Honey held his hand up, fist clenched just inches from the door he was about to knock on, Elle’s door, but then let it drop with a sigh. He hated apologizing. It was something that he’d never been good at as a child, or a teenager, or now that he was an adult. He just didn’t like admitting that he was wrong.
But you were wrong, asshole, a voice said inside his head, now man up and fucking say you’re sorry.
He remembered the scene yesterday at the farm. Joel had asked him to run some errands, and he’d been drawn by the noises coming from the green house. He’d frozen when he’d walked in and seen Elle standing there, the last person he would have expected to find hauling buckets of compost. Well, not so much hauling as…dropping. Directly on top of herself. And in a dress, no less. And a cardigan.
Honey shook his head, a lopsided smile drawing across his face as he remembered the picture she’d painted, all feminine outrage as she rolled around in the pile of muck. He didn’t understand it. Even literally covered in shit, she’d still been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.
He’d just been trying to help, really, but his temper had snapped a little when she’d refused to let him. And he hated that almost more than he hated apologizing. But he knew he owed it to her. Especially if he was going to keep working at the farm in his off hours. It would be torture. It would be heaven.
Stop being an asshole, that little voice said again and he tried to ignore it. But he couldn’t ignore the twinge of guilt that had brought him to where he was now, standing on Elle’s doorstep in front of her brightly painted, cheerful yellow door. He didn’t know why that would surprise him. It suited her.
Finally, he raised his hand again and knocked, spurred on not as much by the need to apologize as the other need that boiled through him. The need to see her. To just…be around her. He’d never felt that for another woman before and it made his skin itch, it made him shift uncomfortably on the pristine step waiting for her to answer.
He waited. And waited some more. He looked towards the driveway in confusion but her car was parked there, the little white and red compact thing that couldn’t go more than forty miles an hour by the looks of it. With growing impatience, he knocked again. But still no answer.
With a sigh, he started to turn around but stopped himself. Fuck it. He hadn’t driven all the way out here just to walk away when there was a little hitch in the plan. Resolved, Honey spun himself back around and grabbed the door knob. It turned with the slightest pressure and his eyes widened in surprise as the door swung open, unlocked.
He shook his head again. What was she thinking leaving the damned thing open? Anyone could walk in. A criminal. A murderer! Silently fuming he walked inside, closing the door softly behind him and throwing the lock with a scowl. He’d have to teach her how to look after herself better. With the intent set in his mind he took a step forward, and froze once more.
He was stopped in his tracks as he looked around wide-eyed at her house. It was exactly as he would have imagined it: warm, inviting, with the smell of freshly baked cookies and spice permeating the air. To his left was a small kitchen with tidy white cabinets and a small bar height table that looked like it would only fit one. Everything was neat. Everything was in its place. It all screamed of her.
He scanned to his right, into a small living room area and walked closer as something caught his eye. It was a small framed photograph hanging on the wall. It was the only photo that he could see in the whole house and he leaned close to get a better look.
It was her, Elle. She must have been only six or seven when the photo was taken. The little girl in the picture was standing proudly in between a beaming couple holding what looked to be a 2nd place ribbon. He realized then how little he knew about her. The couple in the photo must be Elle’s parents. He wondered why she didn’t have any more pictures out. He wondered why she never mentioned them.
Not that you’ve been particularly forthcoming about your own past, that soft inner voice whispered and he shrugged it off. She didn’t want to hear about the twisted, troubled path that had lead him to where he was, and she sure as hell didn’t need to know about just how fucked up his life had been before the Dirty Cruisers, and Joel, had saved him.
He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with his train of thought. Slowly, he turned around, opening his mouth to speak, to call out for her, but just then the most beautiful sound fell on his ear. It was soft, almost ethereal, as if he was dreaming it but it drew him forward, his feet moving almost of their own accord as he searched for the source of the music.
Honey halted once more as he reached the back room. The walls were plastered with sheet music and posters from old concerts, and in the very middle stood a large, glossy black piano that hid him from view as he stopped just inside the doorway. He eased around slowly, softly, so as not to disturb the magnificent music coming from the instrument and stopped once more when he could finally see her.
His warm eyes widened slightly in surprise to see Elle, her eyes closed in rapture as her fine boned fingers flew across the keys as if by magic. Sitting next to her on the long piano bench was a small boy, probably no more than nine or ten and he stared at her with awe shining in his eyes.
Honey knew exactly how he felt. That same awe swept over him, carried by the crash and wave of the music as it reached its crescendo, drawing him into another place, another time. And for a brief moment as he watched her, he felt transformed as well. His eyes traced over her, drinking her in, and he was lost.
***
Lightness. That’s all Elle felt as her fingers moved from memory over the keys of her most prized possession. It was the piano that her parents had given her after she’d won a piano competition. The last gift they ever gave her. Sometimes she hated the thing, and the painful memories it drew up. But other times, like now, it felt like a pure extension of her.
