Then, “Fine.”
Then he heard her go up the stairs.
He stared at the TV for a long time not seeing it. Then he lifted up his hands and rubbed his face. Then he turned the TV off and tried to find sleep.
This took awhile.
Chapter Eight
Got a Wife Who Knows My Every Move
Ty
Walker jogged up the outside steps after his morning run. It had been over five years since he’d run in Colorado. He wasn’t used to it and the altitude had kicked his ass.
But it had also been over five years since he’d run free, alone, wherever he wanted his feet to take him, the road open for him to decide where he wanted to go, not caged, not limited, not with eyes tracking his every move so he didn’t give a f**k the altitude kicked his ass.
He opened the door and instantly saw Lexie at the island, dressed, hair done, makeup on, coffee cup halfway to her lips. Her boxes had come, her wardrobe selection increased and she’d wasted no time unpacking her shit and taking advantage of it and the results were right there. Thin, tank-like tee the color of the inside of a honeydew melon with ragged, torn-looking straps, one falling off her shoulder, what he was sure were dark brown short-shorts even though he couldn’t see her legs but that was all she wore, thick, dark brown leather belt with something stamped on the leather and a heavy silver buckle and he knew by her height she was wearing heels.
It was Sunday, his day off, two days after she’d laid it out. He’d come home from work both Friday and Saturday, Friday, right after work, last night, right after his workout after work. She was civil. She offered him dinner. She made him dinner. She did the dishes. Then she disappeared to the top floor and he didn’t see her again.
Her light was out.
And her eyes were on him now and he saw she hadn’t switched it on that morning.
And he didn’t like her light switched off. He didn’t like her keeping that light from him. And the f**k of it was, he was the ass**le who’d switched it off in the first f**king place.
“Morning,” she greeted then her head went down and he saw she was scratching something on a notepad. She kept talking, her voice dead as it had been for three days and he didn’t f**king like that either. “I don’t know if you noticed but I got the bottled water on that note you left me.”
He’d noticed.
He’d also noticed she’d done his laundry.
He went to the fridge and got a bottle of the water she bought for him after he left a note about it, twisted the cap and sucked back a huge pull.
This he used as his affirmative response. He didn’t speak often because he didn’t feel he needed to speak when his actions could speak for him. At that moment, he also didn’t speak because he didn’t want to do something stupid, something that would set her off, something, anything that would make Lexie’s light shine through. Which was what he wanted to do.
“All right, I’m going. I’ll see you later,” she announced, moving to the sink to put her coffee cup there.
“Where you goin’?” he asked.
“There’s a garden center in Chantelle. Shambles told me about it. I’m going to get some flowers,” she told the island where she went to grab her purse which she did then she ripped off the top paper on the pad. Then her eyes skimmed through him and she finished, “Later.”
She started toward the stairs, shoving the paper into her purse but stopped and turned around when he asked, “Who’s Shambles?”
“The guy who owns La-La Land coffee,” she told him, started to turn back to the stairs but stopped and turned back at his voice.
“La-La Land coffee?”
“The coffee house in town,” she answered then started to turn again but stopped when he again spoke.
And he spoke when he shouldn’t have. He spoke because he was a dumb f**k. He spoke because he couldn’t hack it; Lexie shut off, not just off but shut off from him.
“You’re not goin’ to a garden center.”
Her head tipped to the side. “I am, the deck needs plants.”
“The deck doesn’t need plants.”