Chapter 13
Large crate secured in both hands, Zoe rang Drake’s doorbell with her elbow and blew the hair out of her eyes. After she’d visited Mama this morning, Zoe had run to the store to pick up a few things based off her conversation with Drake last night. A bead of sweat, courtesy of the warm day, trailed down her back while she waited.
The door swung open and he stood there in a loose pair of black nylon shorts and a red tee. He surveyed her load and lifted his brows. “What’s that?”
“It’s called heavy. Give me a hand.”
Without a word, he took the crate as if it weighed nothing and held the door for her with his foot. Once inside, he set the package down.
The dogs came running in, tails wagging. Plopping to the floor to show them some love, she cooed and scratched their ears. “Who’s the biggest, sweetest furbabies? Yes, you are.”
Drake crossed his arms. “Do you talk like this around infants, too? It’s disturbing.”
“I’ve talked to animals the same way all my life. Identical to how I converse with men—slowly and with as few syllables as possible.” She hugged the dogs, getting kisses in return. “Isn’t that right?”
“I’ll try not to take offense,” he drolled.
“Your choice.” Rising, she brushed the tufts of dog hair from her clothes and glanced around. She nodded her approval. “I like it.”
The furniture had been delivered, and the dark beige of the sectional and chair went well with the burgundy walls and stone fireplace. The tables matched the beams. The kitchen table looked like a polished black angular design that seated eight. All he needed were some pictures.
“Yeah?” He took in the room, then looked at her with a warm smile. “Totally different, isn’t it?”
“That’s what you were after.” She brushed the hair off her cheek. “If you look in my car, there’s a surprise for you.”
His expression turned skeptical. “The kind that will bite or poison me?”
“I can do those things, but I’m right here. I think you’re safe.”
“Right.” He disappeared outside and came back holding the eleven-by-ten framed canvas of her lily pad painting. Kicking the door shut, he eyed the print, a smile curving his lips. “Forgot how cool this actually was.” Glancing up, his grin widened and the dimple emerged. “It’s awesome, Zoe.”
Heat infused her cheeks, but she nodded. “Thank you.”
Setting the painting aside, he nudged the crate with his foot. “Is this for upstairs?”
“Yep.”
“Going to tell me what it is?”
“Nope. But you can carry it up to your room for me.” She batted her eyelashes and grinned with feigned innocence.
“That look is more disturbing than the baby-speak.” With a grunt, he hefted the crate once more and ascended the stairs.
She followed and did a double-take as he set the load on his bed. He’d painted his bedroom. Everything else was exactly the same, but he’d done the walls and ceiling in the dark gray-blue tone he’d picked.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She turned to face him, disappointed he’d started without her. “This was supposed to be my deal.”
“I know, but it didn’t sit right having you do the whole room.” He cleared his throat and gave her a tentative side-glance. “Are you mad?”
“Are you still standing?”
“Good point.” He rubbed his neck. “The guestroom is done, too.”
He gave insomnia a new name. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Couple hours.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Do you want to see the other room?”
“Sure.”
She followed him down the hall and stopped over the threshold. She’d been right. It looked like a completely different room and bore no resemblance to the awful hospice situation that had plagued it before. The army-ish green was a color Heather never would’ve chosen and went with the leaf design quilt on the full-size bed. Still, more could be done. But she’d tackle that when he left.
“Okay, downstairs with you.” At his blank expression, she waved her hand in dismissal. “I’ve got stuff to do. You leave.”
“What more is there to do?”
She pushed him toward the exit. “Out. And don’t come upstairs unless I tell you it’s okay.”
In the hall, he planted his feet. “Zoe.” He sighed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. He fingered the purple strands, gaze trained on the motion. “I hate to say this, and I’ll probably regret it, but I like it when you’re bossy.”
Oh, she could do so much with that little tidbit. “You don’t say.”
Amusement in his eyes, he pressed his lips together in an obvious attempt to fight a grin. “Already regretting it.”
She hummed. “More on that later.”
With a nod, his smile slipped. “Fine.” He kissed her forehead, completely surprising her with the softness of the act, and went downstairs.
Heading back to Drake’s bedroom, she locked the door behind her and surveyed the situation. The room was easily twenty-by-twenty with a walk-in closet and adjoining bath on one end and a patio door to a balcony on the other. He’d certainly saved her a lot of work, but the place still had too many traces of the old space.
She emptied the contents of the crate onto his bed and collected the photos from the dresser, setting them in the now empty tote. From there, she grunted and growled her way through moving the ginormous king-size bed to the opposite wall, and then did the same with the dresser. Brushing her hands together, she nodded. Much better.
