Best I Ever Had, page 6
“Anytime.” He smirks with his hands tucked under his head.
I lie down and tug the covers under my chin. Staring up at the ceiling, I whisper, “I don’t know your last name.”
“Haywood.”
“Haywood,” I say, letting the word slip across my lips.
“What’s yours?”
Looking at him, I roll to my side. “Salenger with an E, not an I.”
He rolls to face me, not afraid to be close even though I’m sick. “Story Salenger.” Reaching over, he tucks some hair behind my ear. “What’s your story morning glory?”
Not sure if it’s the fever, but I have a feeling it’s the way he’s looking at me that has my cheeks heating. Being in the spotlight of the intensity of his eyes, the smile that’s so genuine, and the touch of his hand when he finds mine under the covers to caress has my head swimming, never wanting to catch my breath.
“Your name.”
“Huh?”
“I was saying your name, Story, is a unique name.”
“Ah. Yes,” I reply with a sigh. “My mom was sort of a flower child born in the wrong decade.” I roll my wrist until our hands are aligned, and then our fingers fold together. His hand is warm and comforting like that look in his eyes. “She was an avid reader of anything really. There were nature and travel books, romance novels, and memoirs of obscure people we’d never learn about in school. She looked at life like an expedition. I don’t think she ever stayed still. Not for long if she did.”
“She sounds fascinating.”
I take a deep breath, bracing myself to talk about her. I think of my mom all the time, but I don’t share her much with anyone. “She was.”
“Was?” His hand tightens just enough for me to notice the difference. “I’m sorry. Did she pass?”
“Pass is such a nicer way of putting it. No, she didn’t pass. She left this world the same way she lived her life. There was nothing quiet or nice about it.” The silence catches between us, making me realize that my mind had drifted further into the details than I’ve allowed myself in a long time. I look at Cooper, and though my heart is racing from memories that I’ve exposed to daylight, I try to right my expression and feign indifference. For him. And for me.
I can’t get sucked into this emotional mess anymore. Even my leg aches from the memory.
Cooper exhales, tempering his response. I’ve been here before, so I try to head it off. “Let’s not make a big deal out of this.”
“It is a big deal. You can’t hide the pain in your eyes, Story.” He kisses my hand, then looks back up at me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Tears fill my eyes, making me hate that I’m so weak just from the memories. “Don’t do this, okay? Let’s just . . . I was the storybook ending she always dreamed of having.”
“That’s why she named you Story?”
I nod, but my chin is wobbling, so I tuck my head down and stare at our hands. As I trace the veins across his hand, his strength isn’t just seen but felt as if I could fall from a cliff and our bond wouldn’t waver. “I could have been named Fairy for fairy tale just as easily.”
“I prefer Story.” He tilts my chin up with his other hand, and I’m met with a smile that makes my knees weak. “I don’t know where you’ve been all these years, but I’m glad we met.” This time, it’s not my hand he kisses. It’s me.
My forehead. My cheek. My—I pull back before he can kiss me on the mouth. “I don’t want to get you sick.”
“I think it’s probably too late for that.”
“I’ll feel so guilty if you get sick.”
Slipping his arm under me, he pulls me close, so close that I’m tucked under his chin and against his chest. “Don’t. Let’s just blame the bad weather and get some rest.”
“Probably best.” My lids start feeling the weight of the medicine, and each blink becomes a task. I’m so grateful I don’t have finals today. There’d be no way I’d make it to Haywood Hall. And if I did, I’d surely . . . “Haywood Hall,” I mutter, working through the familiar name. “I have classes in—”
“Get some rest, Story. We both need it.”
Closing my eyes again, I struggle to reopen them as the pull of sleep drags me under.
Light slips under my lids, too bright to ignore. I swallow. My throat is dry, but my head feels better than I remember it did before falling asleep.
Stretching my arms above my head, I yawn and open my eyes. The afternoon sun drenches my apartment and Cooper next to me. I turn to wake him with a kiss, but I find the bed beside me empty instead.
My eyes dart around the room to the desk, the hook by the door, the clothes dropped on the floor at the foot of the bed. Every trace of him has gone missing.
Maybe he’s gone to the store again or out for food. Maybe he’s gone out for fresh air, or . . . I sit up, hoping his bag is still here. If that’s here, he’ll return. If it’s gone, he is.
I find the spot on the floor as empty as the space next to me. Still looking for a sign, a clue, a note, a number, anything that would show tangible proof he was here other than a bottle of medicine. Did I have that in the cabinet? Did I retrieve it in my hazy feverish hours in the middle of the night?
Getting out of bed, I rummage through the few papers on my desk. I check the hook for a scarf left behind, the floor for a forgotten glove, and even the dryer for something discarded. I need to find something to prove to my runaway heart that Cooper isn’t a figment of my imagination.
But I’m left empty-handed.
I fall back on the bed, arms wide, and close my eyes, trying to process my feelings. They feel bigger to manage than they should over one night with him.
“Tell me I dreamed him, that I made him up in my imagination.” That would make sense to me, like the heat between our hands, the feel of his fingers entwined with mine, the kisses he placed across my neck, and why I felt comfortable with a man who is basically a stranger being in my bed.
