Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (17 page)

“Okay, I guess. I have a headache and my arm hurts; I’m so ready for that pain medicine.” My brief moment of joy evaporates. I hate that she’s in pain. Guilt assaults me. Maybe I should have brought the medicine back to her before going for groceries.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” She follows me into the kitchen and I set the bags on the counter.

“Oh, you didn’t. That’s not what I meant.” She blushes. “Thank you for getting it for me; I appreciate you helping me.” She gives me a small reassuring smile as I hand her the bag.

“Anything, you just let me know, and I’ll get it for you.” And I would. I would drive around the world if she needed me to.

Her smile grows bigger and my heart stutters. Damn, this girl makes me feel funny things.

Blinking, I shake my head and turn back toward the food. “So, I thought I’d make us spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. You know, pasta, comfort food—I’m thinking we can’t really go wrong.” My eyebrows raise with a hopeful expression.

She giggles and climbs up onto a bar stool next to me. “Sounds perfect.”

I grin back at her in relief. “The doctor’s office called; they can squeeze you in at eleven tomorrow,” I say as I move around the kitchen to pull out the necessary pots and pans.

Her bright smile falls a little. “That’s good. I’ll go ahead and book my flight for Wednesday then.” Her voice is timid, unsure. I’m really hoping it’s because she wants to stay longer and not because she dreads getting the cast.

“I’m paying for your flight.” There’s no way I’m letting her do this. Last minute too; it’s not going to be cheap.

She sits up a little straighter, takes a sip of her water, and licks her lips. “You don’t have to do that.”

My eyes narrow and lock on to hers. “Yes, I do.” My tone is a little sharper than it probably should be, but she needs to know this isn’t up for discussion.

A moment of silence passes between us as she stares at me with a blank expression. “Okay. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. This is all my fault.” I dump the ingredients for the meatballs into a bowl and start smooshing them together.

“Not really,” she draws out and her eyes skip over to Whiskey, lying on his bed chewing a toy.

“Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree.” Mangy beast. He must feel us looking at him, lifting his head to see what we’re doing. Ava smiles a little at him. He wags his tail, oblivious to the havoc he’s wreaked.

“Can I help you with dinner?” she looks at my hands as they are covered with meatball mixture.

I give her a look that basically asks if she’s crazy. “No. But I’d love it if you stayed here and talked to me.” I’m giving her an out. If she wants to be alone, she can go and lie down, but I really want her to stay.

“Okay.” There’s no hesitation on her part, and my heart warms. “So, I suppose this is the part of the day where we sit down and tell our life stories.”

I look over at her and see she’s dropped her head and is picking at the bandage on her arm. She looks uncomfortable.

“Is that what you want to do?” I ask her. She pauses and there’s my answer. Most people love to talk about themselves. Why is it that she wants to remain so secretive? I wonder if it has to do with the panic attacks, or something else. I guess she’ll tell me when she’s ready. “How about we break the norm and don’t. I’ve kind of liked getting to know you as just you, without all the things that define you day to day.”

“So you’re saying let’s skip the twenty questions. No discussing backgrounds, careers, et cetera.” Her energy level perks up at the idea of this.

“Yep.” I smile at her and begin to shape the meatballs, tossing them into a large pot.

“I think I like this idea.” She smiles at me and takes another sip of her water.

“I think I like you.”

She freezes and her eyes dart to mine.

I am an idiot.
Way to go, Ash.
Whatever happened to thinking before you speak?

“But you don’t know me,” she says softly.

“Sure, I do.” I smile and she relaxes a little.

“All right, tell me, what do you know? What do you see?” She shifts on the stool and crosses her legs.

“I see a girl who’s thinks exercise is important, as I caught you running—literally—and your body is a testament to that.” My eyes fall over the length of her and then back to her face.

She blushes and narrows her eyes at me.

