Salvage, page 11
We had enough endings between us.
I wanted more beginnings with Rowan Walker.
It wasn’t on purpose.
I could repeat it as many times as I wanted, and maybe one day, I’d believe it. Today was not that day.
After the super-charged moment, Rowan and I walked some more. For nearly an hour, we roamed the land we owned, letting Dali and Picasso run and chase critters to their hearts’ content.
The sunset cast hues of pink and orange across the expansive Ontario sky. Heavy clouds of white and gray hovered over the sun, dropping the temperature drastically every minute. In the soft glow of the fall, it was like the breakup never happened. I basked in the warmth of our connection, soaking it all in while I still could.
Dali pranced by, chewing something suspicious, ruining the moment.
“She’s such a trouble maker.” Rowan laughed when I pulled a questionable piece of lumber from her mouth, holding it up for him to see.
“I think she keeps Picasso young.”
“That’s true, poor old man.”
I nudged him with my shoulder. “Picasso isn’t old. He’s only a little gray. It’s very dignified.”
Despite being in his early thirties, Rowan had a full head of hair without one single gray strand. My hair was so dark I’d been plucking some scary white terrors out since I was in my twenties. Worrying about Rowan had given me a few more over the last few years.
Tonight, he was a new man.
Or rather, my man.
His eyes were clearer, and he held himself more solidly than he had in a long time. He filled out his wide shoulders, taking up space like the last three years hadn’t happened. It was more than a little confusing, but I held on to it while I still could.
Stepping up onto the front porch, Rowan leaned back against the wooden pillar, one long leg crossed over the other. He was relaxed, smirking at me with a happy glimmer in his (loving?) gaze. A chill rolled off the Caribou River, scenting the air with the earthy tones of fallen leaves and rain.
“You might as well stay for dinner.”
Rowan’s body stilled. He was a golden statue, staring at me with bright eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. “Are you…” He paused to shake his head. His blond hair moved like honeyed waves, falling across his forehead. My fingers twitched to push the strands back. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Nothing to see here, folks. Only a woman making a dumb mistake.
Inviting your ex — a man you’re still in love with — to stay over for dinner is not a good idea.
I broke up with him with good reason, but after being us for a couple of hours, it was difficult to remember the fights, fears, and worrying.
That’s the thing with Rowan and me. When things are good, they’re not just fine. They’re wonderful.
“Cool.” The smile he gave me was a danger to my sanity. “I’d like that.”
“Uh-huh,” I managed with all of the self-assurance of the half-mad.
The dogs followed us into the kitchen, Picasso weaving himself between Rowan’s legs with happy grumbles. I could almost hear Mommy and Daddy are getting back together every time he huffed.
Preparing a meal with a man I’ve cooked with a million times shouldn’t be the most erotic experience of my life. Yet somehow, that’s exactly how it was playing out for me.
Rowan picked a country playlist and connected his phone to the small portable speaker we kept on the windowsill. Humming under his breath to an old classic, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. His forearms were spectacular. Not merely strong from the gym but also from hauling heavy hose at fire scenes. The corded muscles were dusted with soft blond hair and covered in tattoos I knew by heart. Especially the violet on his left forearm — the splash of ink that was essentially a wedding ring.
Rowan ran his hands under the tap and slid the dishtowel from under the sink like he had done every day for years. This was his kitchen as much as it was mine.
He placed his hands on my hips and twirled me around to move me out of his way. He took fresh tomatoes and other veggies from the fridge. Mesmerized, I watched him grab the cutting board and get to work. He grinned down at his handiwork.
“You’re staring, Vi.”
I cleared my throat and busied myself by washing my hands. “No. Was not.”
“Uh-huh.” He continued chopping, still humming softly.
We moved around each other with very little need to talk. I browned the meat and got the water boiling while prepping the fruit for my morning smoothie. It was all so familiar, so exactly what we did for years, my heart clenched.
“How’s the calm-down class?” Rowan asked as he came up behind me. One of his hands went to my hip as he silently requested I step to the left. It was our quiet kitchen dance, but this time, he didn’t drop his hand. He left it on my hip as he slid the veggies slowly into the pan.
Kiss me. Please kiss me.
“That bad?” he pressed, still holding on to me.
“It’s okay,” I blurted out. “Still not very busy.”
“Did Penny stay with you yesterday?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know she didn’t.”
“I don’t like it,” he mumbled so low I almost missed it.
“You know the kids are innocent wee lambs. They get a bad rap.”
He licked some tomato juice from his thumb as he considered my words. I plumb forgot what we were doing. My attention was completely zeroed in on his lips. I always loved kissing Rowan, but the longer you’re together, the more the little things like sweet, random kisses fade. With time and distance between us, it seemed downright sacrilegious to let kisses from this man slide into used tos and usuals and expected. Being in Rowan’s arms shouldn’t have become a habit, something I took for granted.
I wanted to step into his body and kiss him soft and quick between two tasks just because I could. Just to let him know I wanted him.
“Innocent wee lambs?” Rowan chuckled, bringing me back to the moment. “You sound like your grandmother. You know that’s not what I don’t like.”
