Reroute (Unexpected Love Series Book 1), page 13
She’s stick-straight, taking in everything. “Yeah, that was you this time, wasn’t it? It’s just habit at this point to apologize for every mishap, but ha, this time, it was you!” She chuckles, so I’m sure she’s fine. I, on the other hand, am about to freak out.
“Yes, well, what are we going to do? I’m not even supposed to be—”
“Oh my gosh!”
We both look out the driver’s side window and find a woman dressed in black pants and a polo shirt with the rental agency’s name emblazoned on the breast pocket. She’s hopping mad and yanking on my door. I open it and step out while she points and sputters at the front of the car.
“Look what you did! You’re going to have to pay for that!” she yells.
“Yes, I understand. I wasn’t trying to—”
“You two need to come with me, now!” she shouts.
“She’s on crutches, so you will have to be patient,” I say, scowling. Things are about to get very interesting because I am one hundred percent certain this woman either doesn’t know or has forgotten that the car they rented to me earlier in the week burst into flames and left me stranded on the side of the road.
Once we’re inside the office, rolling suitcases and all, she lights into me like a crazy person.
“This is wholly unacceptable. This car was rented to Miss Hollis, and you both should know she is the only authorized driver,” she scolds. “I will have to file this on the insurance, but I’m afraid it’s going to end up coming out of your pockets.”
Calliope is biting her lip, and I am just about to negotiate with this woman when she speaks up. “Excuse me, but I think you are forgetting one little thing.”
“What’s that?” the agent asks with a sigh that rivals mine.
“Days ago, Mr. Loughton rented a car from your agency. It burst into flames, and I had to pick him up from the side of the road. Now, I realize the accident we just had is stressful, and yes, it is our fault. However, I think the cost to repair the car is, oh, let’s say, equal to renting him a car that tried to burn him alive.” Calliope leans forward and narrows her eyes. “I’ve had a rough week. I am in pain and very cranky, and I’m sure you will agree that leaving sleeping dogs lie is probably in both of our best interests, yes?”
She blinks a few times, then tappity-taps on her keyboard. Her eyes go wide, and she glances at me, then says, “Yes, I think this can be managed just fine within the office. We’ll call it square and, as you said, let the dogs sleep.”
“We’re free to go then?” I ask, glancing at Calliope, who is a little scary, if I must admit. Now I fully understand how she is able to write such gripping mysteries. She can be downright cranky when she’s not well.
“Of course, just sign this form, and my supervisor will sign off.”
Five minutes later, I’m guiding Calliope into her own passenger seat. “What a week it’s been.”
I can’t help but laugh. It sure has been a week, but even with all of the catastrophes, I can’t think of a better week I’ve had. I probably never would have seen this side of her any other way, and she might not have taken time to see past my exterior, deep inside where the less grumpy guy resides.
From the airport back to the apartments, we carry mostly superficial conversations about what we will need to do tomorrow, but it’s comfortable in a way I can’t describe. She’s relaxed again, back to the bubbly, sunshiny woman who used to drive me a bit insane. Now, I can’t think of what I’d do without her in my life. She’s animatedly explaining how she’ll work through the kinks of her novel when I park.
She groans. “This is not going to be fun. The elevator’s out, remember.”
“I’ll help you, then come back for the bags.”
Helping includes getting us both up two flights of stairs without either of us falling and breaking something—namely ourselves—and hobbling down a hallway until we reach her doors. Once inside her apartment, I help her settle on the sofa before making another trip to get the bags. I drop mine inside my door before heading back to hers, but when I push the door open, I find Calliope knocked out on her sofa.
For a minute, I think I’ll leave her be and let her rest, but then I notice how her head is flopped to the side. Her neck will get stiff, and she needs to take the boot off and prop her leg up, so I kneel in front of her and shake her a little.
“Calliope, you need to go to bed,” I whisper, which is silly since I’m trying to wake her. She mumbles something incoherent and shifts a little. “Calliope, wake up.” I shake her again, and she opens her eyes, focusing on me.
