Bait (Wake, #1)(96)

“Wow,” she said in awe at the mess I'd let get out of hand. When I looked down to see her expression, she wiped it away and replaced it with one that was more nonchalant than anything, “It's not that bad,” she finally added with a small smile.

Her eyes darted around to the fresh vegetables and fruit I'd brought in from the garden. I saw a plan forming.

“Okay,” she said. “Since you're already dirty take a few of these,” she said as she handed me a half dozen ears of corn and continued, “and go outside and shuck them. Make sure to get all the silk off.” She turned me back around and pushed me toward the large French doors with both hands in the middle of my back.

When I got to the table and unloaded, she'd already run inside and grabbed me a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. I looked at it and questioned if drinking was a good idea.

She must have seen the words on my lips, because she said to my unspoken statement, “You're only having a few. And I'm having some, too.” She turned and went back into my mom’s house. I watched the sway of her hips and felt a peace wash over me like I'd never known.

This is what it would be like if she would have chosen me. We'd never done anything domestic like this. She was a chef and she’d never cooked for me. We’d spent all of our shared time in other cities, in hotels.

I wondered if I would have shown her that I wanted this, if she would have wanted it with me, too.

Maybe it was the sun still getting to me—even though by then it was already tucked behind the timber—but it felt like a rogue puzzle piece had finally locked into place.

I had blame in what had happened between us, or what consequently didn't happen, too.

I'm sure it was probably too late. But for the first time in what felt like months under water, I took a long breath and started to regroup.

I finished cleaning the corn meticulously, not wanting to disappoint a chef with my negligent work. I picked up the ears and bundled them in my battered hands. The sun was almost completely set and the kitchen lights lit up the back of the house.

Before I got to the doors I stopped.

She looked like a dream. My favorite dream. She looked like my home.

She'd done a fast, but thorough job picking up the trash and emptying the sink of week-old dishes. She was in her element. She’d put my mom’s apron on.

Seeing that, my eyes grew hot and burned. I couldn't move. She’d even folded the middle up around where it tied so that it wasn't too long. Just like my mom did.

My honeybee was in my kitchen cutting up carrots and peppers and god only knew what else to make food for us. Places inside me melded back together, and I physically felt my heart beating again. Part of me felt wary, but I was too damn tired to feel anything at that moment. I just needed to take it in and enjoy it. Surrender to this unexpected gift.

My fight for her wasn't over. As long as both of us could keep finding our way back to each other, it might never be. In that moment, I didn't care about her marriage with Grant. It didn't matter who she chose to marry. It mattered that we had something that you couldn't put down on paper. Something you couldn’t choose, but was chosen by. Something bigger than merely changing your last name. What we had was only for us. It was indefinable.

We were both slaves to it.





Saturday, October 17, 2009


I'M A SLAVE TO this pull that Casey's heart has on mine. I'd thought that not seeing him in so long would dull it. It never did. If it wasn’t love, then it was something equally unconditional.

When my eyes fell on him earlier that day, I almost didn't recognize him. His face looked hollow and lackluster where it used to glow and shine.

He'd cut off his beautifully wild hair, and in place was a short buzzed replacement. I can't say that it didn't look good, but it didn't look as good as his curly locks did. I missed them. I missed the way they would automatically wrap around my fingers like they were holding me close. The way they moved when he was animated.

But it was his eyes that were the most changed. The light that was there had dimmed. I felt bad for thinking it, but I hoped it was because of his mother's passing and not because of me.

I’d tried to call his phone, but then I absolutely couldn't take not hearing from him anymore. So I called Bridgett to see if I could work out of the San Francisco office for a while.

It worked out well for us both, since Melanie was on a month-long trip to Costa Rica and they were a little short staffed while she was away.

Grant didn't like it when I let him know I was going to be gone for a month, but he eased up when I told him I would come home for a long weekend in the middle. It wasn't like we were going to see each other that much anyway.

We never did.

I busied myself cleaning while Casey removed the husks from the fresh corn outside. I'd taken the trash out to the bin that I'd seen on the side of the house out front when I arrived. I loaded the dishwasher and tried to make some order of the counter space. The whole house wasn't a colossal mess; it was concentrated into one central place. The kitchen.

I'd looked in the cupboards and found some vegetable stock and decided a light vegetable soup would do just fine. There were some chicken breasts in the freezer and I had them thawing in the empty sink.

I could tell that it was a kitchen that got used a lot.