Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel (33 page)

“Are you saying none of your previous … girlfriends,” the word seemed painful for her to say, “cooked you breakfast or dinner or made you a sandwich?”

“I pay people to cook and clean for me.” It was a non-answer, and she deserved more. “I’ve never allowed a woman close enough to cook for me.”

“Were you worried one of them might slip you some rat poison?”

“A couple of them probably thought about it.” He brought the piece of hair to his nose and inhaled.

“Does Cottonbloom seem provincial compared to Seattle?”

“In some ways it feels like time has stood still, but in others I barely recognize the Cottonbloom from my memories.”

“Everything is changing. The town is growing—both sides—and most people don’t care if you’re a ’Sip or a swamp rat. The college has opened up all kinds of opportunities. You could move your business from Seattle to Cottonbloom and not miss a beat.”

“That’s never going to happen, Monroe.” He injected a warning into the words, but even as he said them something resonated. Deep in his subconscious, the thought had taken root days ago.

Everything he had worked for was in Seattle. It was complicated. It was insanity.

Yet he hadn’t missed that life. Not for a second. Not with Monroe circling his thoughts and his brother and sister inserting themselves back into his worries.

“Fine. But you should make things right with Sawyer before you leave.” She notched herself into his side and laid her head on his shoulder; his arm automatically went around her and pulled her even closer. The thought of leaving was unbearable.

She yawned. “If I fall asleep are you going to skedaddle in the middle of the night? Don’t make me wake up in an empty bed.”

“No. I’m done running.” He wouldn’t run away from Cottonbloom again, but he wasn’t sure he could stay, either. Pushing the uncertainty out of his mind, he tucked her head under his chin and vowed to hold on to her as long as he could.

*   *   *

Light burned against Monroe’s closed eyes, and she jerked awake. She blinked against the blinding sunlight streaming through her window, the drapes pulled wide. Something was different. Cade.

She rolled to her back and ran her arm over the expanse of deserted mattress. The sheets were rumpled and the pillow mashed. The smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen.

She pulled on a tank top and yoga pants and freshened up. When she popped around the corner of the kitchen, he startled, splattering batter from the whisk.

She put on her sweetest drawl. “Why, Cade Fournette, are you makin’ me breakfast?”

“Trying. Coffee’s brewed.”

She poured herself a cup while studying him through her lashes. He’d pulled on his jeans and T-shirt. Unfortunate for her viewing pleasure but probably safer for all his bits and pieces while cooking. He ladled batter onto the griddle, the sizzle and smell filling the silence.

“I used to get off third shift and make breakfast for Tally and Sawyer before getting them to the school bus. Pancakes were their favorite.” His voice rumbled between them, his tiny admission dispelling the morning-after awkwardness.

She put her coffee down, wrapped her arms around him from the back, and laid her face against his shoulder blade. “You did a good job with them, Cade. The struggles and sacrifices were worth it.”

He was stone against her, tense and hard. In an instant he turned from a statue into flesh and blood, spinning in her arms and capturing her mouth. Thank the Lord she’d brushed her teeth. It was her last rational thought.

He pushed the pan off the eye and flipped the stove off. Somehow, she ended up with her legs around his hips and his hands under her butt. The cold wood of her kitchen table shocked a gasp out of her, her lips still on his.

He pulled away, staring into her eyes. “I want you to come to Seattle.”

It took a long moment for the words to make sense. “I’ve never been, but people say it’s beautiful. When it isn’t raining.” She tried on a teasing smile, but his expression didn’t lighten. She let the smile drop and swallowed hard. “I’ll have to give Bartholomew some notice. Even taking off a few days throws the schedule into chaos.”

“I’m not talking about a vacation, Monroe. I’m talking about something permanent.”

She pushed him away, unable to process the implications with her legs around his hips, his erection against her, his hands on her body. She half-sat on the table, her knees weak either from his kiss or his offer. “Hold up. Are you asking me to move to Seattle with you?”

“Yes.” He said the word as if throwing out a gauntlet as he backed up and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

His offer landed on her heart with the force of a slap. “Where would I live? What would I do?”