Our conversations were light, but he had me opening little by little until I exposed my personal secrets. I don’t talk about my mom with anyone, except I did with him.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly exhale, wondering why I let him in—into my life, my apartment, and even my Wi-Fi—when I know better.
But more so, why’d he leave without a trace when I thought we had such a great connection?
8
Story
Crackers and cheese.
Strawberry yogurt.
Applesauce.
Two bananas.
Totino’s pizza and ice cream in the fridge.
Three bottles of water and a six-pack of Gatorade.
Despite the rest of my apartment, my fridge and freezer have all kinds of surprises left behind, courtesy of Cooper. I just don’t understand why he bought all this stuff when he didn’t intend to stay and enjoy it with me.
Grabbing a yogurt and a spoon, I retreat to my desk. I get the occasional waft of Cooper’s cologne, a stark reminder of his absence. I would have preferred smelling it on him than in the air.
From the café to this apartment, no one has filled a space as quickly as he did. I still find it odd how natural it felt with him here. How I grappled to find any excuse to ask him to stay. Sure, it was raining outside, but did I ask for his sake or mine?
Letting my guard down was my first mistake. Allowing him to invade my sanctuary was my second. Why am I still allowing him to consume my thoughts like I have nothing better to do?
Loneliness won’t win.
I refuse to let it.
Changing my habits and the lessons I learned growing up will serve me better. Don’t cling to someone else’s life. It’s okay to be alone. I’m basically a pro. I’ve been doing it for years now.
Positive self-talk may not help me out of this mess with Cooper. I open my journal and grab a pen, ready to confess my weakness—green eyes, six-two give or take a mini Reese’s Cup, and a nurturing side that has me swooning like a ridiculous schoolgirl. That’s the problem right there. I’m just not used to being treated like a princess.
The worst part . . . I liked it.
I don’t even wear pink, so none of this makes sense.
Shoving a large spoonful of yogurt into my mouth, I hope to fight this foolishness and recalibrate my thoughts. Last night is in the past. It’s time for me to return to reality.
A text flashes onto my screen. Leaning over, I see the message is from my manager, Lila: We need to talk asap. Can you come to the shop?
She’s never short with me, but that text feels like a first time.
Not good.
Rubbing my temple, I remember few people paid before they bailed during the storm. I’ve not had time to figure out how to recoup the money other than hoping most will return to square up with me. If not, I may take the fall, and I can’t even blame them. There were a few regulars, but other than that, I didn’t even get their names.
I don’t want to lose my job. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it covers my bills and has great hours. I can study during the slow times and eat for free. That’s not something I can do at most places.
With my fingers hovering over the screen, I try to form some coherent response, a justification to not fire me, or any reason that will allow me to keep my job. Already bracing myself for her response, I type: I’ll be there shortly.
I probably shouldn’t be going out in my condition. I’m feeling better, but I can still feel a tightness in my chest. I eat the yogurt for energy while I get dressed.
Grabbing my scarf as the last article of clothing, I wrap it around my neck and then slip on my tall rain boots. Just outside my door, I spot my suede ankle boots—the leather is hard and ruined. Maybe I can salvage them, but I’ll have to deal with those later. I lock my door and tuck my hands in my pockets.
It’s in the forties today, so not too cold, but it’s kind of eerie with streams of debris and dirt filling the streets. Trash is speckled across the usually clean streets under overcast skies.
Dread fills every step I take to the shop, but as soon as I get there, the smell of muffins and coffee fills me with premature relief, and my stomach growls. Guess I’ve gotten a little of my appetite back. I can’t let the comforting scents fool me. I’m about to be fired for a hefty shortchange. I don’t have the wherewithal to even fight back right now.
“Story?” Lila waves me to the back.
I push through the door. “What’s wrong?”
Lila’s taller than me by only a few inches, but it feels like a mountain staring down at me in this situation. She leans against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. Her brown hair catches in the crossing. She never wears much makeup, no more than a little mascara and maybe lipstick, but today, her face is bare. She probably had a rough time getting out the door with her young son, Jake. That’s what she tells me when she has less time to get ready. “Why didn’t you tell me about last night?”
“Umm . . .” I look around for a saving grace but don’t spot anything but a bag of flour I forgot to put up and a stack of dishes next to the sink. “I’m sorry. It all happened so fast.” Her brow crinkles, so I start to ramble, “The storm hit, and we were fine until we lost power, but then I couldn’t just kick people out when the street was flooding, so I let them stay, and most didn’t have money.” I shrug. “Who carries cash these days anyway?”
“One thousand dollars, Story? That’s crazy money.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. The electricity went out, and people bailed before I could collect the tabs.”
She narrows her eyes in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Last night.” Taking a step back, I feel my ass run into the metal counter, so I take hold, my grip firm against the rounded steel. “What are you talking about?”
“Last night. Your tip.”
“My tip?” My eyes jerk back. “I didn’t have any tips once the storm hit, and really, I only had about ten dollars prior because again, most people don’t carry cash. They just leave it on the receipt.”
She holds up a credit card receipt. “What’s this?”
