Page 75 of Let Me Be the One
“I don’t do that.” She took a step away, but pivoted right back. “No one other than Glory has seen me cry. I’m usually good at holding it together, saving it until I’m alone.”
“Hey.” Holding the clothes in one arm, he tugged her close and bent his knees to look directly into blue eyes wounded with disappointment—in herself. “I hate that you were upset, and I wish you never had reason to cry.” He cupped her cheek, feeling her cool skin against the warmth of his palm. “But if you do, I’m here. You can always lean on me, okay?”
For a long moment her gaze held his and he could almost hear her thoughts. He hadn’t been there, not for the past week—because he’d been avoiding temptation.
Her sad little smile let him off the hook. “Sure,” she murmured, briefly nuzzling her cheek into his hand before stepping apart from him. “I appreciate it.”
“Always,” he reiterated, without knowing how long “always” might be. Not with Callie.
Tense seconds ticked by in silence. There was nothing more he could say; they both knew his preference was for her to sell him the house.
For her to return…to what?
To parents who pressured her? An ex who didn’t deserve her? Divided on many levels, he shook his head—to her and himself—and he retreated to the living roomto change into dry clothes. What he wanted long-term, and what he wanted at this particular moment, were at complete odds.
Urge her to go, or convince her to stay.
Point out the many ways that she was out of her element, or praise her for all she’d accomplished already.
Hinder her, or help her.
For tonight, at least, help was the only thing on his mind. Callie needed him and so he’d be here.
The future, whatever it held, could be figured out later.
Rarely had he ever warred with himself like this. He liked to make a decision and stick to it, seeing things as black and white, right and wrong, progress and regression.
The last time that he could recall was when he’d struggled to resist Addie. He’d wanted autonomy, without all the emotions mucking with his head. Yet Addie’s love had been impossible to refuse.
Callie was proving just as difficult…and in many ways he liked it. Because he liked her. More than he’d thought possible in the short amount of time she’d been here.
With his thoughts still bounding everywhere, he pulled up his dry jeans—and suddenly everything went pitch-black and utterly silent. No hum of the fridge or ticking of a clock. No blue light from the small TV or appliances. The only sounds were that of the perpetual wind and pummeling rain against the house.
Giving himself a few seconds for his eyes to acclimate, Tanner called out, “Stand still. I’ll come to you.”
“I’m already here,” Callie said, her searching hands landing against his throat and shoulder.
It seemed the most natural thing to pull her close and hold her. “Is your phone in your pocket?”
She nodded against his chest, then shifted around to pull it free and turn on her flashlight. “Blast. My power is already low. How about yours?”
“It’s charged.” Using the light from her phone, he located his wet jeans and retrieved his phone and wallet from a back pocket. To be safe, he double-checked that the front door was locked, took his discarded jeans to the bathroom—which was now full of wet clothes—and was back to her in under thirty seconds. She hadn’t moved. “Got any candles?”
Surprised, she said, “Yes! Reggie kept them in the kitchen and when Addie reorganized it for me, she put all that type of stuff into one drawer.” She snagged his hand and took him along with her as she went to the cabinet and got them out. “No candle holders though.”
“Not a problem. We can put them on a plate or something.” Stepping around her, he asked, “You mind?”
She waved at the cabinets. “Help yourself.”
He found a shallow but thick white bowl shaped like the bottom of a chicken. Made him wonder if it had a top somewhere, but for now it’d do. In the same drawer where she’d gotten the candles, he found a box of matches.
After a little more searching, he was able to light three candles, one already in a jar, so at least the kitchen was illuminated. He set the jar on the table and, trying to put her at ease, said, “A romantic dinner by candlelight.”
The worry left her gaze and her smile slowly crept into place. “After the past couple of hours, doesn’t that sound perfect?”
Yeah, it did—since it was with her. “I’ll grab my shirt if you can get the food together.”
With a pouting glance at his chest, she said, “Spoilsport,” but then she shooed him away. “Go on, dress if you must.” She started darting around for plates and silverware, drinks and serving forks. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”
