Page 17 of Wallflower
“I can take these too.” She reaches for the larger suitcase. “You don’t need to—”
“It’s fine.” They’re not so heavy I can’t lift them, but she’d struggle trying to wheel them over the rough ground outside the house. I might be an asshole but I’m not about to make a woman carry her own luggage.
I walk around to the front entrance as the garage door slides closed behind us. “There’s internal access from the garage, but it’s locked. I’ll give you a set of keys so you can come and go as you please.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
She walks beside me with her tote slung over one shoulder and her arms crossed over her body like she’s trying to disappearinside her oversized clothes. I wonder how long it’ll be until her mousiness gets on my last nerve.
As I punch the access code into the security panel near the front door, I feel unexpectedly vulnerable. I’ve never invited anybody into this house, and now I’ve got a summer guest who’s going to have keys and the passcode and access to everything. It’s not as if I’ve spent all that much time here over the years but this place has only ever been mine. My somewhere to go “one day” when hockey isn’t my life anymore.
I push open the wide door, set Violet’s bags on the light hardwood floors, and look around. It’s exactly as I remember it. The white walls and wide dimensions and natural light pouring in from every corner. The foyer opens directly onto a wide staircase straight ahead, then a home office on the right and an enormous living room on the left, both furnished by the interior designer I hired to get everything just right. Some of the pressure in my chest loosens, and the first thing I do is open the nearest window.
“I guess it’s a little stale in here,” I mutter as I hurry over to the glass doors separating the living room from the front porch and fling those open too. “I haven’t been here in a while.”
I glance over, prepared to see her face screwed up with distaste, but Violet doesn’t seem to notice the stuffy smell of building materials or dust motes floating in the air. Her eyes roam over the vaulted ceilings, the cold stone fireplace, and giant soft white sofa, and a pretty look of wonder shines on her face.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
I drop my hand from where it was worrying the back of my neck. “Oh. Thanks.”
I return to where she stands by the door and slip off my runners. Violet does the same, setting them neatly beside mine, and without the extra half-inch of height, her baggy gray pantspool around her feet so that only the toes of her white socks poke out.
Violet’s tall but the way her clothes fit makes her look tiny. It reminds me of the pictures Dylan sent me of Izzy in dress-up clothes, and I wish this woman would stop giving me reasons to smile.
“So, uh. Let me show you around.”
She sets her tote down next to her bags and removes her gray blazer. I try not to stare as she hangs it on a hook by the door. She’s wearing a plain white tank underneath, which shouldn’t be sexy, but it’s tight like a second skin, showing off her slender frame, tiny waist, and full, heavy tits.
Well, fuck me. I wasn’t expecting that.
I drag my gaze away as she pulls a notebook out of her satchel, and I’m relieved to turn my back as I lead her into the house. When I glance back to make sure she’s keeping up, she holds a pen at the ready, and I realize she’s taking notes.
Cute. As. Fuck.
“Kitchen,” I say as we pass through the open room with a white marble island, six-burner freestanding stove, and white Shaker cabinets. I dart to the far side to slide open the heavy glass doors leading onto the porch, then circle back around to the oversized pantry hiding behind wide double doors.
“I only just got here, so there isn’t any food. You can visit the restaurant on the property whenever you like, but the first thing on your list should be to pick up some groceries.”
She scribbles on her notepad. “Groceries. Got it.”
“Until I hear from the sports nutritionist, just get essentials.” I list a few things as I move around the room and open all the windows. “Eggs, bacon, oats, nut butter, fresh vegetables, salmon, chicken, protein powder, almond milk, yogurt, bananas, and Pretzel M&M’s.”
Violet’s pen flies across the paper, then stops. The look she gives me from under her lashes is suspicious. “M&M’s?”
“Pretzel.” I’m not ashamed, and I give her a look that dares her to laugh.
“Right,” she says, and I’m distracted by the way she nibbles her full bottom lip to stop a smile. “Pretzel M&M’s.”
I pull out my credit card and hand it over, then retrieve a set of spare keys from a drawer and hold them out. “Take the truck.”
“The truck?” She glances at the keys in my hand like they might bite then actually takes a step back. “That’s okay. My car works just fine.”
“As long as you’re here, you’ll drive the truck.” I close the distance and drop the keys onto her notepad. “It’s safer.”
“Right.” Violet nods and makes another note, but I get the feeling she’s talking to herself now. “The truck. I can do that.”
I walk in silence through the house, stopping to open windows, and give Violet a brief introduction to each room. It’s something like a reintroduction for me too, and in every space and on every surface, I’m reminded of how much time I put in with the architect and interior designer to finish this place exactly the way I wanted it. With each new room, I find myself anticipating Violet’s small sounds of admiration, and it’s weird how her opinion, which shouldn’t matter, makes me feel a little better after what just happened with Charlie.
