Page 23 of Pictures in Blue
I squint against her white crocheted cardigan, the light reflecting off it making it too bright for my sore eyes. Underneath she wears a light blue button-up and a tan, ankle-length skirt. The older ladies in this town are the pinnacle of grandmotherhood and something about that brings me a world of comfort. Every time I find myself in their presence, the urge to embrace myself in the biggest grandmotherly hug is overwhelming. Something tells me that if I did do that, none of them would even flinch.
“Do you have any aspirin or something?”
“Sure thing, honey,” She says and without hesitation, she grabs two pills from an aspirin bottle from behind the desk and hands them to me. I take a swig from my water bottle and place the pills in my mouth, swallowing and hoping they kick in fast.
“Thanks, Cordie. My growing migraine appreciates you. And so do I.”
“You having company?” I ask, motioning to the two cups of coffee on the desk and a bag that I am sure is filled with mouth-watering pastries from Fran’s.
“No,” she gives me a wry smile. “But you are.” She looks in Hudson’s direction and saunters off to the dining area, leaving me alone with the man whose chest I was close to feeling up just moments before.
Not sure what to do, I stand there, looking past him and try not to think about what his chest would have felt like under the hands I am now clenching and unclenching over and over, my anxiety rising.
Hudson just stares at me. I feel his eyes go straight to my boots, probably noticing I’m wearing the same leggings as last night. Most men aren’t very observant, but something about Hudson tells me that if I paint my nails with a clear coat of polish, he would notice. I cross my arms, feeling his gaze roam. I don’t like being looked at, not in the way he is looking at me. Which is what? Cautiously? Curiously? Is he seeing my flaws and filing them away so he can point them out later?
A flush creeps up my neck and I look toward the coffee to avoid his eyes that are about to come into contact with mine.
“So, is that mine?” I point to one of the cups wrapped in a light brown sleeve with theBooks & Beanslogo.
“The one on the right,” he answers.
“Ah, he speaks!” I say, sarcastically.
“I do.”
Not much, apparently. So far, Hudson is a much better conversationalist over text than he is in person. At least this time I’m getting more than one-word responses. More than the wordno.
I don’t wait for him to say more before I grab the coffee he indicated on the right and take a sip, fully expecting it to be a plain black coffee. Hudson strikes me as a plain black coffee kind of man. Nothing fancy. One who believes that lattes aren’t for “real” men or some stupid testosterone-filled bullshit. Instead, I am greeted by the sweet bite of peppermint mixed with the bitter taste of espresso, perfectly blended.
I raise my eyebrows, looking at him expectantly. He picks up on my cue like I knew he would. “I heard you order it at Fran’s,” he explains. I didn’t think he noticed anything other than the espresso machine that seemed to have a death wish. I was very, very wrong. “Peppermint latte with an extra shot of espresso and skim milk, right?”
“Right,” is all I can manage to say in a soft tone. I’m not used to being noticed. Let alone noticed by someone as attractive as Hudson.
“And what’s in the bag?” I ask, heart pounding, waiting for an answer I’m not sure I’m ready for.
“Lemon bars.”
CHAPTER NINE
HUDSON
The shock on her face is worth the extra effort I made to go to Fran’s first thing this morning before her lemon bars sold out. I know Fran mentioned keeping some aside for Avery, but she tends to forget sometimes. For some reason, I couldn’t handle the thought of Avery not getting the lemon bars as promised.
She looks ready to go back to bed and the idea that she is wearing the same pants she had on in the picture last night does a lot of things to my head and other parts of my body that I don’t want to think about. Ribbons and leggings she’s slept in? That’s what it takes now apparently. Two pieces of clothing.
Who knew? Not me.
Now I do and there’s part of me that wishes I didn’t.
“Lemon bars?” she repeats in a quiet voice.
“Yeah. While I was there getting coffee, Fran put some in a bag for you. Told me to bring them,” I lie. She doesn’t need to know I asked Fran for them specifically to bring with me. Something I could bring as a peace offering of some sort, I guess. “An apology,” I continue.
“What?” She asks, surprise lacing her word. Now who’s talking in one word sentences?
“For my sister,” I explain. I’m not saying I’m upset by what Sky did in giving Avery my number instead of hers, but the more I thought about it last night, the more I felt like she deserved some kind of compensation for my sister’s meddling.
“Youuur sister?” She repeats, drawing out the first word.