After taking down the old curtains and putting up the new ones he’d bought, she set out the white birch candles she’d found at the store and arranged them on the dresser. Much, much better.
Last night, she’d thought about bringing him another of her paintings to hang on the wall, but decided a mural would totally transform the room. Nothing crazy or monstrous, just a few white birch trees to match the candles. Besides, those trees were her specialty and she could whip them out pretty fast.
With a pencil, she sketched out one on either side of the dresser, making sure the leaves went up onto the ceiling, and then did another to the right of the patio door in the corner. Mixing paint, she got lost in the act of creating, losing herself in the bend and flow of the brush, the scent of acrylic, and the merge of color.
She had no idea how long she’d been at it, but after she finished, Drake’s laugh caught her attention. She walked to the balcony door and gazed down at his yard.
The dogs were running around, chasing each other and a ball. Drake had taken off his shirt, and a light sheen of sweat glistened his olive skin. Sinewy muscle shifted as he moved in his easy athletic grace. God, the man was a sight. Six pack abs, ropey forearms, slight bulge of bicep, thick thighs, narrow waist.
It was the genuine smile on his face that had her attention most of all. He’d been like that when he was younger. Not as daredevil as Cade or carefree as Flynn, but Drake had an allure all his own. Quiet confidence, avid compassion, dry humor. And a killer grin. Her chest cavity expanded just seeing it again, like an old friend who’d been away.
Moses, his German Shepherd, was six years old and had been Drake’s trusty companion through some dark times. He loved that dog and took it nearly everywhere with him. Cyprus, the Pitbull rescue, was only about two and had twice as much energy. They seemed to get along great. They listened to Drake’s commands as he teased them with the ball.
There. Yes, there. Drake laughed again, this time throwing his head back. She sighed in utter contentment. His black hair had navy hints in the sun and a slight wave toward the ends. She’d loved the soft thickness of it in her hands as they’d kissed. How she’d missed this side of him.
With regret, she moved away from the balcony and tossed out the leftover paint. She brought the tote into the hallway and stopped outside the guestroom. On instinct, she rearranged the furniture in this room, too, then hung the painting to finish things off. Happy with her work and that he’d gotten the change he’d needed, Zoe headed downstairs and washed her hands.
On the island counter were a couple of photo albums and the old mismatched frames from the living room mantle. It looked like he’d already picked out what pictures he’d wanted, so she set them in the frames for him. Cade and Avery kissing at their wedding. Flynn and Gabby sharing a chair in her living room—her mid-laugh, him nuzzling her neck. A great shot of his parents on their front porch. Avery’s daughter, Hailey, holding her yellow lab puppy, Seraph. The three boys together by the riverbed when Drake was roughly ten years old.
And…Zoe. A close-up picture of her with a paintbrush in her mouth, a plethora of colorful splatter on her face, eyes wide in mischief. Heather had taken it at Zoe’s old apartment the year she and Drake had gotten engaged. Heather had stopped by to hang out, and Zoe had been finishing a painting.
Zoe swallowed past the lump in her throat, missing her friend so bad she thought she’d crack in two. She’d gotten over Heather’s death, had moved past it, but sometimes a punch of longing would hit out of nowhere and it was just like the day she’d died all over again. Sighing, she looked for a picture of Heather, but the only one he’d set out was of her and Zoe eating a popsicle in Mama’s backyard when they were kids.
Moving into the living room, she dug through the crate and found a picture of the whole gang, minus Avery, outside the clinic, taken the year before Heather died. Avery hadn’t moved to town yet. Zoe had told Drake not to erase Heather from the house completely, and this was a non-couple photo, plus it had Brent in it.
Zoe arranged the photos on the mantle, put away the albums, and then stood in front of the fireplace looking at his memories.
The back door opened and closed. Dog nails skittering across the floor followed. Cyprus and Moses nudged her leg, and she absently petted them. Drake had put his shirt back on. A crime, that.
He glanced at her and then the photos. “That’s my favorite picture of you. Cade calls that your shit’s-gonna-hit-the-fan face.”
She laughed. “I remember when Heather took that. She kept bugging me to finish painting so we could watch Practical Magic. Again.”
Blowing out a sigh, he glanced around. “I can throw burgers on the grill for dinner.”
Guess he wanted her to stay. “You cooked last night. I can find something to whip together. Why don’t you look upstairs while I hunt in your fridge?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough work?”
“Said the man who stayed up all night painting.” She crossed her arms. “Why couldn’t you sleep, anyway?” He’d had bouts of restlessness after Heather died, but he’d been better lately. According to him, he’d get at least six hours a night.
