Page 87 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
“Here,” he growls. “If this won’t cut it, I’ll find something that will. No good reason you need to fly sick.”
My heart skips.
I shouldn’t be feelinganythingat the thought that Holden Verity might care. What does it matter anyway?
Except, obviously it does. It matters because—
Shit.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I do my best to smile, but the skin of my face feels too tight.
He grunts and walks away, the suitcase holding the egg still swinging from his hand like it’s chained to him.
I stare at him for a beat too long before finally picking up my own bag and following him to the plane.
Once we’re on board, he takes the jump seat and shuts himself away in the cockpit with the pilots. I find a seat, knowing that when he comes out, he’ll want to sit as far away from me as possible.
No objection.
But my nose stings a little as I force a smile at the nice flight attendant who brings me a menu with small snacks and sandwiches and tells me to let her know if there’s anything I need. She mentions something about delays back in Portland, which might add an extra hour to the flight until we can land.
I thank her and prepare to nap, leaning back against the seat.
As I predicted, Holden sits as far away from me as possible once he emerges, occasionally tapping on his laptop.
I drift off restlessly, only waking up when we land a couple hours later with a slight bump. To my relief, my headache fades.
Holden remains a world away on the other side of the cabin.
I glug down another small water bottle and brace for another awkward ride back to Gramps’ empty mansion.
There’s a bright moon rising as we deboard and he gets his car. His strong hands clench the steering wheel until his knuckles bulge.
I try not to stare at those punishing hands. I really do. I don’t need a reminder of what they can do.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Mm, yeah. I got a nap in.”
“Good call.”
I wonder if he’s just relieved I passed out so he didn’t have to deal with me and this tense, needle-coated wall of silence between us. So he didn’t have to think about the annoying little girl who baited him into a colossal mistake.
Frustration stirs angry butterflies in my belly.
Neither of us say another word on the ride back to the house. With a werewolf moon high overhead and the eerily calm water offshore, Gramps’ old place feels completely vacant like never before.
The second we’re through the door, Holden immediately carries the egg down to the basement vault. I wander up to my room.
Then I pull out my sketch pad and go to work, attacking the blank paper.
It’s my only hope to rewire my brain tonight. There are too many emotions trapped inside and they need to come out in stark, slashing lines.
Later, when he knocks softly at the door, I jump.
“Dinner. I would’ve called you down to the kitchen, but I figured you were busy,” he says, pushing open the door to slide a plate with pasta inside.
Rigatoni noodles and some kind of Bolognese sauce. Nothing fancy, but my stomach growls anyway.
