarrassingly loud, and I place a hand over my tummy in an attempt to silence the noise.

Instead of chastising me or telling me I could go without a few more meals like my aunt used to, Cassian chuckles and holds out his hand for me to take. “You go shower up and I’ll set the table. I have some clean clothes of mine folded up on the sink counter. You’re welcome to wear those if they’d be more comfortable than what you have on.”

I still don’t know what to do with this man’s kindness, but part of me really wants to trust him. I’ve been burned before, especially by my aunt and uncle, but Cassian… he’s different. Tentative hope blooms in my chest, though I try to squash it. I’ve never been afforded luxuries like hope and trust.

Even so, I find myself reaching out and placing my hand in his much larger one. His calloused skin speaks to the hours of labor he’s put into the construction project, not to mention those bulging muscles. When Cassian pulls me up and off the couch, I sway toward him, wanting to soak up his cedarwood and spice scent.

“Steady,” he murmurs, one hand resting on my hip and holding me ever so gently in place. That one touch sends sparks up and down my spine, making me shiver at the unexpected wave of pleasure rolling through my body. “Sorry,” Cassian immediately says, dropping his hand as if I burned him. “I didn’t mean to crowd your space or touch you without your permission.”

I tilt my head at this confounding man. Why isn’t he demanding an apology for trespassing on what is presumably his land? Why didn’t he yell at me or call the cops? Why is he treating me with such tenderness? I don’t think Cassian is normally this soft-spoken, which means he’s trying once again to make himself less intimidating.

“It’s okay,” I reply, trying to give him a smile. Mine is about as rusty as his, though it feels good to have a reason to use it. “Um, a shower would be great,” I say, feeling more self-conscious of my ripped clothes and unholy scent from being in the wilderness for three days. God, I’m pathetic.

“Down the hall and to the left,” Cassian says, pointing to the hallway. “I’ll have everything ready for dinner when you get out.”

I nod, half convinced this is all a dream and I’m going to wake up on the concrete floor, wrapped up in a tarp and dirty sheet.

Once in the shower, my muscles finally relax for what feels like the first time in years. Heck, that might just be the truth. Again, pathetic. The hot water stings some of my fresh wounds, but I don’t mind. It’s nothing I’m not used to. I notice some areas have been wrapped in a bandage or covered in a gauze pad, and I do my best to avoid those areas so the bandages stay on.

My face heats up as I think about Cassian tending to the cuts and scrapes on my arms and legs, and then a knot twists up my insides when I realize he must have seen a collection of other scars he wasn’t expecting. No matter. Nothing I can do about it now except move forward and accept whatever kindness this stranger is offering for the moment.

After taking far too long under the hot stream of water, I finally step out and carefully pat myself dry. My muscles may be more relaxed now than they were before, but that doesn’t mean the soreness isn’t real. I bite back a groan as I bend down and dry off my feet, wincing when I see the blisters on my heels and one on my left big toe. I’m disgusting and broken, both physically and mentally.

My dark, depressing thoughts scatter when the scent of savory potato soup floats through the air. I breathe in, letting it fill my lungs, even as my stomach growls louder than before.

I quickly put on the sweatpants and sweatshirt Cassian left folded up on the counter, secretly loving that I’ll smell like him, at least for a little bit. I have to roll the waist of the sweatpants a few times to get them to fit, and I feel like I’m swimming in his Army Ranger sweatshirt, but I love it.

Opening the bathroom door a crack, I peek my head out and survey my surroundings. When I don’t see Cassian, I head out to the living room. There he is, pacing from one side of the living room all the way into the kitchen and back.

My stomach drops when I realize he must be annoyed with me. Of course, he is. I'm an unannounced house guest who has no food, no clothing, and nothing to offer. What a giant inconvenience.

Cassian stops abruptly, turning to look at me. I freeze when our eyes lock. He doesn’t look annoyed or frustrated. He looks… relieved? Could he even be happy to see me? I can’t remember the last time someone was genuinely happy just because I walked into a room.

“Soup is served,” he announces, pulling out one of two chairs at his small kitchen table. I sit down in front of a steaming hot bowl of bacon potato soup, topped with cheese.

I want to slurp the whole thing down and then empty the pot on the stove as well, but I don’t want to be rude. Plus, even though I haven’t had a proper meal in days, I still hear my aunt's voice echoing in my head. You don’t need dinner tonight. Look at how flabby your arms are getting.

“Eat up,” Cassian encourages, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I take one spoonful, and then another, exercising all the restraint I have not to bring the bowl up to my lips and drink straight from it. Instead, I eat the delicious, protein-packed soup one spoonful at a time until the bowl is empty.

“Do you want some more?” he asks. I automatically shake my head no. “I’m sure you’re hungry after camping out at the work site for the last few days.”

Shame blankets me as I remember stealing someone’s lunch yesterday. I wrap my arms around my middle as if protecting myself from the guilt eating me up inside. I can’t look at Cassian, so I avert my eyes down to my lap as I curl my shoulders in and make myself as small as possible.

“Hey, where did you go?” comes Cassian’s soothing voice. “What are you thinking about? You just shut down on me.”

I can't take it any longer. "I stole a lunch yesterday," I say in a rush as I clench my hands into fists. I want to disappear into the sweatshirt I'm wearing, but then I'd be stealing that, too. "I don't deserve a home-cooked meal or your kindness."

Silence spreads between us, and I know I’ve outstayed my welcome. At least I got a shower and a bowl of soup out of it.

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