Page 40 of Slow Burn
Her footsteps were soft, but he heard them. He was strung so tight he probably could’ve caught the sound of her breath. The lock clicked; the door swung open.
Well, shit. No smile. Not even the ghost of one. Surprise, maybe, that he was standing there.
“Cole.” She sighed, shutting her eyes for half a second. “Right. Dinner. I’m sorry; I lost track of time. Come in.”
She turned, leaving the door wide for him, and he stepped inside. Small room, but it carried a farmhouse charm no chain hotel could imitate. Gingham curtains framed the window, a wrought-iron headboard stood against a ship-lapped wall, and a picture of a hen presided over a bed littered with papers spread like lost feathers.
The closet door hung open, suitcase tucked in the corner, half-empty hangers on the rack. If it were him staying there, the floor would be buried in clothes spilling out of the bag like it had puked them up.
Except for the chaos of whatever she’d been working on, everything else was neat.
He nodded toward the papers spread all over the bed. “Looks like somebody lost a fight with a paper mill."
She gave him a wry look. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those neat freaks who folds their socks in pairs. I’ll have to rethink dinner.”
He laughed, the tension loosening just a bit. "Helps to have socks that all look the same."
The flash of a smile was brief. “Sorry about the mess," she said, scrambling to collect the papers.
She shoved them into a folder then into the oversized purse in the corner. Her hair—undone for once, dark waves falling down her back—slipped forward, sliding over her shoulder. With itloose, she looked freer, almost earthy, and he felt that deep. He shouldn’t have, but he did.
She bent for her sandals then grabbed a flimsy cover-up that draped over her tank top. The regret hit hard when she twisted her hair back up into a bun. Consolation came in the stray tendrils she didn’t catch and left loose.
Almost against his will, he murmured, “Should've left it like that.”
She looked over at him, puzzled. Then she caught his line of sight and touched her hair. "What, messy?”
He grinned. “Nah. Free.”
A smile tugged at her mouth, but she dipped her chin to hide the color in her cheeks. "Maybe next time."
He jammed his hands into his pockets with a shrug, held tight enough by that blush that he didn't even mind she wasn't taking his suggestion.
The drive to his parents’ place was quiet. Something sat on Jocelyn’s mind, plain as the finger moving back and forth along her bottom lip. It took all of seven minutes to get there, but the weight of her silence made it feel harder than an hour would’ve. Whatever storm brewed in her head, she wasn’t voicing it, and he couldn’t let it stand.
“You’re awful quiet over there," he commented. “That bad of company?”
She smirked but didn't glance over. “I figure you need the practice.”
“Practice?”
She raised a brow, finally looking at him. “Being around somebody without arguing.”
Cole let out a surprised chuckle, planting his hand on his chest. “Oh, Darlin', you wound me.”
Her laugh was soft and quick, but it hit him like a shot of whiskey—smooth and warm going down. Then she facedforward again, and little by little, that silence slipped back in. It didn’t feel as heavy as before, and considering the way they’d left things earlier, Cole let the silence stand. His mother’s relentless social streak would drag Jocelyn into conversation soon enough.
Still, his humor didn’t fully shake her tension, and it stirred in his mind. Might’ve been about the dinner, since the last time they’d been to his folks’ place, it hadn’t ended well. Might've been something else entirely, but he had to tamp down the urge to reach for her hand, to anchor her to the moment. Most innocent impulse he’d had toward her, but even that wasn’t his right. He wasn’t her comfort. Not yet, anyway.
It should’ve shocked him to know he wanted to be, but he’d already started the descent into surrender. About time he stopped fighting it.
When they drove up, his mama was on the porch with her watering can in hand, the one with the daisies painted on its side. Like clockwork, she came out when the sun slid past the front of the house to water her plants. She waved as soon as she saw them.
Jocelyn’s smile didn’t smooth the little crease between her brows as they climbed out of the truck. At first Cole pegged it for nerves, but she wasn’t fidgeting. No, the set of her shoulders, the line between her brows looked more like she was turning something over in her head.
So maybe whatever weighed on her had nothing to do with his folks. Maybe not even him, though they’d chewed each other up plenty of times already.
His mama’s smile bloomed as they came up the walk. “My, you two look like a dream.” The watering can swung low in her hand, and her expression was soft and wistful. There was that look in her eye—the one southern mothers in their twilight years got when their only child was past thirty and still hadn’t given them grand babies.