As the music flew from her fingertips, her eyes closed tight as the last few notes of ‘Clare De Lune’ fell softly into the air like feathers. Slowly, she blinked them open, taking a moment to readjust to the world around her again, the real world, as she nodded down at the small boy sitting next to her.
“See, Peter,” she said, gathering up the loose sheets of music from the piano’s small shelf, “That’s how ‘Clare De Lune’ is supposed to be played. It’s fluid.”
“Like water?” her student asked, looking up at her and she could see the confusion in his eyes.
“Yes, like water. Because–”
“Because it should be easy,” a voice interrupted from behind the piano and Elle jumped in surprise before stiffening like a post as recognition filled her. “It should just flow from your fingertips. Like Elle.”
“Miss Watson,” the boy corrected, looking curiously at the man who had just he stepped around, finally revealing his presence. He nodded with a roguish grin.
“Right, Miss Watson. Sorry.”
“But Miss Watson plays like…like magic. I can’t do that,” Peter said, a soft pout in his voice and Elle smiled softly down at him, trying to ignore her fluttering pulse.
“You will, Peter. Someday. You just have to keep practicing.” She ruffled his hair fondly, “And keep coming to lessons.”
“Yes, Miss Watson,” he said, gathering up his folder full of sheet music as a horn honked outside. “That’s my mom. I gotta go. See you next week!” And with that, the boy was off, tearing towards the front door. Elle had to fight the urge to call him back, to keep him there as a buffer between her and the man who was now staring at her, his gaze warm and wondering.
“See you next week, Peter!” she called after him. Well, if she didn’t have anything to distract him, at least she could ignore him. And she set about doing just that as she tidied up the already perfectly straight music books and dusted invisible flecks of dirt from the keys of the piano.
“You can’t just ignore me, Elle,” Honey said on a sigh as he walked closer and she realized he was right. It was impossible to pretend that he wasn’t there. Her pulse was going mad, her heartbeat racing like a speeding train and those damn butterflies where causing chaos in her stomach.
So she did the only thing that she could. She threw her shoulders back, tilted up her chin, and turned to him, “What are you doing here, Honey?” she demanded, “How do you even know where I live?”
Honey shrugged, unabashed, “I knew you and Carla were neighbors. I got Carla’s address from Joel. I lied and told him–It doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, coming closer, close enough to take the seat on the bench next to her where Peter had just been. But it was a hell of a lot more crowded with Honey’s body so close to hers, their thighs pressed together and his heat enveloping her like a warm blanket.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, fighting the breathlessness in her voice, “Why are you here?”
Honey looked at her for a long moment, just looked, and she swore she could see his thoughts flickering in the warm, melting depths of his dark eyes.
“I just…well, to be honest…damn, this is always so hard for me,” he muttered the words, jumping to his feet and pacing a few steps in agitation.
“What is?”
“This.” He bit off with a sigh, finally turning to face her again, “I’m…sorry.”
Elle stared at him for a long moment, slightly shocked by his words. “What was that?”
“Damn it, Elle,” he muttered again, once more taking the seat next to her, “I’m sorry, okay? For what happened yesterday. At the farm. With the pile of–”
“Yes, I remember. Thanks,” Elle said sharply, interrupting him and Honey just shrugged.
“I just thought, since we’ll be working together at the farm that–”
“Wait, working together?”
“Yeah. I thought Carla told you. I’ll be working there on my off hours–”
‘She did, but…she told me that you would barely be there.”
“Well, I’ll probably be there most of the days that you’re working. They need the help and I can–”
“So we’ll be working together,” Elle said faintly, more to herself than to him, “Nearly every day.”
“Would you stop interrupting me?” Honey growled the words at her, drawing her gaze up to his and it was instantly trapped in their dark, mysterious depths. “I just wanted to, you know, extend an olive branch. Because every time we’re in the same room for more than five minutes it seems like we end up arguing.”
By the end of his sentence, his voice had dropped an octave, the low, rumbly sound vibrating over her and sending moisture pooling low and hot. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but then he was there, his mouth hard and needy on hers. Desire burned through her as his kiss deepened, for a single moment letting herself melt against him but then she remembered the last time. What had happened. How she’d lost control.
“No,” with a hand on his shoulder she pushed him back, standing up to put more distance between them, “No, Honey.”
“Why do you always push me away?” he bit out the words and she glared back at him.
“Why do you try to win every argument by kissing me?”
“Oh, I’d like to do a hell of a lot more than just kiss you,” Honey growled, rising to his own feet as he faced her. He opened his mouth to say something more but she shook her head, cutting him off as she pointed towards the door.
“Go, Honey. Just…get out of here and leave me alone.” Anger and frustration and need and desire roiled uncomfortably inside her and she prayed silently that he would just do as she asked. Because she was terrified of what would happen if he tried to kiss her again. Not of Honey, but of herself. Her own weakness.
He stared at her for a long moment, their gazes clashing like fireworks but finally he turned, and without another word, he left.