“You love animals as you have your own dog, and I’ve seen you pet Whiskey more than once already. This also tells me you have a compassionate and forgiving heart. You are fiercely devoted to your friends and them to you, which makes you loyal. You bake, which tells me two things: one, you like to stay in more than go out, and two, you have a sweet tooth and aren’t afraid to eat dessert should it come your way.”

“Hmm . . . observant, aren’t you? Anything else?”

“Well, let’s not forget that you love the mountains and have great taste in music.” I wink at her.

“Yeah, I do have great taste in music,” she says grinning at me. “Okay, maybe you do know me . . . but just a little bit. So if you had to guess, what do you think I do for a living?”

“Well, what if I guess right? Are we breaking the rules?”

She shifts on the seat, thinks about her answer, and then smirks at me. “Nope, I just won’t tell you if you’re right or not.”

“But you’re a terrible liar,” I say with a straight face.

Her jaw drops open. “Why do you say that?”

“Because your face gives you away every time.” I walk to the sink and wash my hands.

“I’ve been told that before, but go ahead, you’ll never figure it out.” She shakes her head at me.

I look her over from head to toe, stalling, and her eyes widen slightly. It’s then I see that the fingers on her left hand have started tapping on the counter. She’s worried that I’ll guess the answer. Strange. I’m starting to wonder if she’s hiding something.

“Hmm. After tasting the food that the three of you whipped up yesterday, I’m going with caterer. The three of you co-own a catering company with someone named Mona.”

She giggles and I love that sound. A smile stretches across her beautiful face.

“Nope, not even close, but what’s your favorite food?” she asks. Her fingers stop tapping and she lays them out flat, still.

“Chicken and dumplings.” I had thought about making this tonight, but really the chicken needs to slow cook all day, whereas this sauce just needs a few hours.

“Wow, such a Southern dish.”

An image of my grandfather smiling and holding a large wooden rolling pin comes to mind, and a pang of grief hits me. He always let me roll out the dough, and never once did he scold me for getting flour on the floor. He would just sweep it up as if it wasn’t the messiest kitchen ingredient ever. It’s been seventeen years, but that doesn’t take away how much he meant to me, or how much I miss him. He was the best.

“My grandfather used to make it for me, it was one of his specialties. He was a big fan of the one-pot dishes and all that—less to wash. Just like with these meatballs.” I hold up the pot and then slide it into the oven.

“You’re roasting them?” she asks.

“Yeah, I turned on the broiler just to brown them and then I’ll put the pot on the stove and add in the sauce. Mix the flavors and all that.” I grab a towel from the counter and wipe my hands off.

“Sounds tasty.” She looks relaxed sitting here . . . and I like it. A lot.

“It is. So, what’s yours?” I move across the kitchen to the pantry and grab the peanut butter and bread.

“Barbeque,” she states proudly, sitting up a little straighter.

“Really?” Reaching into the refrigerator I grab the jelly.

She nods her head, and I move back to the bar next to her to make the sandwich.

“Well, I happen to know the best hole-in-the-wall barbeque place around here. I’ll take you there for lunch tomorrow after the appointment.”

“Seriously, you just made my day.” Her eyes sparkle at me, so large and blue, and have such a calming effect on me. Warmth spreads through me at the thought of making her happy, but then it’s gone. Her day—she wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me. She’d be on her way back to New York.

“What’s your favorite dessert?” she asks, angling her body a little closer to me.

“Don’t hate me, but it’s not cupcakes.” She scrunches her nose up with disapproval. “Apple pie.” I place the sandwich on a plate, cut it in half, and toss the knife in the sink.

Her face smooths out and her head tilts to the side. “What’s your favorite part about it, the pie crust or the apple filling?”

“Apple filling. Warm and gooey, so good.” I push the plate in her direction.

“Challenge issued,” she looks down at the offered plate and then back at me curiously.

“I didn’t challenge you.”

“Yes, you did, and I accept,” she says triumphantly.

Well, this is a new side to her—spunky . . . I like it.