“You’d live with me, of course. You could take time off, hang out.”

“Hang out? Like as your kept woman?”

The hint of a smile crossed his face, but it was gone before she could be sure. “Or get a job. PTs are in demand everywhere. Whatever you want.”

She’d never considered leaving Cottonbloom. It was her home. Unlike Cade, she’d embraced the quirky, divided nature of the town and accepted her memories—good and bad. But a town and a life were nothing without people, and there were too many people who depended on her.

Without Monroe, her mother might spiral further down the rabbit hole. Bartholomew depended on her and had already spoken to her about buying him out when he retired. Kayla and the other girls counted on her to be a stabilizing, supportive force in their lives. The thought of leaving Cottonbloom felt like offering a limb for amputation. The thought of losing Cade felt like donating her heart.

“You could stay here. Tally and Sawyer would love that.” She threw out her own challenge.

“I have a state-of-the-art workshop in Seattle. Sawyer’s garage won’t cut it long-term.”

“Build a better workshop. You have the money.”

“My business is based out of Seattle. My partner is there.”

“So you expect me to pick up and move my life?”

“It makes more sense.”

“Does it? What do you have up there besides a bunch of engines? Family? No. Friends?” He hesitated, and she answered for him. “I’m taking that as a no. No one loves you up there, Cade.”

“What are you saying?” His eyes narrowed on her and she squirmed, her palms growing damp, her fingernails biting into the wood.

Anticipation stretched the seconds, fraying her nerves. “Your brother, your sister, your uncle, and …
I
all love you.”

He moved faster than she thought possible, his hands gripping her shoulders, his fingers pressing hard into her muscle. “Say that again.”

She knew what he wanted from her, and now that the moment was upon her the words felt as natural as if they’d lived inside of her for a long time. “I love you, Cade Fournette. Maybe I always have.”

“I’m not the same boy who came to your rescue.”

“I’m not the same girl who needs rescue. We’ve both changed, but you understand me like no one ever has. That much has stayed the same, hasn’t it?”

His grip loosened. He laid his forehead against hers and shuddered out a long, slow breath. “Then you’ll come to Seattle.” It was more statement than question.

“That’s not what I said,” she whispered.

He leaned back, slid his hands up to cup her cheeks, and forced her to look at him. “But you love me.”

The satisfaction and relief that threaded his words was not the same as a return declaration of his feelings. “Yes, but I love my mother, too, and she needs me here. I love the girls in my program. They need me here, too. I have no doubt you want me, but do you need me? Do you love me?”

His lips parted on an intake of air. A hard knock on the front door startled them apart. Whatever he was going to say was lost as he stepped away. The knock came again. “Doesn’t sound like they’re going to give up anytime soon.” His voice had already grown distant, like that of a man given a reprieve.

Her knees felt like they had been injected with Novocain, her walk more than a little shaky. She peered through the peephole, seeing a distorted Regan on the other side. Casting her eyes heavenward, she unlocked and opened the door.

Regan pushed big, round sunglasses to the top of her head and swept inside. Her face pale and dark circles under her eyes. “We’d better get that dadgum wall painted before chicken-headed Sawyer Fournette has us arrested. I swear—” Her chatter shut off like someone hit the mute button.

Cade emerged from the bedroom. His shoes were on and his shirt was tucked. “Regan.”

“Hey, Cade.” A blush had suffused Regan’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. The wall was all me and I’ll take care of it. You guys continue whatever you were doing. Or not doing.” She backed toward the door. “Whatever the case may be.”

“No. I’m leaving.” He brushed by Regan and opened the door, pivoting around with one foot in and one out. “Will you at least think about my offer?”

Monroe nodded. “Of course.”

He shoved his hands in his front pockets and walked slowly down the porch steps. Before disappearing into the garage, he turned back. Something potent passed between them, but it had the feeling of an ending and not a beginning. Tears blurred her eyes as she closed the door and rested her forehead against the place they’d been joined so intimately only hours earlier. When she heard the sound of his old truck fading, she turned around.

“Oh, sweetie, what happened?” The caring and kindness in Regan’s voice sent a few tears down Monroe’s cheeks. She wiped them away, sniffed, and shook her head, banishing them through sheer force of will.

