Page 6 of Taurus
“Wha—what?” he sputters. “Oh no! I didn’t mean that. I just meant that it looks like a unique piece.”
He stops at the one-stop sign on the island and turns in his seat to look at me. I can already see the sincerity in his expression before he can say another word.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I think it’s beautiful, just like you.”
A car horn sounds behind us, sparing us each a moment to consider what he’s just said. The silence in the Jeep between us is near deafening until he finally speaks again.
“What I meant to say is that you remind me of the sea glass.”
“Tossed out garbage that’s worn around the edges?”
“That’s not what I meant.” He runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up in the most adorable way. “Are you going to help me pull my foot out of my mouth?”
“I don’t know,” I tease. “You seem to have lodged it in there pretty tight.”
He glances over at me and realizes that I’m just messing with him.
“Oh, okay. I see how it is.” He chuckles. “I save your life. You torture me for your own amusement.”
"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds like I owe you something."
“I can think of one thing,” he says quickly, glancing down at my legs.
Heat pools low in my belly at the thought of what he might be hinting towards as payment from me. And I must admit that I wouldn’t be opposed to what he could be suggesting.
“And what’s that?” I ask.
His gaze shifts up to meet mine. “Your tartar sauce.”
“My what?” I ask, needing a moment for my brain to register what he’s just said.
“The sauce. In the bag,” he clarifies, pointing to it sitting next to my legs.
I quickly realize my mistake and turn to look out the passenger side window to hide my embarrassment.
“What did you think I meant?” he asks, his voice teasing me back.
“I knew you were talking about that,” I laugh, joining in with him.
“Sure you did.”
“Will you shut up and drive.” I point to the road ahead of us.
“Yes, ma'am," he says, continuing to chuckle to himself.
I shake my head, smiling to myself out the window.
JACE
I get Cordelia home, and we finish up our fish and chips at her kitchen table. The doctor instructed me to watch her to see if she showed any signs of a concussion, like headaches, nausea, or dizziness. Other than her stumble on the beach, she seems perfectly fine. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying about her. I don’t know what it is about her that makes me feel this need to want to protect her. She’s practically a stranger to me, but somehow, when I’m with her, she brings out a lighter side in me. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much before meeting her.
I was consumed with work, and growing the business, that I never allowed myself the opportunity to relax. Even on vacations, I’d be sitting by the pool with my laptop opened and crunching the numbers. Since meeting Cordelia, I haven't felt the urge to do anything but be present at the moment—with her.
“Are you done?” she asks, pushing to her feet and gathering up the trash from our dinner.
I pop the last fry in my mouth. “Yes.”
"Well, I'm glad to see you like fish," she says, walking over to the trash can and dropping in the paper bag. “It’s kind of a staple around here.”
