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Chapter 16
Aubrey
After I ditch Dalton on the living room floor, I run to my room and shower. As I wash up, I feel every mark he left on me, and it funnels guilt into my thoughts. I panicked. I know I did, and I’m not ashamed about it. I told him it’s been a while. I’m sure that fleeing like a scared cat that was spooked by its own shadow isn’t the preferred or expected protocol following a mutual, consensual, and torridly hot night of sex should go.
I’m so unfamiliar with having a fling that I simply went with my instincts for guidance. And my gut instinct happened to be an order to freak out and run.
“I can’t believe I caved.” I groan, resting my forehead on the tiles of the shower wall and let the water cascade down me. Surprisingly, the water pressure is good. Maybe Marian did something to ensure an almost massage-like force to pummel guests. I love it. It helps to invigorate me and rejuvenate me into an alert, rational adult.
Nothing about last night seems rational in the light of the morning. It seems like a fever dream. A wicked dare I was helpless to resist.
It’s neither. I slept with Dalton and it was my choice to do so.
But now what? It’s been so long, I can’t figure out what my next step should be.
“Isn’t that the story of my life,” I mutter quietly.
I’m here because I don’t know where to go or what to do, and by caving to the attraction I tried to hold off and ignore in the hopes it would fizzle out, I’ve complicated the big question mark of my life even more.
My answer is to pretend it never happened. We reconvene in the kitchen where I prepare another PB&J. He’s there, sipping water and looking freshly showered. It’s unfair how damn good he smells: all man with the sharp scent of soap. If he’s waiting for me to speak up first, he’ll be waiting a long while. I remain quiet, determined to act as though we never fell into each other’s arms. As though I didn’t lunge forward and kiss him because I wasn’t strong enough not to. I ran out of reasons why not to, and looking at it that way, I feel like it’s all on me.
No, it’s not. We both wanted it. I may have made the first move, but he had all the moves to see to my pleasure in the best way possible.
He seems to be on the same page, tiptoeing around me in the kitchen, only speaking up to say, “I’m going to head outside and start to clean up.”
Is that an announcement of avoidance? Is he also drinking the Kool-Aid of “if we don’t speak of it, it didn’t happen”? Or is he secretly suggesting I pitch in and help, too, and I’ll be a bum if I don’t join him?
I rub my head after he steps outside. I’m going to give myself a headache if I don’t simmer down on these frantic thoughts.
After I pep talk myself into it, I head out there and pick up sticks. I right the planters and scoop up the shards of pots that fell and cracked. Lauren won’t be pleased about the destruction of her projects. A few smaller trees are snapped, and the work we accomplished in the new orchard is destroyed. Overall, though, it’s cosmetic ruin. Nothing was devastatingly broken, and it takes a good hour picking up sticks and smaller branches to add to the brush pile that will no doubt make a fantastic bonfire one day after it’s dried out.
Will I be here to see it? Fall isn’t far away, and I meant it when I told Dalton I’d like to stick around. But as a helper? I’m not sure I can promise the lure of a career might call me elsewhere. I went into education because I was passionate about it. It feels criminal to throw that away.
Dalton is forever nearby, but we don’t speak. It’s with a mutually agreed-upon but not-spoken understanding that making eye contact is a grievance today, and we only speak when necessary. Like his comment that the cell reception is back up.
“I need to call Hayes and see if he can get a team over to start cutting up and removing the felled trees.”
I glance at the behemoth that would’ve taken the Goldfinch out of business. It’ll take a good crew of hardy men a solid day to erase the evidence of Mother Nature’s wrath with that one.
“If that’s all right with you.”
I turn and give him a sharp look. He clears the smile from his face, and I know he’s joking. It feels like he’s cracking a joke about me, not with me. “What does that mean?”
“Well, he’s got his eye on you.”
So, he’s noticed that too. “So what?”
He shrugs and starts to dial on his phone. “You seem pretty upset after an admission of attraction.”
I narrow my eyes. Hayes can look at me all he wants, but I’m not the one pursuing him. What the hell are you saying? I can’t help but feel defensive about his teasing. And it confuses me even more. It’s a taunt about last night and how I gave in to my attraction for him, but what does it mean? He’s bitter that I’m too chicken to address it? He’s prodding me to face it and own up to it that we had—have?—a thing?
“Leave me alone,” I retort before I stalk off.
I’m not in the mood to play mind games.
After I’m through with cleaning up the storm’s mess, I shower again and head inside my room. Thank goodness the lights flickered back on. Even though we have electricity, I don’t want to leave my room. It’s another episode of hiding, but I don’t care if he calls me out on it. I need a breather from the way he’s constantly getting to me.
The second I flop on the bed, though, I get to myself. Why do I close myself off like this?