“Oh,” she says, sitting straight. “I’m sorry. I guess I dozed off.”
“It’s okay. Can I help you to bed?” I ask. I’ve never been farther into her apartment than the kitchen and now the living room. The way she decorates is warm and cozy. I like it, probably because it’s not unlike mine in many ways.
“If you really don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Come on.” I help her stand again, but she winces. “It’s probably swollen. Have you taken your ibuprofen today?”
She shoots me a guilty grin and says, “I might have forgotten with the drive and everything on my mind. It’s in my bag if you don’t mind grabbing it.”
“Sure. Let’s get you to your room so you can change, and I’ll grab it.” I’m not sure how she’ll do anything in the morning, so I make a mental note to wake up early and see if she needs anything before I set up my home office. I’m sure my boss will let me work from home for the rest of the week, especially since I scored him over a dozen clients during the conference.
Once Calliope is on her bed with pajamas in hand, I slip out and get her medication and a glass of water. It feels nice to be needed. I know I’m getting my hopes up and should prepare for anything. I can’t say why she drove me crazy only a week ago, but now I don’t think I can live without her. I don’t know, but I think it has something to do with us actually being good for each other in ways other people aren’t. Her sister might be right. We balance.
I knock on her door and enter when she calls me in, taking in her room now that I’m not on a mission to get her everything she needs. It’s warm and decorated in neutral colors—tans, browns, creams—with little pops of orange and blue here and there. I like it, but I like her puppy pajamas more.
“Cute,” I say, pointing to the Dobermans all over her pajamas.
“I used to have a Dobie when I was a kid. They spoke to me,” she says, slipping back into the bed while I remove the boot and prop up her foot.
“The dog spoke to you?” I tease.
She huffs and rolls her eyes. “No, the pajamas.” She takes a good look at her ankle and winces again. “It’s swollen pretty badly, isn’t it?”
“Probably because we were in the car half the day, and you couldn’t elevate it. I think if you take the ibuprofen and keep it up, it’ll be less swollen in the morning. Do you need anything else before I lock up and head home?”
She smacks her forehead. “Duh, I forgot to brush my teeth. And my hair. I’ll have tangles for days if I don’t braid it before bed. I’m sorry.”
“Stop, it’s fine, but can I just… you know, carry you?” I ask because the boot’s off, and I just know she’ll put pressure on that foot. And okay, if she’s willing, I want to be close to her. She puts her arms out, so I hoist her up and carry her to her bathroom.
I don’t know what to do with myself, so I sit on the edge of the tub and wait. She brushes her teeth about the same way she does everything else—haphazardly but thoroughly—but when she tries to brush her hair, she puts her foot down and cries out. It startles me, and I leap to help her, but it’s too late. She’s already got tears streaming down her face, and she’s biting her lip, so I swoop her up—hairbrush and all—and take her to the bed again.
“Foot up. I’ll get you some ice,” I say, then jog to retrieve it. At this rate, I’ll never make it home, but I don’t care. I’ll run around her apartment all night long just to make her comfortable.
In her room, she’s still struggling to brush her hair. “Here, trade.” I hand her the ice and take the brush, then wiggle in behind her. Calliope stiffens, so I worry that I’ve done something wrong, but as soon as the ice hits her ankle, she relaxes again. It’s been a while since I brushed a woman’s hair, but it’s all coming back to me as I gently run the brush through her long locks.
“I used to help my sister braid her hair for cheer. I always felt like such a doofus, but she was bad at braiding her own hair,” I admit, then begin twisting sections of her hair into a tight braid. It’s probably the reason her hair is always wavy.
“That’s actually really sweet, Edwin. I kind of feel like a child, but thank you for this. It’s honestly the most a man has done for me in a very long time.”
