Page 51 of Love Me, I Dare You

It was that ancient and my dad undoubtedly never had a single renovation done on the home. There’s no running water, gas or electricity, and not a single functioning appliance, yet the pale yellow cardboard box on the kitchen island stands out like a small touch of heaven in the otherwise hellish landscape.

I recognize it instantly and I salivate at just the thought of the decadently sweet pastries I’ve become addicted to.

Nearly two weeks into the renovations on the ranch and the house has never looked better than it does now. It’s nearly unrecognizable. Gone are the layers of garbage and rotten foodthat were splayed out all over the floor. Gone is the stench of cat shit and God knows what else made it so difficult to breathe once you stepped foot inside the dwelling. All that remains are stark walls awaiting patching and fresh coats of primer and paint, alongside the original hardwood floors in need of significant refinishing—the perfect blank slate to work with.

What began as a tedious task I couldn’t wait to be finished with has become a project I’m quite invested in seeing through. It’s not something I’ve ever really thought of doing.

I’m not the type interested in setting down roots and finding a place to call aforever home. Never was. For eighteen years I remained in Crossroads, trapped by my inability to find my escape. So yeah, when The King’s gave me the push I needed to get leave, in their case left me with no other option, I’ll admit I’d first seen it as the perfect escape. Fate was finally on my side and fucking around with Bailey King had given me the way out I so desperately sought.

Though at our meeting earlier this morning with the lead architect at Monty’s construction company, we drew up the plans of what we want this place to look like when we’re done with it. Suddenly I’d become more invested in creating a home for my family to live in instead of renovating it to sell to the highest bidder.

The now open concept gives the old rundown ranch house a modern feel and with the interior design plans Monty showed me, one’s Monroe’s been tirelessly working on for weeks now. I know it’s going to be damn near perfect.

My little sister has a serious talent and working alongside Monty has left her with invaluable experience she requires to eventually take her business beyond just working for him. She possesses enough potential to work for wealthy clients or hotels and make a fortune off her designs. Not only does she have aneye for color palettes and unique styles, she’s even incorporated some of her own work into the mix.

Because it turns out my little sister is a true artist. Monty showed me a few of her sketches and they’re unbelievable. Especially the one she most recently created last summer during a trip down to the Big Apple, bringing the New York Skyline to life. She wants to hang it up in the new office space we’re creating in one of the smaller bedrooms downstairs.

Monty has a crew of four to six guys working here day in and day out to keep good on our two-month deadline. At first it seemed nearly impossible, but after a week of demolition and another of working the plumbing and electrical, which luckily other than the minor pipe burst, we dealt with last week, there was no major damage. They’re almost ready to install the insulation on the new drywalls we had to plaster.

Though I’m giving myself too much credit. I have been little help in the last week. I’d say it’s because I have a lot on my mind between being back home, dealing with the mess Franklin’s left us, and Monroe refusing to be in the same room with me for more than two minutes but it would be a lie. There’s only one true reason I haven’t been myself and cannot stay focused for more than a few hours at a time, and her name is Bailey King.

I haven’t seen Bailey in over a week—not since the moment we spent together in her shower. When the heat radiating from her luscious curves was further ignited under the flames of my touch. The way her body reacted to me, like muscle memory it fell into rhythm with my touch. The harmonies that left her lips, sultry sounds no angel had ever sung, were music to my fucking ears. The fire in her eyes, desire fused together with rage, angry at herself for being helpless against me. Regardless of what she tried to make me believe, I knew she wanted it.

Wanted my hands on her, my lips on hers, my tongue and fingers inside her. I wanted more, fuck I’d wanted no one asbadly that I wanted her, but when the reality of what were we were doing came crashing down on her, stronger than the ice-cold water cascading down on us, she pulled away, setting back into place the mask she tried to keep on when she was around me.

I saw right through it, but for her sake, I couldn’t get myself to tear it back off. Because then I’d be met with the endless tears she shed for me, for what I’d done to her. When Bailey brought up our past, proving I’d hurt her so much worse than I could have ever imagined, I couldn’t push her.