“Cade asked me to move to Seattle.”

“Whoa. Is that the offer you’re supposed to be thinking about?”

“Sure is.”

“You two have moved pretty fast. Could you convince him to stay in Cottonbloom a while longer so you could make sure that—”

“I love him. I can’t imagine I’ll ever love another man. It hasn’t happened quickly at all; it’s been forever.”

“What are you talking about? He’s been back less than a month.”

Monroe pressed her hands against her cheeks, a smile threatening in spite of everything. “You want some coffee? Because I have something to tell you.”

Regan sipped on her coffee while Monroe’s story poured out. Once she was done, she sighed, another weight of her past shed.

Regan turned her coffee cup on the kitchen table. “There’s so much you never told me. Your mother, Sam, Cade.”

“I’ve never told anyone except for Cade. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, but I was young and scared and ashamed. I didn’t want you or your parents or anyone at school to know what was going on.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I feel terrible.” Now the tears were in Regan’s eyes.

“Please, I didn’t tell you so you could feel bad for me or guilty. Even back then, I knew I couldn’t tell anyone about Cade.”

“I would have understood.”

“If anyone would have it would have been you, but if I’d told you about Cade, then I would have had to tell you everything. I wasn’t ready then, but with Cade back I finally feel able to talk about it. Does that make sense?”

Anger superseded Regan’s tears, and she banged her fist on the table, sloshing coffee from both their mugs. “I’m going to get Sam Landry’s butt off the city council and then personally kick it down River Street.”

“Are you going to have him stoned to death, too?”

“This is not funny, Monroe. He almost—he could have—I can’t bear to think about it.” Regan closed her eyes and blew out a long breath. When she reopened them most of the anger had ebbed out of her face. “That’s why you got a black belt and why you work with those girls, isn’t it? So it doesn’t happen to them.”

“Most of them won’t have a Cade Fournette to run to. Fate was smiling on me that night whether I realized it or not.”

“Tally doesn’t know?” Monroe shook her head, and Regan sat back in her chair. “Are you going to follow him to Seattle?”

“I’m honestly not sure.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Let’s go get our community service over and done with. What do you say?”

“Sure.” Regan didn’t sound as ready to let the matter go, but Monroe didn’t give her a choice, heading into the bedroom to pull on an old T-shirt and shorts.

Chapter Twenty-six

Sawyer wandered into the garage, keeping to the edges. An air of expectation followed him as he picked up and put down various tools. Cade sat back, his bad hand tightening on the handle of the socket wrench. He waited.

“Sorry I was kind of a jerk last night.” Sawyer clinked two screwdrivers together in a syncopated, grating rhythm. “With everything going on with Regan and the festival … Plus, they’re talking layoffs at the plant.”

Sawyer still hadn’t made eye contact. Cade slipped his hand into the tight space between hoses, letting his fingers guide him to the correct bolt. “Your job at risk?”

“Nah. But I’m not looking forward to giving out the pink slips. Most of those people live from paycheck to paycheck. Not to mention, they’re my constituents.”

Cade’s fingers lost their agility. The wrench slipped and his knuckles busted against metal. He muttered a few curses.

“Let me help. I’m pretty handy, you know?” Sawyer pulled a stool next to Cade, and they sat side by side tweaking parts and discussing the mechanics behind the engine Cade had designed. The common ground they trod settled an ease that hadn’t existed between them for years. They brainstormed ideas for driving the modifications even further as Cade furiously sketched and made notes.

He hadn’t been this energized in a long time. The last year especially had seen his enthusiasm ebb drastically, which went a long way toward explaining his itch to climb El Capitan.

Sawyer helped tighten bolts and check seals. All the animosity and resentments that had flared since Cade had come home seemed dampened. A smudge of grease lined Sawyer’s face and his brow was furrowed as he tightened a bolt.

The older Sawyer got, the more he looked like their father. Sandy blond hair, hazel eyes, humor never far from breaking free. Although his laughter had been absent of late. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his face held the hint of strain. Cade hated to think he was the cause. The drive to make things better for his siblings hadn’t died.