Page 38 of Crazy In Love
She still didn’t say a word. I’d expected her to fight me, but it didn’t happen.
I moved to the freezer and grabbed an ice pack, wrapped it in a dish towel, and placed it in her hand before moving it to her forehead. “Keep this here. I know it’s cold. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
I turned on the electric teakettle and pulled out two mugs, since I was wet and cold as well.
The sound of the wind bustling outside my French doors to the backyard, mixed with her sobs, filled the kitchen.
I wasn’t sure what the hell to do, so I just kept my back to her as I dropped two tea bags in the mugs and then filled them with hot water.
I set her mug beside her, just as her whimpers came to an end.
“Since when do you wear glasses?” she asked before pulling the ice pack from her face and wrapping her hands around the warm cup.
I forgot I had these on. I took them off and set them on the counter. “They’re readers. I only wear them when I’m working.”
“Hmmm… what do you read? Books about how to successfully torture other people?” Her lips twitched the slightest bit, and I rolled my eyes.
“I’m hardly torturing you now,” I grunted, taking a sip of my tea.
She wiped at her eyes and sniffed a few times. “Sorry for crying. I’m just having a bad day.”
“You don’t have to apologize for crying. It happens.” I cleared my throat. It felt weird to have her in my home. I’d never been alone in a confined space with Emilia Taylor. “You could apologize for returning a perfectly good toilet, though.”
She chuckled. “And you could apologize for being a complete dick to me for—well, for as long as I can remember, if I’m being honest.”
My lips flattened and my nostrils flared as I moved to stand closer to her. “Why is this apology so important to you?”
“The bigger question is, why is it so difficult for you to just give it to me?”
I placed a hand on each side of the kitchen island where she sat, my face so close to hers that her warm breath tickled my cheek.
“I sent you a peace offering, Emilia.” My voice was gruff, and I had no idea why. Maybe it was the jasmine and vanilla flooding my senses.
“Why do you hate me so much?” she asked, her voice shaking as the words left her mouth.
I took a step back as I ran a hand through my hair. “Listen, I thought you wrote the fucking column. All signs pointed to you. And I admit that I was wrong about that. But this shit started with you, and it started a long time ago.”
Her gaze narrowed as she reached for her cup of tea; she took a sip before setting it back down. The cut on her forehead wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it was definitely going to bruise. I could see it had swollen up just in the time she’d been sitting here.
“Started with me?” She shook her head with disbelief. “How did it start with me?”
“You’ve always had it out for me.” I stepped forward again, reaching for the ice pack. “Put this back on your forehead. It’s swelling.”
She rolled her eyes, but she did as I asked. “How have I ever had it out for you?”
“In high school. You snitched on me for ditching school, and I had to spend three Saturdays cleaning up the school parking lot.”
Her eyes widened. “You think I told on you? How would I know that you ditched school?”
“I don’t fucking know. You couldn’t even look at me after that. You’d always look away, which is a sign of guilt.”
“Oh my gosh, that was years ago, and frankly I don’t even really remember the whole thing.” She shook her head as she set the ice pack down beside her. “You’re so far off base on this one. And you’ve literally been horrible to me all this time, for yet again, something that I didn’t do. You’re unbelievable.”
She pushed off the counter, folded the blanket up, and set it down next to her mug. My eyes scanned the emerald green dress hugging her curves perfectly. She was stunning. It pissed me off. And then she grabbed her coat and pulled it on in a huff. She stormed toward the door, pissed off once again, and I followed.
“Hey,” I said, wrapping my hand around her forearm and turning her to face me. “You aren’t going back out there. I said I’d drive you. Just finish the goddamn conversation.”
“You know what, Bridger?”