Our past and present are woven together by the hurt my departure caused her, and will remain that way unless we can face the truth behind it. We can never move past it until we face it head on, and I’m not sure that's something I can ever do.

I want to—want to push my way through, show her it’s not what she thinks, but that would require coming clean about why I left. I can’t do that. Not to protect the men who were to blame, but to salvage the relationship she has with them. Telling her the truth will destroy her and the way she sees her brother and father. I’ve ruined my relationship with my family beyond repair. I’d never do that to her.

Despite what I keep trying to convince myself of, I seem to care too much about Bailey to continue being the reason she’s in so much pain. Yet even when I try to protect her, I end up being the one to cause her worse harm.

Which is why, although our short-lived time together has been the highlight of my time back in Crossroads, it won’t amount to anything. I won’t let it continue and risk it meaning more than it already has. She seems to be under the same impression since not only have I been avoiding being back at the apartment when I know she’s there, she’s been working day and night to avoid me.

For the past three nights, I’ve stayed out here with Monty, working until our limbs give out on us, not heading back to the apartment until I know she’s most likely asleep and leaving again before she wakes up. I spent most of the first few days worried about her moving around on her injured foot, but I checked in almost every hour with Billie to ensure that Bailey wasn’t leaving the apartment. Billie assured me she was keeping her from working at either the bakery or the bar and she was dropping by multiple times a day to take her food. She didn’t ask why I wasn’t helping her since I’m the one who lives with her, but I didn't expect her to.

I’m not sure if Bailey’s told her friends about what happened between us, but I’m also surprised Billie hasn’t threatened to murder me if she had. So yeah, I’ve been in a shitty mood not only because of the lack of sleep, but being back around Bailey has reminded me why I used to love it back then. Bailey could always put a smile on my face by simply just existing. Her sweet smile, the blush that kissed her cheeks when I was around and the way her gaze never met mine because she was too bashful to look me straight in the eye. It’s all only intensified the older and more beautiful she’s gotten. And after what happened between us in the shower, I’m afraid how things with us will look now.

I know what I’m avoiding, though I have no clue what's kept Monty out here by my side. I don’t know what it is he’s running from. My brother isn’t the same man I left behind ten years ago. He’s so much more now. A family man—father figure and brother to Monroe. The hardest working man I’ve ever met who has accomplished so much despite all the obstacles that have stood in his way.

Yet there’s something he’s still missing. Not that he needs a woman to complete him and make him the man we all should aspire to become, but I know he’s lonely out here all alone. He’s spent every hour of every day for the last two weeks withme, his little brother, instead of a woman who’d be much better company than I am.

“Morning Nash,” Candace, Monty’s assistant I met down at Montgomery Builds, says, as she walks through the non-existent front door.

Walking over toward the kitchen island currently with only a sheet of plywood we’re using as a table, I reach for the box of baked sweets beside a large traveler jug of freshly brewed coffee.

“Candy, why’s the boss got you up here so early?”

She shrugs, reaching for the coffee and pouring herself a cup before grabbing another for me. I take it from her, our fingers brushing for just a second before I pull away like I’ve been zapped by a taser.

Don’t get me wrong, the girl is beautiful. Around my age or slightly younger, her chocolate brown hair is cut in short waves that fall just above her shoulders, and her big brown eyes watch me curiously before turning away, blushing with embarrassment as she pretends to not notice the subtle move I made to pull away. I don’t mean to be rude, but being close to a beautiful woman like her seems wrong.

Opening the box of sweets, I reach for a blueberry crumb scone, which has easily become the best fucking thing I’ve ever tasted. Other than the woman who bakes it, whose taste I’ve yet to erase from my tongue. It only makes sense someone so sweet has made something equally delicious. Although I’m certain it won't happen again, at least until she agrees to revisit the situation, I’ll have to settle for enjoying this instead.

Though as I bite into the delicious scone, it brings back so many memories of the woman who made them. I’ve yet to stop into HoneyBees for myself, afraid of running into Bailey while I’m there, but Monroe’s dropped some off for the guys every day this week and I can’t stop myself from indulging.

Candy’s watching me with wide eyes as I devour the scone in two bites, sipping the nearly scalding hot coffee to wash it down.

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