Page 14 of No Angels

The realtor called meyesterday and asked if I wanted to tour the theater this morning. I don’t know why I said yes, because I still haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to stay. I was up half the night hemming the robes for the angel choir, and if I stay here and resurrect the community playhouse that’s what my life will consist of.

I’m barreling around the corner of the stairs when I collide with something solid. Strong arms surround me as I upend my hot coffee. I can feel the fiery liquid and his heat seeping through my shirt, and somehow I lost one of my ballet flats when I tumbled forward. “Ouch,” I mumble.

His face is suddenly right there and I should be hoping I’m not going to have red boobs from coffee burn or somehow wedge a splinter into my bare foot. Instead, I’m holding my breath and waiting for him to finally press those chiseled lips to mine. So I can compare the way they feel now to the way they felt then. Because they’re right there.

“What were you running from, Bumble Bee?”

It’s the first time since we were eighteen that he’s used the nickname he gave me. The rasp of his gruff voice hits me in the solar plexus and sends tingles up my spine. I’m pretty sure he’s using it to force me into remembering where we’ve been and what we were. What could have been if I’d stayed.

I try to lean away, but his grip is too firm. “Just now, I wasn’t running from anything.” I’m going to assume he was talking about the here and now, because I’m not going to revisit my reasons for running nineteen years ago. I hope he doesn’t press me for a deeper explanation, because it’s already hard to maintain my dignity when I’m balanced on one leg and clutching his upper arms for dear life.

He shakes his head and gives me a bemused smile. “Always cryptic and making me work for answers. If you weren’t running from something, what were you running to?”

“I have a meeting with the realtor this morning about the Majestic.” I brace myself for his reaction.

His eyes gleam down at me and I almost get lost in the sparks of gold nestled in the muddy brown depths. “Which realtor?”

“Your old flame, Cindy Houlihan. Except now she’s Cindy Davis.”

I expect him to jump on my words.

“Do you want company? I’d like to get a better look at some of the plumbing and electrical. And I didn’t have time last week to examine the floors.”

I should tell him no because when he’s near my decision-making ability is severely impaired. I should tell him no because he’s the reason I was distracted and tripped and spilled my coffee. Because he filled my thoughts so much I couldn’t sleep and ended up hemming robes until two o’clock in the morning. I should tell him no because he’s the reason I’ll probably get tetanus from stepping on a nail before I can find my shoe.

I’m weak – because I don’t tell him no. “Sure, if you think you won’t get bored.”

His warm chuckle floats between us and there goes another hit to my chest.

“One thing you’ll never do is bore me, Cassidy.”

He shifts me to the side so I’m leaning against the wall and I already miss his touch and the way his voice scratched when he used my old nickname.

“Hold onto the wall and let me find your shoe. You don’t need a splinter or god forbid, tetanus. Once I find your shoe, I’m grabbing you the hoodie I have stashed in the truck so you can change out of your wet sweater.”

He’s taking care of me just like he always did. And the way he read my mind just proves he can still see the wheels turning in my head. If I’m not careful, he’s going to figure out he’s the only one who can convince me to stay in Willow Creek.

When he comes back down the stairs, he’s holding a faded Hokies hoodie and my lost shoe. He kneels in front of me and lifts my foot to his thigh. He circles my ankle when he slips my shoe on and it makes my knees weak.

He stands again and tosses me the hoodie. “Strip and put this on. I’ll turn around so you can protect your delicate sensibilities.”

He crosses his arms and gives me his back. When I slip the hoodie over my head, I’m surrounded by the scent of cedar sawdust and lemon. I bury my head in the collar and inhale. It’s warm and comfy because the fleece is washed-too-many-times soft against my skin.

“Thanks, this is much warmer.”

He turns back around and his eyes darken. “I like seeing you in my clothes, Cassidy.”

I gulp. “Don’t read more into this than spilled coffee, Callihan,” I say to cover my confusion.

“I know better than that. You’ve made it pretty clear your non-negotiable agenda has a begin and end date. I’m not trying to convince you, just stating a fact -I like seeing you in my clothes.”

I wonder what one of his worn t-shirts would feel like and if it’d brush the tops of my thighs or hang to my knees.

“Well, thanks again for the save, regardless of whether you had an ulterior motive.”

“No ulterior motive. Because I didn’t expect to like it as much as I do. But I should have known.”

He mutters the last two sentences under his breath, like he’s afraid to voice them out loud.

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