Now I freeze because none of what I have done truly extends past basic human kindness. Calliope leans against my touch, almost craving affection that is innocent, undemanding, and without expectation of anything in return. I finish her braid and tie it, then squeeze her shoulders. She relaxes, which makes me think I should keep rubbing, but she needs to rest. I’ll save the shoulder rub for another day. I stand and stretch, feeling the exhaustion of the week catching up to me.
“I should get some sleep, but I’ll check on you in the morning, okay?” I jot my number down on the pad by her bed and scoot it toward her. “Call if you need something before then.”
“Thank you, Edwin,” she whispers, reaching for my hand. She grasps it and tugs me closer, and a blink later, she’s hugging me. Warm and sweet, she turns her head into the crook of my neck, nearly driving me crazy. I want to kiss her more than ever now, but I refrain. She’s tired and in pain, and we just agreed to go slowly and see how things go.
I release her and stand with what probably looks like a constipated grin, and head out. Then I remember that I didn’t help her with the blankets and return to her room. Calliope looks up at me and blinks a few times, then seems to read my mind. She snuggles deep into her bed and lifts her arms, so I pull the blankets up and tuck them around her.
It would have been completely fine if I had left it at that, but no. Nope. I had to lean down and kiss her forehead, making every ounce of oxygen in the room disappear.
Calliope gasps, and I freeze with my lips still on her skin. This is a pickle, and the second I change position, I will have to explain myself. But I can’t exactly stand there kissing her forehead for all eternity either, so I run through a list of excuses in my brain. I was checking for a fever? No, she’ll never believe that. It’s a friendly gesture? No, idiot, try again. I was trying to—
“Edwin,” she whispers, tugging my shirt.
“Hmm?”
“My lips are down here.” Calliope yanks my shirt and wraps her arm around my neck a breath before firmly planting her lips on mine.
Chapter Seventeen
Calliope
What am I doing? Edwin is stiff as a board with his lips pressed against mine, back so rigid it might snap, and I’m pretty sure he’s trying to escape since he’s gently pressing against my shoulders. When the world’s most awkward kiss ends with him standing up, staring down at me like I’ve lost my mind, I decide death is a better option than enduring his judgment. I pull the blankets over my head and proceed to smother myself.
Under my covers, it’s cozy and quiet, but I know he’s still out there waiting me out like a hunter positioning himself to pounce. Wait, no. Edwin isn’t like that, but there’s no doubt that when I pull the covers down, he’ll have that Edwin scowl and a few things to say about what just happened. It’s getting hot under a pile of blankets, so it won’t be long now. Death or Edwin? They might be the same after that impromptu smashing of my lips on his. Ugh. He didn’t even kiss me back.
The bed dips on my right side, and he tugs the blankets free, so I cover my face with my hands instead.
“Calliope, stop,” he whispers. “I have a completely reasonable explanation if you will look at me.”
I whine but lower my hands enough to see him, keeping them over my cheeks, which are definitely redder than they have ever been. He doesn’t look angry, more concerned than anything, which isn’t much better. He brushes the escaped hair from my face but keeps his hand close to brush his thumb over my forehead.
“It isn’t that I don’t want to kiss you. I do, very much, but you are lying in bed, and all I could hear in my head was my grandfather’s voice screaming at me about manners and what is proper. It’s… kind of hard to… you know, kiss a woman when you hear your dead grandfather in your head. I’m sorry that I ruined our first kiss.”
I swallow the lump burning my throat and lower the blankets a little more. “I feel a little foolish for grabbing you like that. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Like I said, I want to kiss you. I asked you on a date, didn’t I?” Edwin smiles wide, waking those butterflies in my stomach. It’s still so surprising to see him smile that way, so happy and unbothered.
“I suppose you did. Still, I’m sorry. That was the worst timing in history.”
He chuckles and sits a little straighter. “I’m sure there have been worse first kisses. Honestly, that was pretty true to our style, if you consider it. Still, I hear second kisses can sometimes blow away first kisses, so maybe we just look forward to that one instead?”
The mood is one hundred percent ruined right now, but I’m willing to be patient for kiss number two. “I can do that.”
