Page 19 of Wallflower
I stand at the door of the open garage for a moment to appreciate the views. Even from here, there’s so much to see. Never-ending sky and sunlight hitting secret pockets of water and lush green rows of perfectly planted vines heavy with fruit. And on the far side of the nearest field, where he’s been every afternoon for the past four days, Chord working on the broken fences.
I pause for a moment to watch him, wondering for the hundredth time why he goes out there all alone every day when he could pay someone to do the work for him.
It’s a mystery with no clear answer, just like the question I have about why none of his family has been to see him since he arrived.
I almost feel sad for him until I remember that he’s a ridiculously attractive, megarich pro athlete with an overstuffed ego. If he’s alone, it’s probably because he wants it that way.
I give up with a shrug and return to the groceries. It’s none of my business. I’m here to do a job and stay out of Chord’s way, which has been easier than I anticipated. Easier and infinitely more awkward because I’m almost certainhe’savoidingme.
After waking up on my first day here, I nervously tiptoed through the house and couldn’t find him anywhere, but there was a to-do list on the fridge. I took it, ticked everything off and added some notes of my own, then put it back where I found it with a little prayer that this kind of back and forth was what Chord had in mind. Apparently, it was because there was a new list in the exact same spot the next day. And that’s become my routine.
The sun comes up, and Chord’s nowhere in the house. I work in his home office. We bump into each other once or twice. Exchange a handful of sentences a day. So far, I feel lesslike an employee and more like an uninvited house guest. It’s uncomfortable, and Chord is living up to his reputation as cold and superior, except…
I think about what happened in the hall the day I arrived. For a split second, something was different with him. His hands on me, his body so close, his eyes infused with something other than ice. But the moment passed like it never happened, and he’s been a walking snowman ever since.
It takes four trips to carry the groceries from the car to the kitchen, and I’m lugging in the last bag when Chord walks in through the heavy glass doors to the back porch. I freeze like he’s a wild animal because… Why? If I don’t move, he might not see me? Ironically, it almost works.
His snug dark jeans are marked with dirt, as are his heavy boots. His black t-shirt has muddy marks where he’s wiped his hands down his chest and stomach. He smells like fresh earth and hard work, and I don’t know why that’s a turn-on, but it is.
He looks more real like this. More vulnerable somehow. Suit-and-tie Hockey Chord is hot, but down-and-dirty Farmer Chord is so breathtaking it makes me ache.
He’s halfway to the kitchen when he raises his head and notices I’m standing there. I rush to set the last bag on the counter, pretending like that’s what I was doing all along and not getting an eyeful of his hard chest and muscled thighs and rough, capable hands. His gaze flutters down my body, and I resist the urge to hide behind the island.
I’ve traded my sneakers, blazers, and wide-legged pants for sturdy boots, faded Wranglers, and a loose vintage Guns N’ Roses tee. These clothes are practical for the ranch, and outside of the city, my oversized suits make me stick out like a sore thumb.
“Hey.” Chord clears the crack in his voice and drops his gaze to the floor as he starts moving again like someone just hit theplay button. He heads straight to the fridge for a bottle of water. “Didn’t know you were in here.”
His face is flushed from the sun or exertion or both, and his dark hair curls at the edges with sweat. Oh God, I’m staring, and was that a question? It looks like he’s waiting for an answer.
I hide how flustered he makes me by turning my back and unpacking groceries. “I wasn’t until now. I mean, I was out picking up the things your nutritionist recommended. I just got back.”
There’s a long silence, and when I can’t pretend to unload empty bags anymore, I turn around with a tub of yogurt in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other. Chord looks… kind of annoyed? He scans the bags and I worry that I bought the wrong things or I’m not working fast enough. I hold my breath, but the waiting is too much, and just when I open my mouth to say something unnecessary about protein, he finds his voice.
“Right. Thanks.”
Then he crosses the kitchen in long, quick strides, and like lightning, he’s out the door.
“You’re welcome?” I reply to the empty room, and the words come out breathy.
I suppose this reaction is common when a nobody has to deal with a somebody, but Chord is so overwhelming. Just one interaction and my stomach flips like I’ve stepped off a rollercoaster.
I remember the groceries in my hands and give myself a shake. I’m a professional, and I need tobeprofessional. Chord’s a person just like everybody else.
Once everything is stowed away, I disappear into the home office and log on to my computer. Maybe I should set myself up in my bedroom and let Chord have the house to himself, but I can’t stand the idea of using that gorgeous space for something as mundane as work.
The moment I saw the room and the view, I couldn’t wait to sit in there and sketch, and now I live for six o’clock when I can go to my room, check in with my dad, and spend the rest of the night with my designs. That bedroom is what gets me through the day.
The afternoon passes the same as the ones before. I make phone calls and answer emails about Chord’s move from Calgary to San Francisco, set his physio appointments, manage his calendar, deal with his inbox, and answer media inquiries. Next, I check my work phone and emails to make sure I’m not giving Courtney any reasons to fire me. Finally, I reach out to Coach Campbell to discuss the Fury’s teambuilding and training sessions, which he still wants to do right here at Silver Leaf. Right on time, I smack an updated list on the fridge, nuke a microwave dinner, and pour myself a glass of red before heading upstairs for some alone time in my new room.
“How was your day, Blossom?” Dad asks, his face filling my phone screen.
I’m curled up on the most comfortable bed known to man with the most ordinary mushroom risotto I’ve ever tasted. I think of Chord’s comment that I can eat at his brother’s restaurant whenever I want, and my stomach rumbles, but the tension between Chord and his sister makes me too uncomfortable to risk it. Bad food with my dad on the phone is preferable to good food with a side of family drama any day.
“Fine,” I tell him. “Same as the last three days. How about you?”
“Oh, you know.” He shrugs and scoops up a forkful of mashed potato. “Fine. Same as always.”
Dad wants to know all about Chord, and I’m struggling to find new things to tell him, but I talk about the ranch and the fences while listening carefully for signs that Dad isn’t coping with my absence. He’s eating normally and looks well rested, and thoughhe doesn’t know it, I’m in touch with Jennifer, our upstairs neighbor, for daily updates. As far as we both can tell, everything is okay.
