Sunflower Alley (The Merriams Book 4) Page 9

  She slapped him on the shoulder. “Are you kidding? I figure today has to be one of the luckiest of my life. I’m rolling with it. Besides, my dad and Damien and a whole bunch of other friends came over the minute I sent a selfie of me holding a check for one million dollars.” She spun in a circle. “I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

  So did he. The ground was unsteady under his feet again. “If you’re sure…”

  “I’m sure, but I didn’t have a chance to change,” she said, repeating herself again and tucking her arm in his. “Let me get my coat—I see you’re still not wearing one, but I’m happy you have on pants and a sweater, at least. I need to pop into my apartment and change. After that, we can celebrate. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk if we hurry.”

  Go by her place? That seemed way too personal. Did he want to know where and how she lived? Because he knew this wasn’t a pretense for getting him into her apartment for sex. It was a step toward intimacy, connection. “You’re walking? In this neighborhood?”

  “Please. I’ve lived here my whole life. I know which streets to stay on. Besides, I’m trained in martial arts.”

  That didn’t appease him, but he wasn’t going to argue. The women in his family would have taken umbrage at his protectiveness. His heart hurt at the thought. He’d gone too far trying to protect them after Corey, and he’d only succeeded in driving them away.

  “If you have any final things to wrap up, go ahead. I’m not in a hurry.”

  She patted his cheek playfully, a gesture he might have found sweet if his heart weren’t tightening up in his chest, constricting normal blood flow. “I always have things to see to, but tonight I’m just going to grab my coat and your proposal. I didn’t have any time to read it today in the awesome melee after Clara’s donation, but I plan to look at it over my oatmeal in the morning.”

  He found himself fighting a smile. “You eat oatmeal for breakfast?”

  “Every morning,” she said, dancing backward down the hallway. “Sometimes I even add fruit. Oh, Connor, tonight’s going to be so wonderful. Be right back.”

  She disappeared, and he found himself fighting the urge to flee. When he’d asked her for a date, he hadn’t thought any further than his attraction to her—than his desire to touch and caress her, but this suddenly felt like more. He couldn’t let it be more—he was damned if he’d take on someone else to love after what had happened with Corey and Michaela.

  Except he couldn’t bear to disappoint Louisa. She was so excited to celebrate with him. And he wanted to go with her…

  He closed his eyes and reined himself in. He could compartmentalize. This was attraction and sex, not forever and happily ever after. Except he couldn’t stop thinking of the way her golden eyes had gleamed upon learning Clara was donating a cool million. And he thought of the way she’d sat beside him, a complete stranger, in the middle of a snowstorm and refused to leave him. God! She was…way too…affecting. He should—

  “Okay, let’s go,” she said, barreling back into the foyer like the force of nature she was. She blew kisses to what he assumed were the sunflowers and then put her hand on his chest. He noticed she was wearing the winter accessories he’d bought her, and his chest tightened again at the sight—as if she were boldly claiming him, and vice versa. The color suited her even more than he’d thought.

  “You look beautiful in red. In everything.”

  Their eyes met, and he felt something click inside him. There was no force on earth that would keep him away from her tonight. If it damned him, then so be it.

  She beamed as she ushered him out into the night. “Tomorrow’s love note is going to be epic. Man, I’ll have to stare into my oatmeal for inspiration.”

  He opened the door for her, falling further under her spell. “Stare into your oatmeal? You are now certifiably weird.”

  “I know! But I get some of my best ideas that way.”

  She spun in a circle again, the giddiness in her too much to be contained in that small body, and he put his hands out to make sure she didn’t take a spill. There were patches of snow and ice from the storm that hadn’t melted.

  “In this neighborhood, some people might think you’re high,” he said, stepping to the outside of her so he was closest to the street. “I mean, only I know you’re ecstatic.”

  “Probably.” She tucked her arm through his all date-like. “But I’m known to the guys who sell drugs around here. They won’t think I’m high. Only happy. And I am… Oh, gosh. You know, I thought I was lucky when you offered to help me design the training program, but I figured it was going to take us a long time. And then Clara Merriam Hale walked in today and gave me a million dollars.”

  It was weird to hear his last name come out of her mouth, and he felt a punch of guilt. He knew Clara was right. Louisa wouldn’t like the subterfuge, but he needed it right now. It would maintain the distance between them, for one, and he also wanted—needed—to be a nobody right now, someone with no past.

  “You going to let me blab all night?” she asked, stopping in the amber glow from Chicago’s famous streetlights.

  Her golden skin seemed even more luminous than usual, making his hands itch to caress the delicate line of her cheekbone. God, she was so beautiful. Inside and out. He was starting to think in clichés, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself around her.

  “Why would I stop you? You had big things happen today. I figure you can do or say anything you want to.”

  She took his hand and tugged him to the right, and he realized he knew the street they were on. This was where South Side met Hyde Park. He’d lived on this block with Corey when they’d moved off campus their junior year at the University of Chicago. He scanned the cross street, trying to gauge how far away his old place was. Then he stopped short.

  There it was, the Greystone apartment building half a block up. Memories crashed into him. He and Corey hefting an oversized couch they’d bought at IKEA into their unit, only to realize it was too large. The Star Wars-themed party they’d held for Halloween one year. That one snowstorm where they’d watched a marathon of Jim Carrey and Fast and the Furious movies. Those were some of the best memories of his life. Back then, he’d felt as close to carefree as he’d ever been. He’d been foolish and naïve enough to think their friendship was unassailable. That he’d always have Corey in his life.