“Good. I’m going to get some sleep, but I’ll be by in the morning. Goodnight, Calliope,” he says and leans down to kiss my cheek. He doesn’t linger this time but turns off the light and closes the bedroom door behind him. I hear him close the front door, so I let myself relax. And… I get a little giddy.
So it was a horrible kiss, but it was still a kiss. He still wanted it, but things got in the way. It hadn’t been the right time, but he’d all but promised me a second kiss and maybe more if things worked out. I want them to work out. I want to take my sister’s advice, take a chance, and let myself explore this new and exciting thing with Edwin.
And it turns out he really meant it when he said he’d see me in the morning.
At barely seven, there’s a knock at my door. I wake up to it, but I can’t get my boot on and hobble to the door very fast, so my phone rings. I scramble to grab it through blurry eyes and tap the answer icon.
“Hello?” I mumble.
“Sorry. I brought you breakfast, then remembered the door was locked. I just wanted you to know it’s me, so you don’t need to rush. Be careful,” Edwin says, brightening my mood. I’m usually a cheerful morning person, but today I’m a tad cranky. I feel it like it set in overnight, but I’m chalking it up to pain and spackle on a smile for Edwin.
I manage to grab the crutches and make my way down the hall rather than bother with the boot. What good is it if I can’t even walk in it anyway? Once I open the door, the divine smell of coffee and sweet cinnamon bagels hits me.
“The largest latte they sell and a cinnamon raisin bagel. That’s what you like, right?” Edwin asks, holding up the bag.
How did he know that?
“Yes, come in,” I say and step aside.
He maneuvers his way in and shuts the door for me while I make my way to the table. Everything smells so good, and watching him move around my kitchen like he lives here brings that giddy feeling back. I don’t even care that he’s searching through my cabinets for plates without asking because he’s so dang sweet.
“It’s early, I know, but I have to set up my office to work from home, and it takes a little while. If you need anything today, just call. I can make you lunch and dinner, whatever you need.”
I choke a little on my coffee. “Wait, you are working from home for me? Edwin, you didn’t have to do that.” I had thought it was a regular thing for him to work from home, but maybe it’s not.
“I want to. Besides, working at the office is always less productive for me,” he says and hands me a plate. He sits across from me and fishes the bagels out of the brown paper bag. “Cinnamon butter, plain butter, or cream cheese?”
“Just butter, thanks,” I say, accepting the items he hands me.
“Anyway, I know I can become quite overbearing, so if you want me to leave you alone, say the word. Otherwise, I’ll be available for whatever you need.” He’s serious, too. If I call him, I have no doubt he’ll be knocking on my door before he even answers my call. I’m not exactly sure what to say or how to process this piece of information. It’s never happened before. Not even my family has ever put so much effort into me.
After I swallow, I put the bagel down and take his hand. He waits to see what I have to say before doing anything else, including sipping the coffee that he’s holding by his face.
“I want you to know that it really means so much to me that you’re doing all of this for me. I’m a lot of trouble, but you make me feel… I don’t know, like maybe I’m not as much trouble as I thought I was.”
He puts his coffee on the table and covers my hand with his. “You’re no trouble at all, not to me. You never have been, really. I get a little lost in my own world, too, and it makes me too cranky. Despite my grumpiness, I’ve never thought you were trouble. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that you are.”
I don’t buy it, not completely. “Okay, right. You’ve at least been annoyed by me on more than one occasion.”
He shrugs a little. “Perhaps occasionally, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t worth it. You cannot honestly sit there and say I don’t annoy you, too. I’ve already heard what you’ve said to your sister more than once,” he teases.
I yank my hand free and scowl. “Oh, you. That was before I knew there was a perfectly nice guy in there. Now that I’ve seen him, I kind of like him.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”
“I think you know I do by now.” My mind drifts back to our crummy first kiss, and I blush. “I like you a lot, Edwin, and that’s a little scary for me.”