Expression stoic, he stared at her. His gaze drifted over her hair, her face, and finally met hers. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
The air seeped from her lungs. “Oh.” Was it hot in here? Yes, it was. Or perhaps he hadn’t meant that as a good thing. Were they moving too fast? They’d only kissed a couple times, but last night involved hands and tongue and… It was definitely hot in here. She shouldn’t be doing this with him anyway. She’d helped him with the house, it was time to back away. “I should go home. The stuff I removed from your room is in that crate. You can take it to Heather’s folks or store it. Up to you—”
“I kept thinking about how you felt pressed against me and the wild way you made my heart pound. Honestly, Zoe, I didn’t think the organ worked anymore. Then I kissed you and now I can’t shut off the switch you flipped.”
Heaven help her. She spun on her heel and made haste for the kitchen. “I’ll get dinner. You check out the upstairs.”
His quiet laugh disappeared as he climbed the staircase.
She stuck her head in the freezer to cool down, then searched his fridge. He had the makings for quesadillas, so she started dicing chicken and grilling it in a skillet. She spread shredded cheddar and chicken inside tortillas, browned them evenly on both sides, and kept going until she had a decent stack, then cut them into wedges. Finished, she set out salsa, sour cream, and paper plates.
Except Drake hadn’t come back downstairs. It had been about thirty minutes since she’d started cooking. It didn’t take that long to glance at two rooms.
She eyed the dogs sitting obediently at her feet. “Think he took a nap?”
Concern gelling in her stomach, she headed upstairs. Maybe he was rearranging things or something. Perhaps taking a shower.
But when she got to his bedroom, he was doing neither of those things. Instead, he stood smack in the center of the room between his bed and the dresser, not one muscle moving. Hands at his sides, head cocked, he remained still as stone with his back to her as if completely unaware of where or even who he was.
Worry ratcheted to an ulcerative pain. “Drake?” Guilt shoved around in her chest and clamped her airway. He hated the change. She’d broken him. She was supposed to be helping, and she’d done the opposite.
Slowly, he turned to face her. Panting shallow breaths, he shook his head. His forehead creased, his jaw opened, and… His eyes were red-rimmed. Shiny. With tears. Looking shell-shocked, his gaze pleaded with her for something. Anything.
“Shit,” she breathed. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll change it all back. I promise. Easy as—”
With a violent shake of his head, he made a sound like a trapped animal and ate the distance between them in three steps. Hauling her against him, he hugged her hard enough to empty her lungs and lift her feet clean off the floor.
“Zoe…” He cupped the back of her head and buried his face in her neck. The arm around her back cinched. “Christ, thank you. It doesn’t even look like the same room. The guestroom, too.” His breath hitched, ruffling her hair. “Thank you.”
Unsure what to do, she rested her cheek against his temple and wove her hands through his hair. He shook for the briefest of moments, and she knew he was fighting more tears. She stayed silent, rubbing his back and massaging his scalp and letting him collect himself. Meanwhile, her soul bled out and she was pretty sure she’d fallen face-first for him the rest of the way.
He kissed her cheek, her temple, her forehead, where he rested his own against hers. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”
She eased away to look in his now dry eyes. “What does that mean?”
“When she died, Heather made me promise to take care of you.” His smile ripped a hole in her heart with the napalm of tenderness. “I used to think you were too independent for that, but I was wrong. You were too busy taking care of me for me to notice I’d neglected my promise.”
Sweet Lord. Closing her eyes, she fought to resurrect the strength he thought she owned.
Heather had made Zoe promise that very thing about Drake the day before she’d passed away. To take care of him. And in her typical best friend fashion, it had been Heather’s way of telling Zoe, telling Drake, that she was okay with them being together. As friends or as more, she’d subtly given her blessing to two people who had been nowhere near ready to hear it. The knowledge didn’t erase all the other why-nots to get involved with him, but it eased Zoe’s guilt to a degree.
Opening her eyes, she smiled. “Friends take care of each other. There’s no score sheet here.”
He cupped her cheek, ran the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. Then he kissed her. Soft, sweet, and with total abandon. He explored her mouth until there was no cavern unchartered and no breath left to collect herself. And then he did it again.
“Drake,” she murmured when he pulled back. They needed a garden hose to cool down. “First, you’re crushing my boobs, which are one of my best features. And two, the chicken quesadillas are probably cold.”
With a quiet laugh, he set her down. “I agree on your first point and let’s remedy the second. I have this little thing called a microwave.”