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With the way she clammed up last night when I showed her the apartment space, and her practically shoving me out the door afterward, I get the feeling that she’s not too keen on sharing whatever burden has her scared out of her mind.
I take one last sip of coffee, and I rinse the mug before setting it in the sink. I grab the travel mug of hot chocolate I made earlier and step through the back door of my house.
The early morning air is brisk, and I suck in a lungful of the fresh air.
Like it or not, Maisie’s staying with me, and having watched her pack, I know that she doesn’t have much food up there for her and Audra.
Which is the excuse that I’m using for swinging by this morning — well that and dropping the keys off to my personal SUV so that she has a car to use in case she or her daughter needs anything.
I round the side of the house and come to the backyard to the stairs that lead up to the apartment. I’ve owned my house for almost eight years at this point, and I can’t remember the last time I had someone in that apartment that wasn’t family.
Usually my brothers use the space when they have a little too much to drink on poker nights, but that hasn’t happened in a long time, so it’s sat mostly empty.
The steps to the apartment creak under my weight, and before I clear the top step, the door opens to a sleep-rumpled Maisie.
A beam of sunlight shines around the dark mop of her hair, picking up notes of chestnut and auburn, almost as if it’s caressing her. She’s dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of those athletic leggings that hug every dip and curve of her legs.
She looks better than sunshine after a stormy winter.
I snap myself out of whatever the hell that thought was, and croak out, “Good morning. I brought you some hot cocoa since you said you didn’t like coffee, I figure I couldn’t go wrong with some chocolate.” I smile slightly to hopefully help put her at ease.
Like a kid handing his schoolyard crush a bouquet of picked wildflowers, I thrust the travel mug in her direction. Maisie’s careful to keep her fingers clear of mine when she takes the cup from me and disappointment tugs at me.
She’s still scared shitless of me. Of men. And that leaves a sour taste in my mouth and rage burning in my chest.
Someone put the fear of god into this woman, and I want to find them so I can pummel them into nothing.
“Thanks.”
“You hear back from the rental company on your place?”
She shakes her head and takes a sip of the cocoa. A sound slips from her lips, the breathy reverberation of her voice a whisper between us.
“This is good, thank you,” she says after swallowing the liquid.
“You’re welcome. Listen, uh. Did you want to run into town with me and get some breakfast and groceries? I haven’t been to the store in a bit, so it’s slim pickings over at my place, and I know there isn’t much stuff in there.”
I watch as the hesitation and fear leach into her gaze and it solidifies my suspicions. She doesn’t want to be alone with me, and though I’m not sure if it’s me or that I’m a man that’s causing the reaction, it rips me up.
“Sure,” she finally says after a minute. “Let me just get changed and pack Audra up.”
She takes a step back into the apartment, and as much as I want to follow her, I don’t. Something about the wounded look in her eyes tells me that it wouldn’t be welcome.
A few minutes later she emerges, carrying Audra’s car seat, a diaper bag, and her own purse, all looped over her arms, and she has a shoulder injury. I step forward without thinking and take the car seat from her. Audra’s awake and cooing softly in her car seat, blowing spit bubbles, and I chuckle.
“Good morning, Audra. Did you and Mommy sleep good?” I ask, not expecting an answer, while Maisie redistributes the weight of her belongings.
A happy screech is the only answer I get from the little girl with eyes the same color as her mama’s.
“We did. Thank you again,” Maisie says while looking at her shoes. “I can take her back.” She motions to the car seat.
Instead of handing it back, I say, “I’ve got her.” I turn and start down the stairs making sure to take my time.
“You don’t have to carry her for me, I can handle it,” Maisie says once we get to the bottom of the steps.
I eye the sling that her arm is in, and respond, “I know, but you shouldn’t be lifting her with your arm hurt, and just because you can do something doesn’t mean that you always have to. Doesn’t bother me to cart her to the car, and it’s not hurting anything, right?”
Maisie nods and drops her gaze to her feet again.
