Trace tipped her head back and laughed richly, pink lips curled up in a delighted grin as she regaled them all with another story of the goofy anecdotes of teaching high school French, and she started a poetry elective this year so she could work a full schedule, and without her saying, he knew her students adored her, as she clearly did them.
He chewed the edge of his tongue and pulled away before he got caught staring. The few seconds that he’d let his guard down, and she’d smacked him upside the head and laughed at his dick. Yup. Good to be home.
“No. She didn’t,” Ellen said, laughing so hard she covered her mouth and forced a swallow of her apple pie before it came out her nose. The woman laughed like no one else.
“She did. And I’ve never worked so hard to keep a straight face,” Trace said as she laughed, lifting her beer to her lips. As she had so many times through dinner, her gaze drifted in his direction, curious, not letting on what was on her mind, but he knew she was holding something back.
Jeremy took the unopened growler and poured a heady, amber brew into each of their glasses. He sparkled a wink at Cole and lifted his glass. “I’m saying it again. Welcome home.”
At least the last few years had taught him a few things. Cole raised his glass as well and said in flawless French, “Je ne pourrais jamais assez vous remercier. C’est bon d’être à la maison.”
Trace tilted a curious look, smiling subtly as she watched him. She nibbled the corner of her bottom lip and raised her glass. “Impressive. When you left, your French was fantastic, considering you got a late start, but, wow. Your accent is flawless. I know you didn’t learn it from old Mrs. Leblanc and her odd cadence that I’ve never heard from anyone but her. Where did you work?”
“I worked in a lot of places,” he answered, knowing she wouldn’t leave it at that. “She must have finally retired? She must be, like a hundred and forty now?”
“Hundred and two. Don’t be bombastic.” Trace nibbled the corner of her tongue as she joked with him.
When she didn’t look away immediately, he stilled with his drink halfway to his mouth, trying to remember if he’d just finished a sip or was about to take one.
Without looking away, she reached into the middle of the table and plucked up a peanut butter chocolate chip cookie and took a hunk in her teeth. Chewing slowly, she sized him up with her look, a few hundred questions boiling under the surface. “They made her retire before she croaked over in the middle of class.”
Jeremy and Ellen watched him, but knew not to push. They’d get all of their questions answered, most anyway, in time. It wasn’t until he’d learned the art of interrogation that he realized their strategy. Silence was more effective than any method of asking directly.
Half asleep at the table, he pushed to stand and took his dessert plate, ready to come back for more dishes, but it was going to take him more than a few trips.
Trace stood and reached across the table, slipping the plate from his hand. “Stop. I promise you can even do my laundry and wash my car once you can lift more than one thing at a time,” she said, tilting a teasing, wide-eyed snarky grin at him. “You’re dead on your feet. Go to bed,” she ordered like the toughest of sergeants.
Another day, and he’d consider arguing, but he needed to get off his ankle, the swelling progressing to unbearable. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, releasing the plate to her.
Using furniture as he went, hopping where there was none, he made it to the stairs and slowly climbed. Every step throbbed even in the boot, but he didn’t fucking care anymore. Bed, a decent night’s sleep, and who the hell knew what tomorrow would bring.
In the bathroom, he made good use of the toothbrush and pile of goodies Ellen had picked up for him, and he cleaned up for the night. His bedroom was like no place else on the planet.
The sun had set, the sky a darkening blue. His view hadn’t changed, still nothing but trees and filtered sky framed by the dormer window.
He slipped out of the shirt, easing it off the bad shoulder, and knew he’d have to find an orthopedist and a physical therapist within a few days. He stripped to the skin and slid between the smooth cotton sheets, slightly rough so he knew they had been picked up and washed this morning, never been used before him tonight.
Just as he was about to let go and relinquish control to dreams, there was a tap at his bedroom door.
Too wiped out to get up, he answered, “Yeah?”
The door creaked open, casting a triangular glow of light on the carpet that slowly grew to illuminate the room to excess.
Trace peeked in, her hand resting on the doorknob, she seemed to catch the pain of the light striking his concussion after a long day, and eased the door to only half open as she slipped in.
Lowering to sit on the foot of the bed, she bit her lip and glared out the window. “I am so glad you’ree home,” she said, but he knew that wasn’t what she came to say. “I can’t help but wonder why you came back. I mean, I know you got hurt.”
He sunk his head into the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, the plastered pattern murky in the shadows. “I never could get away with anything when you were around,” he said, laughing under his breath.
“Nor could I when you were around,” she said, lifting a brow almost playfully as she fired him a look. “I swear, every time Finn and I would try to fool around up here, you’d magically appear from wherever you’d snuck off to.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t on purpose.” He laughed subtly and nodded against the pillow. “You’d jump off of him like you were doing something you weren’t supposed to.”
“I was a high schooler making out with her boyfriend in the dark. Of course I wasn’t supposed to.”
Unable to resist, he turned to his side and lifted up on his good elbow. “Of course you were supposed to. The two of you…” He grimaced as he realized he’d stepped in it. “I don’t know if I ever told you how sorry I was that you broke up. I figured you’d be walking down the aisle a year or two after graduation.”
“Nope.”
