When We Let Go by Delancey Stewart (read with me .txt) 📕

I awoke groggy the next morning, and stepped outside with my coffee, pulling my robe tight around me against the vague chill in the air. Could this creeping hint of cold mean that winter was really on its way? My La Bruna teddy might have been the problem. The sheer lace wasn’t really meant for outdoor wear. I think it was actually one of those things meant only for momentary wear, mostly intended to be tossed to the floor in the heat of passion. The most heat I could hope for lately was from the sun, and that was fading too quickly for my liking. It shouldn’t be cold yet. It was only August.

I stood, gazing out at the sky as it brightened, and the scent of some kind of sugary baked bread hung in the air. I had to be imagining it—I hadn’t even tried the oven in the trailer and couldn’t remember the last time I’d baked anything. Ever. I’d never really been the domestic type. I breathed in the aroma of my coffee, and it smelled like it usually did: strong and nutty, decidedly not like pastries.

Squinting, I scanned the area around the trailer. The scent of fresh-baked muffins was hardly a typical harbinger of bad things to come, but my life was full of atypical warning signs. Behind my car, at the periphery of my lot, sat a familiar white Land Rover. The passenger window was down, and inside sat a certain auburn-haired man, who seemed unable to avoid my personal space. The heavenly scent was coming from over there. Crap.

I slipped back into the trailer, since Connor seemed to be distracted by something inside the car and hadn’t noticed me yet. The man didn’t seem to have a very sensitive take-a-hint meter. And I was none too pleased with myself because there was a little spark of excitement jumping around in my stomach. Why was any part of me excited to see him? Shouldn’t I be calling the cops about now? If stalking was his M.O., he did seem to have a knack for it. Maybe the post office hadn’t been a coincidence. And the fact that he knew about the stream beyond my property unsettled me, since I’d been pretty sure that was knowledge limited to myself, my brother, and the band of ragged kids that traipsed through my lot most days. Maybe a few intrepid explorers.

I stared into the bathroom mirror trying to decide what to do. I could pretend not to be home, but my car was parked out front. And if Connor glanced in the windows, he’d certainly see me. Living in a trailer didn’t afford a lot of good hiding places. I’d have to face him. But I was not going to give in to the little flame flickering inside my chest, the one that had ignited the first time I’d met Jack. That flicker of interest was a terrible guide, and I didn’t trust it any more than I trusted the man in the car outside.

I’d face him, but I wasn’t going to do it in lingerie and smeared mascara. Hating myself a tiny bit for doing it, I pulled on my jeans and a button down blouse, pinched my cheeks and swept my hair up into a loose knot at the back of my head. I glanced in the bathroom mirror and swished water around my mouth. On a whim, I grabbed my camera. Then I let the door slam behind me as I stepped back out with my coffee cup.

Connor’s head snapped up as the trailer door slammed, and he immediately got out of his car.

I watched him approach, wishing I could consider him without the irritating awareness that he was handsome. Really handsome. There was something in the way he moved as he carried a paper bag and coffee tray toward me that was graceful, purposeful. And really, really hot.

But that didn’t change the fact that he was here again. After I’d told him twice to get off my property.

“Do I need to get a restraining order?” I still wasn’t sure whether I should be frightened or intrigued, but I could pretend.

He stopped walking, and looked like I’d slapped him, his shoulders springing up and his head lifting to look at me better. He shook his head and took a step back. “Look, no. I’m sorry. I’ve really screwed this up. I only came to apologize. I just can’t seem to be around you without bungling things.”

He looked sincere. And he was slowly turning around, taking whatever was in the bag with him. My mouth and stomach betrayed me. “Wait. What’s in the bag?”

He stopped, but didn’t come closer. “I brought you a muffin. And some coffee.”

“I like coffee.” I pointed at the picnic table outside my door, wondering if I was making a terrible mistake as the flame inside me glowed just a bit brighter.

In the sunlight, Connor’s hair glinted and his skin shone. He was taller than Jack, his shoulders were wider and his waist was narrower. And he filled out his jeans much better than Jack ever had. And there was no reason in the world why I should be comparing this man to my ex-husband. I shoved down the irritating knowledge that Jack was still more a part of my life—and my thoughts—than I wanted him to be.

I sniffed at the heady scent lingering around us. “Blueberry muffins?”

He nodded.

“May I?”

He nodded again, a slow smile pulling the perfect lips up.

I reached for the bag and peeked inside. The scent hit me full force and I couldn’t stop my hand from reaching in as my mouth watered. “These are Frank’s muffins.” I looked up at him for confirmation, but he looked confused. “From the diner.” I smelled them each morning and it took all of my willpower not to eat them every day. If I did, I’d never fit into my jeans again. But one wouldn’t hurt.

“Right.” He nodded, a faint smile on the full lips. “My version of a peace offering. Blueberry muffins and coffee.” He reached forward and took one coffee for himself. Miranda was sure to have something to say about his visit and the fact that he bought two coffees. I wondered if she’d been the one to wait on him.

“Coffee is a pretty good start. Muffins are good too,” I conceded.

He looked at me for a long moment, his blue eyes thoughtful as they searched my face.

I felt uncomfortable under his gaze.

Finally, he shifted his weight, the scrape of his boots breaking the strange moment. “Have you thought any more about selling?”

“Since last night?” I shook my head. “You really are persistent, aren’t you?” I was lying. I had thought about it a lot. I’d thought about how selling would free me of this burden and allow me to leave Kings Grove behind and start a life somewhere else. Maybe get it right this time. And I’d thought about how that new life would have to be one without