Page 10 of Monsters, Vows, and Growls
I turned back toward the open kitchen space because the last thing I wanted was for him to see how much his words affected me. With every step echoing off the bare walls, I managed to get my composure back.
“This needs venting. The ceiling’s high enough to work with, but you’ll need a heat barrier if you want the line exposed.”My voice was steadier now, riding the wave of professional muscle memory. The one I had gained from having built two restaurants.
“I’d open it up here,” I added, gesturing toward the long wall. “Add a chef’s counter, maybe a ten-seat tasting bar.”
Behind me, I heard him step closer, and every step echoed in my heart and made it beat faster. I could almost feel his breath on my neck.
“I like it when you talk like that,” he said, voice low and sincere.
I froze. My hand was still on the framing stud. I hadn’t realized how tightly I was gripping it until I forced myself to let go.
“Patrick,” I said without turning.
“I’m just saying,” he murmured. “It sounds like you already see yourself here.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
I spun to face him, the ache finally breaking loose into something hot and sharp in my chest. “You don’t get to stand here in the middle of a building you designed like a love letter and pretend this is easy. You don’t get to say things that make me think you still know me. You don’t?—”
He stepped closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough so I could see the warm amber spots in his whiskey-colored eyes, the ones from where a young Ella was crying out to me. Crying for what, though? A warning or a plea?
My heart was pounding; my blood rushed through my veins so hard and furious I thought I would pass out. His nearness forcedme to tilt my chin to look up at him. He was close enough to feel his warmth and the weight of every word we weren’t saying. His scent invaded my nostrils. He was wearing a different eau de cologne, of course. It had been ten years, after all, but his scent, the one that was his very own, was still there. The scent I had been running away from. Pines, rain, and manly musk.
“I never stopped knowing you,” he said quietly.
I hated how much I wanted to believe him.
The space between us buzzed like it had its own pulse. Like the foundation we were standing on was made of something electric and old, but still too alive to bury.
I backed up a step.
“I need to think,” I said, not trusting my voice to say anything else.
Patrick didn’t argue.
He just nodded, once. “Take all the time you need, Ells.”
God.Ells.Why did he have to do that?
It broke something open in me, and I had to get out before it spilled all over the dusty concrete floor.
"Why the hell did you do that to me?" I demanded of Carol the moment she opened the door. I had driven straight from the restaurant to her place, set on giving her a piece of my mind. The drive took forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of me alternatingly wiping my eyes because they were welling over andhitting the damn steering wheel so hard I might have broken it. Forty-five minutes of enduring a pain lodged so deeply into my heart, it made it hard to breathe.
I never stopped knowing you. Not I never stopped missing you. Not I never stopped loving you. No! Damn him. Why did he have to say the words that hurt so much more than the others would have?
"Oh my God, Ella, what happened?" Carol opened the door fully and pulled me into her arms. She was so much taller that my head pressed right into her warm chest, and I began crying. Not like I had in the car, where a tear had escaped me here or there. No, this was ugly crying at its worst. This was sobbing and snotting and shoulders shaking so hard I thought I might come apart completely. And Carol—bless her meddling, over-involved, wonderful soul—just held me. She didn’t sayI shouldn’t have pushed you, orI’m sorry, orI thought this would help, even though she probably should have said at least one of those.
She just held me, like she knew her meddling had opened a wound she couldn’t close—but she’d be damned if she let me bleed alone. She just stood there in her doorway, holding me like a big sister who wasn’t going to let the world swallow me whole, no matter how hard it tried.
After what felt like a century, she gently pulled me inside, sat me on the couch, and handed me a box of tissues and a throw blanket that smelled like lavender and dryer sheets. The weight of it grounded me a little, giving me a chance to ride out the next wave of emotion without floating away.
She waited until I blew my nose and wiped my eyes—twice—before speaking.
“So,” she said carefully. “I take it the site visit didn’t go great.”
“I hate you,” I croaked.
