Page 39 of The Contractor's Rose
“I’d do the same if it were Teagan.” His eyes softened. “He’s allowed a gut reaction. Just one.”
I shook my head. “You’re such a dad.”
“You like it.”
I did.
Breakfast that morningwas waffles and bacon. He made it while I stood in his kitchen sleepy and basically naked, sipping coffee from one of his perfectly matching mugs. He’d draped a blanket over my shoulders and kissed the top of my head when I leaned against the counter, watching him work the waffle iron like it was serious business.
The kitchen was sunlit and quiet, the kind of quiet that wraps around you and makes you want to stay forever. The smells of maple syrup and crisp bacon filled the air. I kept sneaking glances at him—barefoot, shirtless, his hair still sleep-mussed, with that focused crease between his brows as he debated how long to let the waffles cook.
We ate on the deck, curled up together with more blankets, plates balanced on our laps and second cups of coffee in hand. The morning air was still cool, sunlight slowly melting through the clouds, turning the dew on the railing into tiny glittering stars. Birds chirped somewhere off in the trees. Everything about the moment felt unhurried, untouched by the rest of the world.
It was cozy. Peaceful. Real. Too real to be temporary.
He dropped me off at my apartment later that morning, carrying my bag to the door. His palm lingered against the small of my back, like he didn’t want to let go just yet.
He kissed me goodbye just outside my door—slow and deep and final in the kind of way that made my knees threaten to give out. I clung to his jacket and tasted maple syrup and coffee on his tongue.
When he pulled away, I was breathless.
And already wanting more.
TWENTY-TWO
ROSEMARIE
Elodie’s dufflebag hit my bedroom floor with athudthat echoed through my apartment.
“I brought options,” she said, popping the zipper with a dramatic flair that matched her bold eyeliner. “Mini skirts to micro skirts. Pick your poison.”
I laughed, curling deeper into the pillows on my bed as I sipped from a stemless glass of pinot noir, the taste dry and sweet on my tongue. “Is there even a difference?”
She held up a black leather scrap of fabric that looked more like a napkin than clothing. “One is technically legal. The other might get us banned from most establishments.”
“Oh, good,” I muttered, my lips brushing the rim of the glass as I took another slow drink. The alcohol warmed my throat. “So we’re going to jail tonight.”
“Only if we’re lucky.” She winked, then dove into the bag again, muttering something about sequins and fishnets as she yanked out another outfit with a flourish.
The bedroom quickly turned into a disaster zone, heaps of fabric taking over the bed. I settled on the floor in front of mymirror, curling my hair in slow, lazy waves using my flat iron. Each section glided softly between the hot plates of the straightener, the scent of heat and hairspray mixing with Elodie’s perfume.
She was a one-woman hurricane, flinging clothes and commentary like confetti. I let her chaos wash over me, oddly comforted by her presence.
“What’s the name of this place again?” I asked, tugging a curl free and watching it fall into place around my shoulder.
“Axis. It’s a new place in the next town over. Rian heard about it from someone at her firm.”
The name of her girlfriend pulled something tight in my chest, an invisible thread coiling beneath my ribs.
“Speaking of. How’s that going?”
Elodie paused mid-rummage, a sleek dark green dress in one hand. It shimmered even in the dim bedroom light. “Not great.”
I looked up at her through the mirror. Her reflection showed the exhaustion behind her sharp cheekbones, the way her shoulders sagged even as she tried to keep her tone light. “Talk to me.”
She sighed, a long sound that felt like it carried months of frustration. She tossed the dress onto the bed and flopped down beside it with a groan. “It’s always the same. Rian says she can’t move here because of work, but every time I offer to move there, it’s not the right time. She’s too busy, too stressed, too whatever.”
“She still says she’d be too busy, even if you lived there?” I asked gently, setting the iron aside and turning fully toward her.
