Page 29 of Tied

She bites her bottom lip and looks down when I nod in response, sparing her the details of that day. “I thought so,” she mumbles softly, then pushes the stray hair behind her ear. When her gaze rises again, there’s a glimmer of defiance and hope battling the disappointment. “Can I see him?” she asks. “Just for a few minutes?”

This girl is getting on my nerves because, seriously, how the hell can I say no? She’s a major block to my usual assholism.

I let out a sigh to let her know exactly how much she’s bothering me and push roughly by her through the doorway on the way to the house. She doesn’t follow me, so I let Poppy out, and he runs directly to her in my workshop like he already knew she was there with his doggy radar.

Ignoring her while she sits with the dog on my garage floor, I go back to my workbench, hoping she’ll just play with the dog for a few minutes and then leave so I can go back to my day in peace. She talks absently to the dog and occasionally to me, but I stay focused on my work, throwing her glances every now and then from behind the curtain of my hair, wondering when she’s going to figure out that I don’t do conversation.

“Is this what you do for work? You make this stuff?” she asks, pointing to the finished rings, bracelets, and belt buckles lined up on one of the workbenches.

I nod, not moving my hair out of my face, afraid she’ll finally come to her senses and see the ugliness that is me and run for the hills.

She stands and takes a closer look at the items. “I really like them. The skulls are a little scary, though.”

When I don’t respond, she resumes her one-sided conversation.

“Last week I started working part-time at that frozen yogurt and ice cream place in town. It’s one of the few places close enough for me to walk to. It’s my first job, and even though it’s only two days a week, it’s kind of scary.” Her eyes squint a little like it hurts her to think about it, to have to feel it. “I guess I’m just not used to being around people yet. I love the bubble tea, though. I drink one every day when I walk back home after work. The lady that owns the shop lets me have one for free.”

My head snaps up. “What the fuck is bubble tea?”

She jumps at the sound of my voice, and I’m equally surprised because usually I have to force words out of my mouth. This time, they just slipped out without any effort.

Her eyes twinkle. “Wow, is that really going to be the first thing you say to me?” she asks.

I wait for her expression to change to one of disgust, fear, or nosy curiosity about the oddness of my voice, but it doesn’t. Instead, a smile crosses her lips, and now my ability to speak has been whisked away by how incredibly beautiful she is when her demons loosen their grip on her. When was the last time a woman genuinely smiled at me?Years.

“Bubble tea is a creamy, cold, sweet drink that has these little things called tapioca bubbles at the bottom of the cup, and youchew on them. They’re squishy. Some are different, and they pop. It’s one of the best things I’ve had since I…” Her voice trails off uneasily. “Since I got back home.”

Strange shit like bubble tea and lattes with fucked-up words for sizes makes me believe hiding away is actually a good choice. What happened to root beer floats and a coffee with extra cream and sugar? And why the hell is she walking to and from town every day? If my memory’s right, that’s how she got kidnapped in the first place.

“Sounds weird,” I reply, but even stranger is how relaxed my throat muscles feel. The words are flowing out naturally, without effort, like they used to before my life went to hell.

“It is,” she agrees. “But it’s such a good weird.” A wistful look settles on her face as she stares off, thinking about her favorite drink. It’s sweet and sad, how something so simple makes her happy, and it almost makes me feel guilty for being drawn to such a bittersweet smile.

I give her ten more minutes, and then I light up a smoke and point to the door.

“What?” She looks back at the door behind her. “You want me to leave?”

I flick off the lights, and she practically runs outside with the dog at her heels, stopping a few feet away to turn back as I lock the door behind us. I didn’t mean to scare her, but at least it got her out.

“Okay.” Her voice is laced with disappointment. “I’ll go. Thank you for letting me see Poppy again.”

I chuckle a little. Before she started dropping by, I was calling him Buddy.I was close.I take a drag on my cigarette and whistle for the dog to follow me into the house. He hesitates halfway between us—looking from her to me, his loyalty torn—then runs back to her.

Little traitor.

She picks him up and carries him to me, her eyes brimming with tears as she places him gently in my arms like a baby, her perfume invading my personal space. She smells of everything soft, feminine, and delicious, but the dark mascara-stained tears tracking down her cheeks tell a far different story.Fuck. The allure of tainted beauty is not a delicacy I can indulge in. No matter how tempting it is.

I used to like to break things and put them back together again, to see how they worked inside. Toys. Engines. Myself. No way am I adding a woman to that list. Especially one who’s already trying to figure out where her bent and twisted pieces are supposed to go.

“Merry Christmas,” she murmurs before she turns away, reminding me that Christmas is just a few days away.

“Happy birthday,” I call after her.

Of course I remembered. It’s my dad’s birthday, too.

CHAPTER 11

Holly

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