Page 16 of The Fox

??No. I am not changing.

This is my home and I am allowed to wear what I want here. I’m nervous, anxious almost to the point of madness. Lennon knows how stressed I am. He’s been underfoot most of the afternoon and is now curled against my feet. I swear that cat knows me better than just about anyone.

Everything in me wants to text Rhodes and cancel. My head is screaming at me to renege on my offer. I learned a long time ago that listening to my head keeps me alive, and despite my heart aggressively whispering to stay the course, it is an internal struggle. I feel like I am at the precipice of a cliff, my toes gripping the edge, and a single burst of wind will push me over into a free fall.

I grab my phone off the charger and call Parker. She’ll know what to do. I hit dial and exhale the second she picks up.

“Let me guess, Rhodes is coming over and you’re freaking out.” There isn’t a hello, not a greeting uttered when Parker answers.

“I should cancel. Pretend to be sick or something.”

“Amelia. You are not canceling. No, lass.” Parker’s voice is laden with a quiet confidence. She will not allow me to retreat into my mind. She continues, keeping her tone firm. “Rhodes is going to come over for dinner, you’ll be fine, and Lennon will hate him. You are stressing over nothing.”

“He’s the first person I’ve invited home, Parks.” I sigh, the briefest moment of defeat leaking into my voice. “Am I making a mistake?” I pull my lip between my teeth, the need to bolt from the situation heavy.

“Ames. Breathe, babes. I know what this is, but I also know that you trust him even if your head tells you not to. Now, I am hanging up and you are going to make some tea. I love you.”

Parker hangs up and I stare at my phone. I know she’s right but I can’t help thinking about the repercussions of getting close to someone, let alone allowing a man into this space.

There is a knock on the door and I wipe my hands on my leggings, the clamminess reflecting the bundle of nerves tangled in my stomach. I close my eyes, taking a few cleansing breaths before turning toward the front door.

Rhodes is here. Fuck.

I glance through the peephole before cracking the door. My eyes immediately notice the way his biceps stretch the fabric of his shirt, his forearms are muscular and his right hand grips a brown paper bag. Hair that is normally tossed atop his head is loose, falling to his shoulders. Rhodes tilts his head, asking a silent question and I pull the door open further.

I take all of him in and suddenly my beating drum of a heart settles, the tangled bundle of nerves quieting. This feels right, having him here. I don’t want to unpack what that means. He’s brought dinner and it smells delicious; the smirk on his face apparently directed at whatever he sees when he looks my way.

“Hi,” I breathe as my hand clutches the blue door frame.

“Hello, Amelia.” One small step and suddenly his left hand reaches above his head and he leans into the doorway, close enough for me to see specks of green in his blue eyes and I lose myself in their depths. “May I come in?”

“Huh?” I startle, unaware of what he had just asked.

“Are we eating here, on your porch, or may I come inside? It doesn’t matter to me either way, I swear.”

“Oh.” I shift my weight, weighing the options. “You can come in, I suppose.”

I move back, giving him enough room to pass by me; the scent of leather and cloves dancing in his wake. Rhodes smells like comfort and safety, two things I am not afforded.

He stops just inside and suddenly my spacious place doesn’t feel so spacious. There is a dominance about him and he seems to command the room. I step around him, hoping that my home isn’t too much for him.

“The kitchen is this way if you want.”

I am well aware of the view I’m providing him and I try my best to not focus on my round ass or the way my upper thighs jiggle with each step. My hair is in its natural state, fully curled and a disaster of a mane. I’m the picture of beauty, I am sure.

We settle at the kitchen island, sitting across from each other as Rhodes starts to remove the items from the bag. It smells like Indian food and I am ecstatic when this is confirmed by the samosas in his hand. As we begin to eat, my nerves ease. The conversation is easy, and I feel like we’ve talked about everything under the sun at this point. It has flowed into a casual twenty questions and the takeout Rhodes brought is now halfway consumed. I’m relaxed.

“Your turn, Rhodes.”

His gaze is steady and his posture is relaxed. There hasn’t been a question yet that has fazed him. “What are your parents like?”

The question hangs in the air and I’m not sure how to answer it.

“My mother died when I was nine, and my papa did his best. He was always busy but tried to make sure I wanted for nothing and that I could take care of myself.”

“He sounds like a great man, Amelia.”

“He was. Despite being a powerful man,” I shrug, “at the end of the day, he was just my papa.” I don’t mention how being the daughter of a man known as The Grim Reaper hurt me growing up.

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