With steaming cup in hand and a few shortbread cookies on a paper towel to accompany it, I settle onto the couch to fire up my Kindle. Maybe getting immersed in a good book will help take my mind off my problems.
Mainly, how a gorgeous hockey star rocked my world a bit earlier, and how I don’t even know how to deal with it.
I flip through my to-be-read list, purposely staying away from romances. I don’t want anything to potentially make me swoon with possibility.
A knock on my apartment door startles me, but I swing my legs off my couch, figuring it’s probably Mrs. Filmore from next door, bringing over some new baked goods recipe she’s tried out. Her husband died last year, and she moved into the apartment next to mine, wanting to downsize and be closer to her daughter and grandkids, who actually live not too far from my parents’ house.
I swing open the door, eager to see Mrs. Filmore because she’s an excellent baker, but am stunned stupid when I see Rafe standing there with two grocery bags in hand.
I left him at his parents’ house not more than an hour and a half ago. There was no kiss goodbye, only a promise to call me later. I didn’t know what to—or if I should—read into that. The kiss would have implied some lingering affection; the lack of implying the sex was a one-time-only thing, and perhaps a mistake. Yet the promise to call spoke to wanting to see me again. Or maybe we’d just go back to being tentative friends.
Ugh. So confusing. In the moment, the only thing I can think to say is, “What are you doing here?”
“I missed you, too,” he replies with a sly grin, pushing his way into my apartment.
“Why don’t you come on in?” I mutter sarcastically and close the door, noting how good he smells as he passes me. “But, seriously...why are you here?”
Rafe takes a moment to survey my small apartment and then moves into the kitchen. He holds up the grocery bags. “I thought we could hang. I brought all the makings for tacos, and we can watch movies or something. Really great apartment, by the way. It’s totally you.”
I pad across the small living area and rest my forearms on the counter that separates it from the kitchen. He starts unloading the bags—ground beef, lettuce, tomatoes, a six-pack of beer.
“Dad’s sleeping, and Mom’s doing some spring cleaning,” he explains as he moves to put the items in my fridge. “She shooed me out of the house, and I thought we could hang.”
“Hang?” I ask skeptically. What does that even mean?
And then it dawns on me.
“Oh,” I drawl in amusement. “You want sex again?”
Rafe pops straight up, looking at me over the refrigerator door, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “You offering?”
“Um,” I reply, unsure of myself.
He grins at me. “As much as you totally rocked my world today at the pond, Poppy, I really just thought we could hang out. Get to know each other again.”
My eyebrows draw inward, and I’m more confused now than ever. I rocked his world? Really?
Why I flush with pride is beyond me, but what makes a girl feel good is what makes a girl feel good.
Rafe shuts the fridge and moves around the kitchen counter to me. He takes my hand in his, covers it with his other, and brings them to his chest, his expression somber. “I know I can’t possibly hope for you to understand what I did to you eight years ago, and I know it’s likely a lot of wishful thinking that you could forgive me completely. But right now, we reconnected, and I want to see where this goes. Today with you has been the best day since I found out about my dad. I guess I just want more of it.”
I’m drowning in his eyes and in his words. He’s saying all the right things, and yet I can’t let go of the feeling that drowning equals danger. He hurt me so badly before, and I know how easy it would be to fall for him again. I also know how quickly he could break my heart once more.
“You said you still care for me.” He references the conversation we had at the pond while sitting in her vehicle. And I realize I do. I really do. I meant that.
“I’m scared, Rafe,” I finally admit to him. “I don’t think you’ll ever understand what you did to me by leaving me behind without any explanation. Yes, you crushed me, but you also killed my self-esteem because I didn’t know what I did wrong.”
“You did nothing wrong,” he assures me.
I nod. “Yes, you said that, and I believe you. But that doesn’t negate all the work I had to do to build myself back up. I’m never going to put myself in a position again to be hurt like that. And, well...if you did it to me once, you could do it again.”