I clicked my tongue. “Seriously? We’re still on that?”
Rowan grabbed the wooden spoon from my hand and stirred our concoction of fresh vegetables and store-bought spaghetti sauce before tasting it.
Was he doing this on purpose? Was he intentionally bringing all of this attention to his mouth to make me lose my mind? Because it was working. One lick at a time.
“I told you then, and I’ll tell you now, Vi. He gives me the creeps.”
“Mr. Park isn’t creepy,” I insisted for the millionth time. “I have an excellent bullshit meter, but it’s nothing compared to my creep detector. Mr. Park is fine. You’re still pissed he almost failed you in the tenth grade.”
“No way, Vivi. He has this thing about him. Like he would keep you in a deep, dark hole and tell you to put lotion on your skin.” He fluttered his tongue against his teeth dramatically, seconds away from cracking up.
“You’re hilarious,” I said, but my deadpan didn’t quite follow through, broken by a giggle that bubbled out of me with no permission. “That’s a serious accusation to make of a teacher.”
“I know.” He threw his hands up in defeat before grabbing the block of cheese to grate some into a bowl. “I just get this vibe. You know, one dude to another.”
“Well, as a woman, I like to think I have a pretty good creep radar. I teach self-defense classes, for fuck’s sake.”
He smirked and popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. Yup. The man was definitely trying to kill me with that mouth of his, tempting me to death.
“You know, I was thinking about that party at the Clermont house.” I took a step closer to him, daringly. Hopefully.
Rowan laughed softly. His blue eyes twinkled with memories. “Be more specific, baby. There were a lot of parties at the Clermont house.”
I grinned and nudged his side with my elbow. “You know the one I mean.”
He stilled for a moment, his gaze locking onto mine. His heart thundered so loud I could hear it. It matched mine. He dropped a kiss onto my forehead, letting the tip of his nose draw along my hairline before kissing my temple.
“You trying to get me into trouble, Vi?”
“No. Of course not.” A bit. Yes. Totally. His lips no longer touched me, but I could still feel their scorching heat.
“Are you thinking of Senior Ditch Day?” His baritone was made heavier with lusty memories.
“Oh, no. I was thinking of the summer bash just as college was starting.”
“How could I forget that night,” he whispered apologetically. “We’ve had a lot of good times.”
“We did,” I agreed. I watched in shock as my hands landed on his chest. His heart tripped under my palm. Rowan held his breath as he licked his lips.
“Violet.” The rough whisper asked for permission.
I raised myself up to the tips of my toes and gave him a sweet kiss. Wasting no time, I took a deep swipe of his mouth. Rowan responded immediately, crushing me into his arms, his hands landing on my ass to fit me right into him. He groaned his pleasure as I nipped his lower lip. He tasted like coffee and memories and love.
“Violet.” He repeated my name, this time with an apology. He stepped away from me, his hand rubbing his neck. “Shit,” he hissed. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“Ditto,” I murmured, wanting so much more than I could have.
“Fuck it.”
It took two seconds.
One moment, Rowan was feet away from me, tearing out his hair for kissing me.
The next, he took me in his arms and set me on the kitchen counter.
He stood between my legs, his large warm palms cupping my face. He peppered my face with the softest of kisses before finally settling on my mouth. He sucked on my lower lip before drawing his mouth down across my neck to nibble at the tender skin of my shoulder. I dug my heels into his ass, drawing him closer to me.
I moaned his name, hoping that this moment changed everything. That finally, he could be led out of his head, away from all of the pain he carried. That he would come back to me. To us.
Rowan pressed his mouth to mine once more, his tongue delving in to explore. “Vi,” he groaned. “I have to stop. Tell me to stop.”
He should, but I didn’t have it in me to push him away. Not again. It had really taken it out of me to break us up once and for all. I didn’t have the strength to end this. Not when he was touching me. Not when I missed him so damn much. This version of Rowan. The one who teased, who was present. Who didn’t grunt and mumble and forget to talk to me for days at a time.
He took a step away from me, taking care to tug my shirt back into place. He licked his lips before rubbing a hand across his mouth, almost as if he were trying to erase me.
“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
“I did too,” I pointed out, sliding from the counter. “I guess spending time together does get our wires crossed.”
“Hmm.”
I blew out a breath at the quasi-nonverbal answer. This was the Rowan that terrified me. The one that retreated deep, where no amount of love could reach him.
“Are you going to ask me to take my stuff out of the house?”
I swallowed hard. “I mean.”
He winced, and it was only then that I realized we weren’t having the same conversation. I didn’t know what he wanted from me or how to mend the breach in our connection.
I didn’t know how to tell him I didn’t want him to move out. I wanted us to find a way back to each other.
Rowan turned his back away from me as he strained the pasta. I stepped away and around from him to take the sauce off the stove. We were back to our most recent habit.
Quietly moving around each other, trying to find the right words, but never making it stick.
By the time he left after scarfing down his food, I was infinitely more confused. I had a glimpse of my Rowan somewhere in there. It gave me hope, but when he retreated again, the hurt was profound.
If Rowan couldn’t fight for us through the haze he was locked in, there was no space for me in his life.
