Page 31 of Make Me Yours

“Understandable,” I say, the reminder of her father’s car accident taking some of the shine off the moment.

I hurt this woman. Not directly, not on purpose or with malice of forethought, and the violence I doled out that night was absolutely provoked—Leon came at me first.

But still…I hurt her. And she was only a child at the time, a kid left alone in the world after her parents both abandoned her in their own shitty ways.

When she was telling her story, I could practically see her at eight, wandering around her childhood home, calling for a mother and father who would never be there for her again. It reminded me of my own childhood, of realizing that any thought, feeling, or opinion not approved of by my parents would lead to rejection.

Standing up for my mother when my father beat her led to the same.

My father used my “back talk” as an excuse to beat me, as well, then treat me like a ghost in my own home.

He didn’t leave me alone—he sent me to my room and wouldn’t allow anyone in the family to speak to me for days, no matter how I begged for forgiveness—but the end result was the same. I learned at a young age not to take safety for granted, and that I was the only person I could count on.

I want to tell Sully that I understand her better than she might think, but how can I? When I was part of the reason that she learned such hard, ugly lessons so young?

The only thing I hate more than a bully is a hypocrite. I refuse to be one, so once I’ve placed our order, I turn the conversation to other subjects.

“Tell me why you haven’t tried French food,” I say. “When you’re so close to French Canada?”

She blinks as she sits back in her chair, relaxing now that all our decisions are made. “I don’t know. I haven’t been anywhere, really. I work too much, I guess. And Gramps isn’t one for travelling. Everything he loves in the world is right there in Sea Breeze. Some girlfriends and I have been saving up for a trip to Iceland, though. I’m pretty excited about that. I’m dying to shoot the northern lights.”

I arch a brow. “You’re a photographer?”

She shrugs. “Not really. It’s just a hobby. What about you? Have you been all over the world and seen all the things?”

“No. I’ve been to Europe several times, but I work a lot, too. And I’m not a fan of travelling alone.” I’m shocked to hear that last sentence leave my mouth. I’m not usually the kind who confesses those sorts of things. Not even to myself.

Her brow furrows. “And why are you alone when you don’t want to be?”

“What was the word you used the night we met? Bastard, I believe it was?”

“So you would have had me believe. But you also told me that we’d have to pretend not to know each other if we ran into each other in town,” she shoots back without missing a beat. “And the very next morning you asked me to breakfast.”

I grunt. “Touché.”

She grins. “So why are you alone? The real reason? Are you too picky? Too bossy? Stare too long at people with your icy vampire eyes?”

“Do vampires have icy eyes?” I ask, amused. “I thought they had eyes that glowed red in the dark. Like a wolf’s.”

“Well, Weaver,” she says in an overly patient tone, “vampires aren’t real.” I smirk in acknowledgement of her joke and she continues, “but in the vampire movies Elaina made me watch in junior high, they all had icy eyes. Even if they were brown, they were still…cold looking. Like they’d been frozen and were only just starting to thaw.”

“I don’t know,” I say, wondering ifI’mstarting to thaw, if that’s the reason for this strange ache I feel with this woman. “Could be all three. Or maybe I’m defective in some other way.”

“Like what?” she asks, proving she’s still the brave, blunt girl who got under my skin the night she crept onto my yacht.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me, if you decide I’m worth a month of your time.”

“A month, huh?” She presses her lips together. “That’s longer than you said before.”

“My family’s affairs are proving more complicated than I anticipated.” I ignore the inner voice taunting me for changing my mind about remote work so quickly. It really would be easier to manage the transitions I want to make to the Tripp business model from Sea Breeze. And if I had a compelling, enjoyable reason to stick around as well…

“What’s your high-powered investment firm going to say about that?” she asks. “Don’t they want you back in the city, doing important things with money in your fancy suit?”

I couldn’t stop the smile pulling at my lips if I tried. “I didn’t tell you I worked for an investment firm.”

She rolls her eyes with a self-conscious laugh. “Okay, fine, so maybe I did a little digging once I found out your name. Just to make sure you weren’t a sociopath. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” I echo, still grinning.

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