Page 62 of Bad At Love

TJ’sbehemoth truck on the driveway brought hot tears to DP’s throat. As did the sight of the red-brick façade with a huge wraparound porch. The rattan rocking chair his dad used to sit in greeted him like an old friend.

Suddenly, he was immensely glad to have gone on an adventure and glad to return home. Only now did he realize how much he’d missed the familiar façade, the house and the sense of rootedness it had always given him. He’d missed his work and his friends. He’d missed his brother and sister and Chaaru. Not that she’d ever been far from his thoughts.

He paid the cabbie and lugged his heavy backpack up the sloping driveway. The main door was half open and he nudged it all the way. And nearly fell on his face when his leg hit a heavy cardboard box.

Rubbing his shin, he glared at the foyer which was full of…boxes. Stacked along the wall next to the mirror, on the floor, some half open, some scattered about, and taped with labels saying storage, donation, library and keepsakes. More stood against the opposite wall of the empty formal dining room.

The room looked expansive without the behemoth, ugly China cabinet and the heavy six-seater dining table he’d been meaning to get rid of for years. His head reeled and for a second, he wondered if he was dreaming.

Had TJ decided to clean out the junk they had amassed for over twenty years? It was the one thing DP had been lazy about. Maggie had even complained that it was ghoulish to have junk from their parents’ time—magazines and clothes and books and even a VCR—still lying around.

For a moment, DP wished he’d taken an extra couple of weeks. The last thing he needed was to deal with this mess. TJ was notoriously good at starting projects and leaving them for him to finish.

Sighing, he maneuvered his way through the maze of boxes and into the open kitchen. More boxes greeted him, pinching the last nerve of his exhaustion. “Christ, TJ! Who the hell said you’re allowed to upend my stuff when I’m not here? You don’t even live here anymore.”

When he finally looked past the horror of a bare wall shining with paint swatches, it was to find someone who wasn’t TJ staring at him with a horrified expression.

His heart gave a fierce kick in his chest.

Dressed in faded denim overall cut-offs that showed off her thick thighs, one strap hanging down to reveal a hot pink sports bra, Chaaru stood in the middle of his home. Between the ankle socks and the messy hair in a bun, sweat dewing her skin, she was a feverish, technicolor dream amidst the desert land of his life.

DP blinked and rubbed his eyes, but she was still there with a roll of duct tape in one hand and industrial-sized scissors in the other. Her lovely, lush mouth fell into an O, her eyes greedily sweeping over him.

He was suddenly aware of his thick beard that he hadn’t shaved in three weeks, the dry feel of the inside of his mouth, and the electricity running through his muscles, making a mockery of the exhaustion. Oh, and this…feverish need to fling himself over the granite island to take her down to the floor with him. Before she disappeared.

“Char?” he said, his brain unable to make any more words.

“Hey,” she said, licking her lower lip. As if afraid of spooking him, she put down the tape and scissors with extreme care. “TJ said you wouldn’t be back for two more weeks. Did I,” her trepidation hit him like a ton of bricks, “get that wrong?”

Why was she so wary of him?

He shook his head. “No, I did tell him that.”

She nodded. “So what happened?”

“I got tired.” Heat crept up his neck and filled his cheeks. Goddamn it, why was he so nervous? “I mean, the initial itinerary was good. The views and the trek and the camping, it was magnificent. I added on a few more weeks but the second group wasn’t to my liking. And the longer I stayed, the more I began to feel cut off.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “From?”

“From you all. I missed everyone.”

“We missed you,” she said in a soft whisper. Then, as if she’d said too much, she moved to the sink, filled the kettle and plugged it in.

There was a frenzy to her movements as she ducked into the refrigerator, pulled out eggs and beat them briskly into a cup. “I’ll have ginger chai and an omelet for you in five minutes. Do you want to lie down in the guest bedroom down here?”

DP licked his lips and dragged his gaze upward from the curve of her ass. His hands felt empty while his heart felt overwhelmingly full. “I’m not hungry. For food, at least.”

She met his gaze over her shoulder, letting him see the naked want there, even as she poured the eggs onto the pan. The sizzle of the pan matched his thrumming need to touch her and devour her. Thank God she still wanted him. He could work with that.

Without saying anything, she grated ginger into the boiling water on the stove, added tea leaves and a splash of milk, and spooned jaggery into waiting cups. He watched her, with infinite satisfaction, as she moved around his kitchen as if she belonged there.

God, how perfectly she belonged there.

With brisk efficiency that came of her work, she scraped cheese onto the omelet, folded it up the way he liked and turned off the stove.

He could feel the tension he’d carried ever since he’d landed siphoning out of him, leaving excitement behind. His heart thumped dangerously fast.

“What’s wrong with my bedroom?” he said, staying on this side of the large island.

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