Page 7 of Weather the Storm
“Don’t worry about it. Get showered and changed, and I’ll see about getting us something to eat.” I nod, but he has more to say. “This is gonna sound weird, but I’d like you to leave the door open.” Simon must see the discomfort written across my face because he quickly continues. “I won’t even step one foot into the hallway, I just want to be able to hear you in case you get dizzy or need help. Scout’s honor.” He holds up three fingers.
“Okay, I believe you.” I watch as he turns to leave the room, only heading into the bathroom when I hear him start banging around in the kitchen.
It’s not that I don’t trust him per se, it’s that I don’t trust anyone easily. I’m not the naive girl I once was; Grant made sure of that. He marked me in a way that I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from, but here, in Dogwood, I can at least try.
I turn the knob for the shower, and as the water heats, I do my best to shake off the darkness of those memories. Stepping under the spray, I will the water to wash them away, along with the airbag dust and hospital smell.God, I hate that smell.
Freshly showered, I make my way back into the bedroom and quickly dress in the clothes Simon provided me. The pants are way too long, even on my five-foot-seven frame, and although I’ve rolled the waistband a few times over, they still drag on the ground. I pull the shirt over my head and savor the smell of Simon on it—a heady mixture of leather and spice—before pulling it all the way on. It fits a little better thanks to Simon’s lean physique.
I finger-comb my hair as best I can before letting it fall down my back in a wet heap. The feeling of the moisture seeping through the cotton has me arching my back away from the damp material as I enter the kitchen in search of Simon.
“You okay?” Simon asks, taking note of my odd stance.
“Mmm, fine—just hate the feelin’ of my wet hair on my back.”
“Want a hair band thing?” he asks, beginning to rummage through one of the drawers in his island.
“Uh, if you have one.”
He digs around for a few more seconds before holding up a hot-pink hair elastic in victory. “Myla used to always leave these things here.”
He passes me the hair tie, and I quickly pile my hair into a messy bun at the base of my neck. “So much better. Thank you.”
“Not a problem, Goldilocks. Now, about some food. I can reheat some of the Super Bowl snacks, or we can”—he checks his watch—“order a pizza. Figured I’d see what you felt like.”
I can’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, such a stark difference from anything I’ve ever known—it’s a wonder he’s single. “We can reheat, that’s fine.”
Simon sets to pulling Tupperware bowls from the fridge, and in no time flat we’re both seated at his table eating cocktail weenies, chips with spinach artichoke dip, and some loaded potato skins.
Once we’re both full, Simon rinses our plates, and even though I offer to help, he sends me out to the couch and tells me to rest.So weird.
Chapter Five
SIMON
The sight of Magnolia—freshly showered, smelling like me, and in my clothes—damn near stops me dead. This girl…I’ve always known she was special, but chalked it up to her being in the Myla Rose zone—in other words, more like a sister—but seeing her now, I’m feeling anything but brotherly. When she pulled her hair up off her neck—have mercy.
Looking at her curled up on my couch, my sweats hanging from her hips and my T-shirt hugging her curves, I’m feeling things I’ve never felt. I’m feeling possessive and needy and hungry for her, which I know is all kinds of wrong. Poor girl has had a rough go of things yesterday and today, and judging from her nervous stutter, she’s running from something. But, my God, I just want to swoop in and slay her demons, even though it’s not my place.
“Si-Simon.” Magnolia’s voice brings me back down to earth. “Are you okay? You’re just staring…”
“Fine, totally fine. Just thinking. We need to talk.” Magnolia flinches at my words, and I quickly attempt to put her at ease. “Nothing bad, just gotta talk.”
“O-okay. About wh-what?”
“For starters, we need to talk about what happened today.”
Magnolia gives a small gasp, and her eyes flash before she drops them to her lap. I wait, giving her time to collect herself, but she doesn’t. If anything, she seems to sink deeper into her mind.
“Hey.” I reach out and tap her wrist. “You okay?”
She nods. “Uh, sure.”
“You wanna tell me what happened? How you hit my truck like that?”
“I…I-I…um,” Magnolia stutters out, her chest heaving as she gasps for air.
On instinct, I hop from my cushion and go to her, wrapping her in my arms, murmuring in her ear for her to take deep breaths, to follow the pattern of my breathing. Once she’s calmed, she makes no effort to move away from me, and I’m okay with that. I keep gently running my hands up and down her back in a soothing motion.
