Page 47 of Shelter
“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, bringing her focus back to the drawer.
I wasn’t cold. Not now that I knew she was trying to stop herself from looking at me. The thought made me grin like a fool.
“It’s not that cold out here,” I said, a hint of teasing in my voice.
She kept her face averted. “Yes, it is,” she said flatly. “If you’re going to stay here while I work, at least go put some clothes on.”
I choked on a surprised laugh, loving that she wasn’t afraid to tell me off. But I laughed, too, because in her own way, Elise Cormier had just invited me to stay. I could work with that.
“Okay,” I chuckled. “I’ll go put some clothes on.”
She still didn’t look at me, but I could see the way she held her mouth tight that she was fighting a smile. I knew she wanted to hide that from me more than she wanted to look at my naked chest, and in that moment, it seemed fundamental that I change those values.
“Can I bring you something? Coffee? Cocoa?”
That made her look up. “Mama and Mrs. Abigail are doing the big Christmas party grocery run. There’s no cocoa.” As she spoke, her eyes had darted to mine before dipping to my bare torso just for an instant and then coming back up to my eyes.
Victory.
Grinning, I put my hands on my hips and watched her eyes follow them. “I am in college,” I purred. “I do know how to make cocoa.”
She blinked then, looking flustered, and pulled her gaze back to her work. “W-well, knock yourself out, then,” she said with a shrug. But that shrug was a lie. The shrug said she didn’t care what I did. I knew the opposite was true. And it made me inexplicably and ridiculously pleased.
I stood and let myself take in the sight of her for just a moment longer. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail with her long, soft bangs tucked behind her ears. The ponytail fell over her shoulder as she worked, and I resisted the urge to take it in my hand and pull down the elastic band that held it back.
The impulse mirrored what I felt for Elise Cormier. Without knowing why, I now wanted to be the force that took away whatever held her back.
“I’ll just be a sec,” I said, turning away before I could actually reach out and touch her.
Inside, I put a saucepan on the stove and filled it with milk, half-and-half, cocoa powder, sugar, and salt, the way I’d seen Flora do a hundred times over the years. I left it on low and ran upstairs to change. As I tucked myself into a pair of jeans, I tried to ignore the obvious fact that talking to Elise and feeling her eyes on me hadn’t left me unaffected.
“She’s sixteen,” I whispered aloud. Then I took a deep breath and pulled a sweater over my head.
I won’t touch her,I told myself.I just want to hang out with her. Make her smile.
This wasn’t unreasonable. I’d done little more than that with girls throughout high school. Back when my life was too complicated to date anyone. I’d dated plenty of girls since going to Tulane. Some just once or twice. Others for a few weeks. Nothing really serious.
And I didn’t want anything serious. Things were easier now that I didn’t have to worry so much about Mom and Ava. My threats had kept my father under control, but I sure as hell wasn’t ready to settle down with anyone. And, luckily, most of the girls I’d met at Tulane felt the same.
So, I knew that just hanging out with Elise would be easy enough. Itshouldbe easy enough, anyway.
I just want to get to know her.
Downstairs, the hot cocoa steamed from the saucepan, so I gave it a few stirs and poured it into two mugs. When I went back outside, I found Elise still at work. She had stood the drawer up on one end and was painting the back.
“Here you go,” I said softly, offering her one of the mugs.
She gave me a surprised look and blinked at the steaming mug in my hand before taking it carefully between hers. “Oh… thank you.” She blew across the top. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I said I would.” I dropped down onto the patio beside her, and she sat back and crossed her legs in front of her, mirroring my pose. We were almost knee-to-knee, facing each other. It took a sip of the hot chocolate. It was good, but not as good as Flora’s. Maybe I hadn’t used enough cream.
Elise took a sip. “Mmm…” she hummed, a smile peeking out from behind her mug. “Thanks. My stomach was starting to rumble.”
I frowned. “How long have you been out here?”
She shrugged. “About an hour, I guess. Right after Mama and Mrs. Abigail left.” She brushed a stray hair back behind her left ear, and my eye followed the motion. “I had to drill the holes and sand them down before I could start painting.”
I pointed my chin at the near-finished drawer. “Why red?”