“What’s this for?” she looks at the plate and then back at me.

“You need to eat. You have an empty stomach and that painkiller might not sit well.”

Her eyebrows pop up. “You’re probably right. Thank you.”

“Welcome.” I stretch my arms in front of me on the counter and lean toward her on my forearms.

She takes a bite of the sandwich and with her mouth full asks, “So, what made you decide to buy a place here?”

“Clay and I are from here, well, a little town just east of here.” She pauses midair with the sandwich and looks at me.

“So, you and Clay go way back?” She takes another bite and I can’t help but watch the way her lips wrap around it.

“Yep, I’ve known him since I was thirteen. That’s when my grandfather died. His family became my foster family.” I don’t know what I would have done without Clay and his family. Of all the foster families out there, I was given to them, and every day I am thankful.

She frowns. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t, and it’s fine. They were kind to me, loved me in their own way, I was lucky.” My lips press together and I give her a smile.

“Well, I think it’s beautiful here. I’ve been coming up with Emma for years now, and this lake is one of my favorite places in the world.” Her eyes skip from mine to the window. Can’t say I blame her; I try to look at the lake as often as I can.

“Mine too, but it’s funny, when we were younger I couldn’t wait to get out of here, and now I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t,” she states so matter-of-fact. If only it were that simple. I already know I’m here on borrowed time. Given my affiliation with the label, they’ve turned their head for now, but I know at some point business is going to be affected and I can’t let that happen.

“When I was a kid, once a summer my grandfather used to bring me here to fish. Those memories are my favorite from my childhood. He loved it too. The last summer we came up here, I was sitting in the middle of the lake looking out at the houses, and I made a promise to myself and to him that one day I would own one of them.” Fishing with my grandfather is one of the few things from my childhood that I remember. Sure, images filter in and out, but for some reason, most of it seems blocked.

“That’s an interesting perspective, from the inside looking out.” She finishes the sandwich and wipes her hand across her thigh. Damn, forgot to give her a napkin.

“I guess. Why do you love it here so much?” I’m curious to know. Of all the places imaginable, this girl from NYC loves it here.

“When I moved to the city, I really wasn’t in the best frame of mind. Yeah, I had Emma and classes were going well, but I was nervous and meeting new people was really hard. I mean, you’ve known me for three days and I’ve already had two panic attacks and my ridiculous hair trigger sent my knee straight into your groin.” She looks away, embarrassed, and takes a deep breath. “I was so much worse then. Anyway, by October I was a complete mess, but I couldn’t go home, so Emma brought me here. We stayed for a week and it was just what I needed. After that, we came for Thanksgiving, Christmas break, spring break, and most of the following summer. Circling the date on the calendar gave me something to look forward to and it made living just a little bit easier.”

I want to ask her what happened to make her this way, and why she felt she couldn’t go home, but that’s intrusive and none of my business. It’s too soon.

“Well, I’m glad you love it here.” I pick her plate up and drop it in the sink. Looking back at her, the muscles around her eyes are a little droopy. “Tired yet?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah, I am.” She looks around the living room and spots the couch.

“Come on, I think that painkiller has finally kicked in.” Glancing to the clock, I note the time. In fifteen minutes, I’ll pull the meatballs, add the sauce, and let it simmer for a couple of hours on the stove. “We can watch a movie while you lie down.”

“Okay.” She climbs off the stool, and hugs her arm to her chest.

My lips pinch into a thin line; I hate that she’s in pain because of me.

Moving into the living room, she stretches out on the couch, and I throw a blanket over her.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

Squeezing her foot gently, I give her a small smile, and take my place in my leather chair. Grabbing the remote to turn the TV on, my gaze falls to her as she closes her eyes and rolls over onto her side. Tank hops up next her, cuddles down, and both drift off to sleep.

If I had any doubts before, they’re gone.

I want this girl.

I want her to be mine.

Now, I just need to figure out how.