Page 31 of Crow's Haven
Thankfully, she finally pulls back, turns and walks out, her heels clicking down the hall, her hips swaying. Roxy is a beautiful woman, catty and snide, but drop dead gorgeous. Andit’s clear that unlike me, she’s truly in her element strolling around the clubhouse.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the door, as I realize that all the safety, security, and warmth I felt being with Crow is now gone. That soft glow of happiness I’ve been carrying around all morning has vanished now that the rose-tinted glasses have been ripped away.
Now I just feel cold, naïve, and a bit stupid for thinking a ridiculously hot biker like Crow would fall for a woman like me.
Chapter 9
Crow
Something’s changed with Sharon. Previously, we had this easygoing casual way about us. But since our visit to the clubhouse yesterday, she seems off.
I notice it the minute I step into the kitchen. She’s standing by the sink, rinsing out cereal bowls, her back perfectly straight. Her posture’s never normally that stiff, not even when she first arrived. Usually, she’s leaning one hip against the counter, relaxed and comfortable. I’m used to her smile greeting me in the morning but today she barely acknowledges my presence.
“Morning,” I say quietly, stepping up beside her to grab a coffee mug from the cabinet.
She glances my way, and gives a polite but brief, “Good morning.”
Her cool, formal tone is setting off warning bells in my head. What the hell’s going on?
I fill my mug, stealing sidelong glances at her as I do, trying to gauge what happened between last night and now. Did I say something wrong? Was it something at the clubhouse? Everything felt good yesterday. In fact, it was better than good. Her behavior towards me was warm and she seemed delighted with my company. I can still remember how her arms felt around my waist when she was on the back of my bike. But nowall I feel is a distance that seems to be hanging in the air between us.
Chase runs into the room, already fully awake and dragging his backpack behind him. “Ladybug, can you help me find my dinosaur book?”
She sets down the bowl she’s drying and turns towards him, the tightness in her posture relaxing as she kneels at his level. “Didn’t we leave it on your nightstand?”
He shakes his head, frowning seriously. “I checked. Scout must’ve stolen it.”
Scout trails in behind him, yawning dramatically. “Did not. It’s under your pillow, dummy.”
“Hey,” I warn gently. “Be nice.”
Sharon smiles softly at them, her warmth completely genuine as she runs a gentle hand through Scout’s hair. “Check under your pillow, sweet pea. If it’s not there, we’ll tear the house apart looking for it. Deal?”
Chase frowns, “I don’t like the nickname sweet pea because my pee ain’t sweet.”
I interject, “A sweet pea is a cute flower. It ain’t got nothing to do with your pee.” I jerk my chin towards the stairs, “Go and look for your book. Scout, you go help him.”
He nods eagerly and bolts back down the hall, his brother hot on his heels. The second they’re gone, the cool professionalism returns as she turns to finish the dishes.
“You okay?” I finally ask, leaning against the counter, keeping my voice even.
She doesn’t look up this time. “Fine. Why?”
“You just seem…” I search for the right word, feeling like an idiot. “Quiet, I guess.”
She rinses another bowl, stacking it carefully onto the drying rack. “Just tired. Didn’t sleep great.” Her response is curt and clipped, making me think it’s a social nicety instead of the truth.
I study her profile. Her soft mouth is set in a careful line, and her eyes are focused on her hands as she wipes at the counter. I feel something tightening in my chest. She’s never been particularly good at opening up, but usually she’ll mention it if something is bothering her. But she’s not giving an inch this morning.
I’ve no choice but to let it go, even though every instinct in me wants to reach out, cup her face in my hands and force her to look at me. I know forcing her to tell me what’s changed between us is an asshole move, so I let it be, hoping she’ll come to me when she’s ready to talk.
“All right,” I say after a moment, stepping away from the counter. “You need anything today?”
She gives me a short, sharp shake of her head, still without looking at me. “No. I don’t need anything from you today.”
I push down the frustration that’s building inside me. And throttle back the words I want to say, the questions I want answered. Instead, I just nod, grab my coffee, and head into the living room.
But as the morning progresses, that uneasy feeling grows stronger.