14
How To Fix… Social Skills
Rowan
This was a huge mistake.
I shouldn’t even be here. If Diego hadn’t insisted like a lunatic, I would’ve stayed at my mom’s. I needed the quiet, raw and exhausted from hours of digging through the last three years of memory to compile a list of all my misdeeds and how to fix them.
There were a lot.
Kissing Violet and the tense way I left things didn’t help any.
I was out of place at Viktor’s Halloween barn party, sticking out like a sore thumb. It didn’t matter that I’d known the host since we were kids. I was missing my other half, and it was glaringly obvious. At least, the party wasn’t at Élodie’s place. That would’ve been a solid no, thanks. I wouldn’t be visiting that place any time soon.
A volunteer firefighter from the Eastwood Fire Department, Viktor Reid spent his days operating his family farm with his brother Konrad. They had Highland cattle, a few Holsteins, and acres upon acres of cash crop. The massive red barn was hardly the best place for a party, but the white tent beside it was cheerfully illuminated with fairy lights, probably care of Kiera, the youngest Reid offspring. There were Halloween decorations and jack-o-lanterns everywhere, and because of course, there was a small bonfire surrounded by Muskoka chairs. To the left, down by the hilly grazing fields, the Caribou River flowed by.
Most of the Eastwood crew milled around, mixing it with folks from Haxby and Saint-Canton. The Reids were one of the area’s oldest families, and they knew everyone. The place was packed. It was by no means an EFD party. Theoretically, it would’ve been easy to melt into the décor and pretend I wasn’t even there. That I wasn’t compelled by meddling friends and a pushy mother who insisted on my costume. I tried to become one with a massive decorative skeleton, but Diego foiled my attempt.
“Hey.” He handed me a beer while he took a swig from a soda.
Most of the guys from the hall would stay sober in case there was a call. The chances were high. Halloween was always a high-volume night, but when it was on a weekend? It was even worse, especially on a Saturday.
I watched the party unfold, every bit the outsider, and took a swig of my beer. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember the last time I went to a party and enjoyed myself. It had been a minute. I scanned the area again, nodding to the guys from the hall and old friends. It was exhausting to acknowledge them all. How could a simple head bend be so damn taxing? Had I really forgotten how to socialize?
Yeah, dude. Looks like it.
The realization turned me off my beer. I discarded the bottle as the little I did drink churned in my gut.
From across the way, even with dozens of people chatting and laughing over spooky music, I spotted her. Even in a Halloween costume, Violet was a vision.
Despite a wide-open tent, the air whooshed out of my lungs. My heart stilled before kicking up a painful rhythm.
Violet was dressed as Lily Munster, her lithe body wrapped in a gauzy white dress. My mouth watered as I took in the bodice pressing tightly against her breasts, pushing them up like an offering.
Not for you, Rowan.
A strand of white hair was pinned to her own black strands in stark contrast to her blood-red lipstick. The shade played games with my mind. Her eyes popped incandescent blue, circled in some black makeup.
It wasn’t an overtly sexy costume, but it did for me.
Violet did it for me.
She wasn’t the dressing-up kind of woman, and honestly, I wasn’t into that either. Give me Vi in a pair of leggings with a hoodie and my ballcap. Now there was what I liked seeing. Tonight, Violet looked like a gothic queen. It pulled me right in.
It didn’t help that my costume was Frankenstein’s monster.
By pure hazard.
Only, it wasn’t. Mom and Libby insisted. I was too tired to argue and gave in when Diego joined in their chorus.
Anyone would see Violet and me and decide we’d dressed as the Munsters. We were, after all, still remembered for our Morticia and Gomez Addams costumes from a few years ago.
This non-coincidence was one for the ages.
I tipped my head to her, my neck burning as I recalled the way I picked her up off the ground and set her on the kitchen counter days ago.
I guess spending time together does get our wires crossed.
Violet’s words froze me that night. I played them over and over again, crushed that she didn’t ask me to move back in. She didn’t take me back, but she dropped her I mean like a fucking death sentence for any chance we had.
I panicked and left before she insisted we were really over.
I couldn’t hear those words again. I needed more time to make things right between us.
Tonight, I wasn’t so sure I understood the intention of her words. Not when she grinned at me across a hopping party. Violet beelined for me, expertly dodging a few people on her way like she wanted to talk to me.
Like she wanted me.
“Why am I not surprised?” Her giggle stoked my desire for her, for us.
I joined in with her because, really, what else could I do? “I had no idea you’d dress like that,” I assured her. “But…”
“Seems like great minds think alike.”
“Yeah.” I tried not to stare, but that was harder than the FireFit stair climb. I wanted to take her in. Violet wasn’t the kind of woman you get over. Especially not when we kept running into each other – or kissing.
Was it fate that we picked matching getups? Was I lame for thinking it meant something? Was I purposefully forgetting I was forced into the costume? Yup. Vi and I were always in tune before.
Fuck, but I wanted that back.
“We’re standing here, talking calmly to each other in a couple’s costume. I bet all of their heads are ready to explode.” I couldn’t help satisfaction from creeping in.
They all saw the breakup; it was only right that our friends saw us interact cordially.
