Chapter Thirty-Two

Now

I’m home sipping on a cup of coffee when my phone rings. I ignore it. I’m not interested in visiting with anyone. Mason’s in New York. Some huge gallery noticed his work and flew him out. He was excited, telling me it might be his big break. He invited me to come, but I’ve only been at my job a couple of months. I don’t want to take time off.

I cringe as I tell him that. I never wanted work to consume me, to take over my life. And just like that I turn down a free trip to New York . . . so I can work. What’s wrong with me?

My phone rings again, and I ignore it. I mope. There isn’t a reason for me to act this way. I don’t understand. Audrey’s busy this weekend, so it’ll be a good time to paint my living room.

I love to paint. It makes things fresh and new, a cheap makeover. My dad let me paint my room often. For fifteen dollars I made a crappy room come to life, made it look and smell great.

I went through pink phases, blue phases, even a black and white phase. I finally settled into more neutral colors. But my dad had never minded, had always helped me, and had told me it was stunning when I finished.

I don’t have the proper motivation this morning. When my phone rings one more time, I turn it to silent. I want to finish my coffee, then go to the hardware store to pick out paint. Maybe I’ll go back to pink. A subtle pink might look pretty.

There’s a knock at my front door. Irritated, I look up. It’s too early for someone to stop by. I’m in my favorite pink robe and not much more. UPS is early. Mason gets deliveries all the time and I’m used to it.

I wait a bit, wanting the driver to leave before I grab the package. I take my cup to the counter and start a fresh pot of coffee then finally go to the front door. When I open it, there isn’t a package, and the doorway isn’t empty.

Kaden Alexander stands there, looking far too beautiful in a pair of . . . sweats and a T-shirt. I’m so stunned by his casual appearance it takes anything I might say right out of my mouth.

His eyes travel my body from head to toe before coming back up. His gaze heats as he meets my eyes. I tug on the sash of my robe, tightening it, making sure I’m covered. I feel as if I don’t have a stitch of clothing on.

“Good morning,” he says in a low, deep voice smooth enough to frost a cake. It doesn’t matter what he says just as long as he speaks.

“What are you doing here?” I ask when I come to my senses.

It’s wrong to have him at my house, so wrong. It feels like I’m doing something wrong. I remember how I felt when I found Bella in my home. And I’m fifty percent sure nothing went on between her and Mason. But something has happened between Kaden and me. And now he’s standing at my doorstep. I can’t invite him in.

“You’re stunning,” he breathes. He doesn’t answer my question, just devours me with his eyes. I want to tell him he is the beautiful one. Even out of his perfectly tailored suits he’s incredible, maybe even more so.

It takes me a moment to realize he’s most likely been working out or taking a run. I don’t want to ask. But why is he at my door at nine in the morning?

“We have a work event tonight. I tried to call you, but you ignored me.” I seem to be moving slowly this morning. I can’t process his words.

“A work event? Jenny didn’t say anything was going on this weekend.” I wrack my brain to see if I somehow missed something.

“This came up last minute,” he says. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“No. We both know that’s not right.”

He smiles. “Yeah, I don’t think I can continue keeping my hands off you. I don’t want to do that here.”

He isn’t holding anything back anymore. At least he’s honest. I’m not doing the same — not with him, Mason, or myself.

“What’s the work event?” I ask.

“It’s a dinner with clients. They set up the event. I have to make an appearance.” He shifts, moving a little closer. I’m not retreating.

“Why do I need to come?” I ask.

He raises a brow. “Do you have a problem with after-hour work?” I feel scolded.

“No, of course not.”

“Good. Be ready at eight and dress up.” He turns and begins walking away. I want to call out to him, ask for more information, but I can’t find my voice.

I stand in the doorway and watch him go. It’s a beautiful sight. The sweats hug the muscles of his ass. He has powerful legs. He walks with confidence no matter what he wears, no matter where he is. Still, he seems out of place in my Martha Stewart neighborhood.

He climbs into a shiny black SUV, looks back at me, waves, then drives away. I stare at the car until it’s completely out of sight. What just happened?

My neighbor steps outside to pick up her newspaper, her eyes following the SUV before she turns and smiles at me, giving a wave.

“Good morning, Miranda. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she calls out. That snaps me out of my haze.

“Yes, Betty, it certainly is.” I force a smile to my lips as I grab my own paper. I’m not interested in reading it, but I need a reason for standing here gaping at the road.

“What are you doing today?” Betty asks. It isn’t that the neighbors are nosy, it’s what we always do in this neighborhood. We share, we visit, and we help each other when help is needed.

I smile. I’m not sure what I’m doing. Going to a dinner, apparently. But that isn’t until later.

“I’m going to do some painting,” I tell her. “I’m ready for a change.” I am ready for change.

“Oh, that’s always pleasant. Do you need any help?” The offer is genuine and she certainly can help me, but she has things to do herself. I smile in appreciation.

“No, I’m going to turn my music up and get dirty.” She laughs.

“I completely understand. I’m going to do the same and drive Mr. Edwards crazy because I’m doing it while I work in my garden.” She chuckles again. Mr. Edwards is a grumpy old man who’s deemed himself the neighborhood watch patrol. He shakes his head in disapproval so much that most of us have decided to have a bobblehead doll made for him. He won’t get the joke, but it’s a fun thought.

“Then we’re both going to have a wonderful day. Take care,” I say.

We say goodbye and each go into our houses. It’s time to get ready for the day. I have eleven hours until I see Kaden again. Maybe I’ll be somewhat normal by then. Doubtable, but I can hope.