Page 82 of That Stranded Feeling
Nope, there it is again.
A knock at the door.
I slump and blow out a big sigh.
Well, shit. Of course, the rental people would show up to collect Owen’s car right as I’m about to nod off. Of course, everything to do with him shatters my cozy, solitary world.
I unravel myself from Elsa and peer out the window.
Yup. There’s a large black SUV in the driveway, right next to that ridiculous little hatchback.
I grab the rental keys from a coat hook and open the front door.
But it isn’t a rental company guy.
It’s Owen.
I must look as shocked as an abruptly woken rabbit caught in headlights.
My heart surges, and I go a bit dizzy from fatigue, hunger, and, oh yes, the sight of the man I’ve fallen for hard and fast even though he’s entirely wrong for me.
His smile is somewhere between all-consuming joy and deep concern that I might be about to yell at him.
“Hi?” he says, as if it’s a question.
As his eyes meet mine, every inch of my skin tingles and my brain switches to the spin cycle. I’m not sure I have the capacity to make my mouth form even that tiny two-letter word in reply.
I grip the door to steady myself, then remember the car keys in my other hand. He must have come to collect it himself, so I hold them out to him.
He looks at them and furrows his brow. “What are they?”
I point at the hatchback. “For the car.”
“Oh.” He shakes his head. “Someone will come get it tomorrow.”
He fiddles with the red ribbon tied around a blue tin he’s holding, then shifts it into one hand and runs the other through his hair. It’s ridiculous that such a tiny action causes a ripple of heat through my body. How is it possible to feel such a connection, such a fitting together with someone, when I know it would never work?
“Why are you here, if not for the car?”
He reaches his hand toward me, then thinks better of it and pulls it back. “Because I owe you an apology.”
Oh, shit. I can’t listen to this. I don’t need to hear him spin whatever line he’s going to spin. When it came down to choosing between me and the money, he became the second man to make the wrong decision. And his justification for that is something I don’t need to hear.
I rub my stinging eyes with the corner of my cuff. Judging by the marks it leaves on the fabric, I mustn’t have washed off my mascara properly last night. I shouldn’t care that I might have given myself panda eyes, but I do.
“There’s no need to apologize. You can just go.” I step back so I can shut the door.
“Summer, please.”
As much as I know I don’t want to throw myself on this fire again, to be burned again, turned to ashes again, something deep inside me stops me from closing the door.
Owen’s eyes are wide, pleading for me not to walk away again. But he obviously wasn’t bothered when I left last night. Not bothered enough to tear himself away from Mr. Moneybags, anyway.
A groggy Elsa appears by my side with a big yawn. Owen reaches down and pats her head like someone who has no clue what to do with a dog. “Hi, Elsa.”
It’s the first time he’s willingly approached her and voluntarily touched her. I guess he’s making an effort.
His hand brushes my leg as he pets her, causing goosebumps to shimmy up my thigh to my center.
