Nova
For as cleanas the main level of Colt’s house is, the upstairs is equally as cluttered. Dust mites dance through the air as I make my way down the hall. I glance at each bedroom as I pass, doors wide open. They look like they haven’t been used in ages, even the master, which makes me wonder where Colt is sleeping if the beds are all covered in junk? Not junk, but certainly not things that belong on top of a bed.
I let out a long sigh, suddenly aware of the sizable task ahead of me. It seems more efficient if I start at the end of the hall and work my way back toward the staircase. Unlike the other two bedrooms, this door remains closed. I’m reminded of every horror movie I’ve ever seen where the unsuspecting victim dares to open Pandora's box. I hope to God that’s not the case here.
Lord, I’m being silly. I shake off the strange feeling and crack the door open. I gasp when I step inside. It’s not a bedroom at all, but an office. Aside from the dust, its organization surprises me. I guess I chose the right room to start with.
I traipse back to the end of the hall to grab a few boxes and my tape gun. If I work quickly, I can have this room packed up by lunch. A strange thought races through my head. Would Colt be joining me for lunch? I massage my forehead with the tips of my fingers. Why should I even be thinking of having lunch with the man who hired me for my services? This is a business arrangement, and he’s shown no sign of making the situation anything else.
Although I can’t deny the warm wave of heat that flowed through me when we locked eyes downstairs, I shake off the thought and pull my hair into a tight ponytail. I refuse to be sidetracked by his mesmerizing amber eyes, his muscular stature, although it almost seems impossible.
I grab the box and head toward the desk. When I open the top drawer, I’m hit with an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. A framed photo sits facing upward, staring me in the face. With shaking fingers, I reach for it and bring it closer.
The woman in the white dress’ beauty takes me aback. With her long, blonde hair and icy blue eyes, she’s a dead ringer for a supermodel. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, taking in every inch of the photo. An outdoor wedding, a dress that must’ve cost thousands, and the most handsome groom I’ve ever seen. In his charcoal gray tux, Colt wears the same grave expression I’ve come to know him by. I caress the ornate frame, which probably cost more than I paid for my clunker of a car outside. You would think on a man’s wedding day, to the love of his life, no less, that he’d at least smile for the picture.
“What are you doing with that?”
I gasp at Colt’s booming voice. Startled, I turn to face him, and in the process, the frame slips through my fingers and falls to the ground. The glass shatters into pieces.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not sure if I’m more embarrassed or frightened. “I was cleaning out the drawer and found it there.” I reach down to pick up the big shards but wrongly assess their placement. A crimson slit appears where I slice my finger. “Shit,” I mutter.
Colt hulks into the room and is by my side in two strides. He pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and bends down to meet me. “Here,” he says, taking my hand in his and wrapping it up with the silky, navy fabric.
I suck air in through my teeth, turning away as nausea rolls at my guts. “I’m a weakling,” I say, trying to lighten the moment. “The sight of blood usually makes me pass out.”
“Well, don’t look then.” He says, and I meet his glowing gaze, taking in his angular features and square jaw. He won the gene pool lottery, that’s for sure. I nod, grateful that I’m crouched down; in case I do bite it, I don’t have far to fall.
“I’m going to take a peek at it. Turn your head to the side.”
“Okay.” I do as I’m told. A tiny rush of cold air hits the wound. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a reminder that there’s a cut on my finger. I squeeze my eyes tight.
“Oh, it’s just a little cut.” I turn my head back in his direction as he re-wraps my finger. He squints his eyes in concentration, and tiny lines form around his eyes. Mature, I’d place him around forty years old…just a guess. He flicks his eyes toward mine, and my heart stands still. “I’m no doctor, but I think you’ll be fine. I’ll get you a Band-Aid.”
“Thank you,” I say as Colt takes my arm and helps me stand. With him this close to me, I’m reminded of how much bigger he is than me. I’m not a petite woman by any means, but standing next to his tall, muscular frame, I feel like a precious little flower. The thought makes my cheeks flush.
I take my hand back, pressing the handkerchief tight. “You must think I’m a total wimp.” I tease, realizing that I’m totally flirting with a man after shattering his wedding photo. Nice.
“It’s not the first word I think of when I see you.” His serious tone turns my head. I meet his eyes, and my panties dampen. He’s staring at me with an intensity I’m not accustomed to, and I have no idea how to respond to that.
“I—I’ll pay for the frame,” I say, feeling like an idiot the minute the words leave my mouth.
“No need.” His face falls, and he turns toward the door. “As I said, everything goes.”
“Would you like to at least keep the photo?” I ask, mainly out of curiosity. I know people grieve differently, but I would assume a wedding photo isn’t something you just toss, especially if your wife is deceased.
He stops in his tracks. “I said everything.” He calls over his shoulder before heading back out into the hallway, leaving me alone with a pile of shattered glass.