I lean in and squint because nothing on the piece of paper is making sense. “I don’t know,” I reply, leaning back on my heels again. “What is that?”
A huge smile splits her lips. “It’s your tip, Story.” Tapping the paper, she adds, “Someone left you a one-thousand-dollar tip.”
“Huh?” I snatch the receipt from her and study the numbers, looking for errors in the zeros or a misplaced period. “This doesn’t make sense, Lila.”
“Well, I’m not going to argue with you. Not only did this person pay for everything last night that you marked down on the notepad that wasn’t paid for but they also overpaid by four hundred dollars. On top of that, they matched it in a tip for you. A thousand dollars, Story. That is huge money. I can’t say I’m not jealous. I’m so freaking jealous. Think of what you can do with all that money.” She nudges me as she walks by. “You must have given some damn good service last night.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious. You showed that sweet smile to the right guy.” She backs through the door, still grinning. “I’m going to need details about this C. Haywood.”
I snatch the receipt and scan down to the signature. “C. Haywood?” Cooper.
Cooper Haywood. Besides this absurd amount of money that’s fallen into my lap, Cooper’s last name comes back like a faded dream. He’s slippery every time I mention it, and now, I can’t get the thought that my major in business administration is based in Haywood Hall. Coincidence?
Holding onto the receipt, I follow her into the main dining area, but stop when I see the devil himself standing at the counter. Cooper looks up and gives me a small wave. “Hey, Story.”
“Coop—” My ass is spanked by the door as it slams into me, forcing my body to fly forward and stumble toward him. “Ack!” Arms solid in their strength catch me before I fall flat on my face. I struggle to get a hold of him, but when I do, I’m righted to my feet again. “Thanks,” I say breathlessly and start adjusting my coat back into place.
“You’re welcome,” he replies, pulling the beanie from his head.
Humiliated, I scramble to free my face from the hair that engulfed it by pushing it back and behind my shoulders. Nothing about that move was smooth, and there was no playing it off, so I lean into it and plant my hand with the receipt now crumpled in it on my hip.
Looking over my shoulder, he catches Lila staring at us. I tug him by the sleeve to the corner of the coffee shop. “What brings you by?” I ask, still a little wobbly on my feet as heat consumes my cheeks. This time from embarrassment instead of a fever, though that might be coming on as well.
“I went by the apartment—”
“You did?”
“Yes. I brought lunch.” I look at his hands holding the hat. “I left it outside your door, just in case you were sleeping.”
“Then how—?” The clearing of Lila’s throat pulls my attention to her. Tight lips and wide eyes are accompanied by her blinking rapidly.
“Should I come back later?” Cooper asks, grabbing my gaze back.
“No. I’m sorry.” Stepping closer, I whisper, “Did you pay for everyone and leave me that tip?”
“You said you’d be fired,” he replies like that is reason enough for him to do something so insane.
“I was exaggerating.” My eyes drift to my friend, who’s now pretending to swoon behind Cooper’s back. “Well, Lila wouldn’t fire me, but . . .” I scan the shop and see Lou staring at us. I look at Cooper, and continue, “The owner might or make me repay what the register was short.” I bite my lip, still in shock over this whole matter.
Tilting his head closer to me, he says, “Now you don’t have to worry.”
“I worry because you gave me, personally, a thousand-dollar tip. That’s crazy, Cooper. You can’t do that—”
“I already did, so we can just move on.”
I search the front of his black wool peacoat for lint or fuzz—something to tell me this guy isn’t as perfect as I think he is—but even his coat fails to give me the evidence I need to convict him of his sins and walk away a free woman.
He smells so good that I find myself leaning in. Latching onto the hem of his coat, I look up at him. “I was hoping you were a figment of my imagination.”
His hands cradle the underside of my wrists, and I hate that my puffy coat is keeping him from touching me. “I’m real, Story.” Lowering his voice, he adds, “Last night . . .”
I’m hanging on his every word. “Yes?” I sound like a hussy in heat. Not that there’s anything wrong with someone who likes casual sex, but I’m just not an expert in that field. Cooper, on the other hand, has me wanting to master in his class.
“Last night was really great.” He seems to catch himself and shakes his head. “Well, other than you getting sick. How are you feeling?” He reaches up but stops and tucks his hands in his coat pocket, straightens his back, and looks around for any witnesses.
Butterflies ravage my stomach as the intimacy from last night extends beyond my little apartment, made its way down the street, and surrounds us now. I lick my lips, feeling better just being close to him. “I’m thinking it was some twenty-four-hour thing. I think my fever is gone, and I’ve gotten my appetite back, so normal?”
“That’s good.” This time he doesn’t hold back. The tips of his fingers graze across my forehead, and he runs them under my chin. “You have color back in your cheeks. Not from a fever or—”
“Or?”
He seems embarrassed by how he smiles but looks away from me and chuckles. “I don’t know. I like to think you were blushing for me.”
“Don’t put it past me. I can’t hide what I’m thinking to save my life.”
“Well, let’s hope it never comes to that.”
I uncrumple the paper in my hand. “Why did you do this? How did you do this? It’s so much money.”
