Page 6 of Gourd Enough To Eat
I raised both eyebrows. Cadance Webster was made of the sort of dreams that made a man want to change his own to match hers. Maybe that was what had her running from place to place, changing who she’d been and reinventing herself behind glowing personas that were fake as fuck.
Because the glitter bomb in front of me was both the woman underneath, and not. I promised myself that by the end of the night, I’d know who she was, and who she’d been.
And how the hell she learned my name.
Because all of a sudden, that little piece of info seemed mighty important.
CHAPTER FOUR
CADANCE
Elijah barely fit in my cramped rental apartment, the last one in the packed town that seemed all but closed to new arrivals. Oh, sure, the people were welcoming—to an extent. Super friendly, right up until I asked for the best place to set up shop and stay. Then those smiles became fixed, and frayed at the edges.
I recognized those fragile expressions. I’d worn them more often than not in a previous life. Not the one that I existed in now. At least, not until tonight.
I’d thought I could hide for a while longer. Pretend that the life I had lived wouldn’t catch me quite so fast. But apparently six months, three weeks and four days was the limit of my reprieve, if I counted today.
And somehow, I didn't think I should.
“How long have you been running?” Elijah didn’t beat around the bush. Large, scarred hands that bore tiny cracks across his knuckles held his coffee mug still. He hadn’t taken cream or sugar, and I wanted desperately to rub moisturizer into the backs of his hands.
But I folded my fingers around my own mug and tried to channel some of his unfathomable stillness instead. “I don’t know your last name,” I blurted, like that was the critical piece of information between us that was missing.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Your research didn’t tell you that much?” his head tipped to one side as he watched me, but I kept my mouth shut. Finally, he sighed. “It’s Campise.” He made that last sound like another ‘i’.
“I checked on all my neighbors,” I mumbled into my mug, turning it in circles. There was no point trying to sit still like him. It just wasn’t in me to do. Thankfully, Elijah didn’t put his hands over mine and try to make me sit still like…someone else used to.
He huffed out a breath. “That must have made you popular. This town likes its secrets.”
I managed a watery smile, the pressure of the night and the invasion of reality on my little pretend bubble finally cracking through my fake smile facade that I’d held up for six solid months and change. “Just as much as they liked the idea of me moving in here, I guess.”
Rough fingers brushed my curls back from my face. The frizz that must have been a messy mass, similar to the unruly halo I woke up with most days, bounced right back where it was, earning me another huff of a laugh.
“I can imagine,” he murmured, coiling one frizzed out curl around his finger, then unwinding it again. His eyes unfocused with the motion, like it mesmerized him. Heat emanated from his hand, and I swallowed back the need to lean into his touch, but held back, stealing the moment to study his face.
Before, when we’d been outside his shop, fear and adrenaline prevented me from soaking in anything beyond survivalism. Now, in the relative safety of my new, albeit smaller space of a home, I had the luxury of tracing the lines around his mouth with my eyes, how the green in his eyes warred with shardsof yellow in a kaleidoscope of autumnal colors. Reds and dark browns shimmered in his hair, and a tan line where his hat sat low on his brow during the day kept his skin glowing.
But shadows flickered across his expression as he returned my study, and I knew I wasn't the only one who crowded my tiny kitchen table that had sustained damage. And suddenly, that tan line, the cracked knuckles and the scars on the backs of his hands, fine but there all the same made sense in a different sort of light.
“You were military. Weren’t you?”
His winding fingers stilled, but he didn’t let my hair go. “Does that mantle ever really fall away, even if you haven’t worn the uniform for a while?” he murmured.
The question seemed aimed inwards, rather than at me, so I didn't try to answer it for him. I wondered if he had ever tried to answer it for himself.
“How long have you been here?” I asked instead, since he seemed to be in question mode, and hoped he’d answer.
“A few years here, more out there.” He tugged on my hair, drawing me closer. “I tried to stop, even managed for a while. But nothing seemed to really stick. Then I came here. Met Declan. The baker next door,” he said when I frowned, exposing the truth of my lie.
Oops.
“Okay, so maybe I only asked about one neighbor?” I offered.
Breath brushed my lips when I didn't pull away from him. “How long did you watch me tonight, glitter bomb?”
I blinked. “I– I have no idea.”
“Even with someone around who wanted to damage your things? Hurt you?” His hand dropped to cradle my jaw. The action was undeniably intimate, removing all playfulness from the interaction. I struggled to breathe this close to him. “You stood with your back to the street for how long, Cadance?”