  “What’s wrong?” he heard Louisa ask.

  He wanted to dismantle it brick by brick and howl at the fates. Why did anyone pour so much emotion into relationships that would end? Every relationship ended in one way or another.

  Breathing hard, his lungs started to burn with the cold.

  “All right, whatever it is, you can tell me inside.” She grabbed his arm and turned them down a sidewalk to a three-story brick house divided into apartments. Her grip didn’t lessen as she dug into her purse for her keys and opened the glass door. He followed her up the red-carpeted stairs to the third floor and into the apartment on the right. She flicked on the lights and locked the door.

  She lived across the street from his old building. Fate was laughing at him, all right.

  Louisa turned to him and put her hand on her waist, studying him. “Tell me what happened back there.”

  Not a question, a direct order.

  Right now he didn’t have the energy for a clever equivocation. “I lived across the street a million years ago. No big deal. I just got caught off guard.”

  “You lived here a million years ago,” she said. “No big deal?” The look in her eyes told him she knew it was a bunch of bullshit, but she didn’t call him on it. “Okay, why don’t you sit right here while I change?”

  She all but pushed him into the chair and then disappeared. He took the time alone to grip his knees, forcing the images of Corey in the Greystone across the street from his mind. Except it was like whack-a-mole. He’d erase one image of Corey laughing at him, only to have another pop up.

  God! He stood up and paced, running his hands through
his hair. He’d thought he’d put this behind him, but he was coming apart.

  “Connor.”

  His head swung in her direction. She was wearing the same clothes, but his throat was too dry to ask her why. Then she was coming over to him and putting her arms around him. Hard.

  He tried to nudge free, but she shook her head, something he felt rather than saw. “Don’t you dare push me away right now.”

  “Louisa.”

  “I mean it, Connor.” She tightened her grip. “Don’t mess with me.”

  The steel in her tone soothed the acid coating his stomach. It felt good to have someone guide him through this moment, and he found himself tightening his arms around her and lowering his head to rest on top of hers.

  She didn’t pat his back or tell him whatever was going on with him would get better. No, she just held him in a fierce grip, infusing him with her strength. When he finally was able to take even breaths, he eased back. Her arms banded tighter.

  “Not yet,” she whispered, her tone softer now. “Just hold on to me a little while longer.”

  He thought about fighting her this time—when had he ever accepted comfort like this?—but then she nudged him with her body.

  “Don’t fight me. I’ll win.”

  Oddly, he liked that threat. “Not to be weird, but sometimes you remind me of my mom.”

  “It’s not weird, since that means she must be awesome,” she said, her face pressed against his chest.

  “She is,” he said, his words a harsh rasp. God, he’d screwed up—with Mom and everybody. He’d hurt the people who cared about him. Pushed them away when they’d tried to help. Flown into rages. Forced them to fire him instead of explaining himself.

  But how could he explain to them what he didn’t understand himself? How could he let them back in when he was still such a mess?

  Shit. When he’d left home, he’d thought no further than leaving Merriam Enterprises behind and fulfilling his promise to Corey. But what the hell was he supposed to do afterward? He had no plan. His uncertain future stretched before him, and it made him tremble. How could he have let it come to this?

  “I’m ruining your celebration,” he said, trying to step back. “I’m sorry. I should leave.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she said, her arms clenching even tighter. “And you’re not ruining my celebration. Connor…I’m going with my gut here, but the place across the street… You lived there with the person you think you killed, right? That’s why you’re back here.”

  He jerked in her arms.

  “I don’t know your story yet, but that’s a piece, right?” She made some space between them to look up at him, keeping her arms tight around him like she expected him to bolt. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But I’m here for you. I don’t have the same story as you, but I know how painful it feels to think you’re the cause of someone’s death. It’s one of the worst feelings in the world.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, trying to break free.

  She let him. “That’s okay. I respect it. Now, I’m going to change so we can go.”

  He stopped short. “You still want to go out with me after this display?”

  Her face went all soft, like it had when she was looking at some of the homeless children. “You bet. In fact, this is my second miracle of the day.”

  He went speechless. A miracle? Falling apart in her arms? “You are officially now more than weird.”

  “So I’m a compassionate lunatic, but I’m good with it,” she said with a wink. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be a sec.”

  If she’d pushed harder—asked him to talk about his feelings—he might have backed out, but he didn’t want to let her down. He’d let down so many people lately. Besides, what awaited him? A night of insomnia and regret in a dark apartment that wasn’t home? Yeah, it was certainly more luxurious than that other place, but he didn’t like to linger there.

  He ignored the pull to cross to her front window and look at the place across the street. No, it would be better to lock it out like everything else. Compartmentalize. Focus on what was in front of him. He scanned her small living room, taking in the dark red walls. Of course her home would be colorful. The mantel called to him, decorated with brightly framed pictures of her with various people. He recognized Damien in one of them with a tall, older black man. There was something about his smile that made him think of Louisa.

  “That’s my dad,” she said, appearing in the doorway, a vision in a full-length stretchy black dress with boots. “You’ve met Damien.”

  “Coach Evans,” he mused, setting the picture down, trying not to stare. “I remember Boxer saying that. What does he coach and where?”

  “Basketball, of course—the only sport worth playing—and at a high school in Washington Park.”

  Another troubled neighborhood close by. “Please tell me you’re not a fan of Kobe Bryant or LeBron James.”

  “And you claim to have lived in Chicago…” She made a tsking sound. “No one was better than the one, the only, Michael Jordan.”

  He decided to yank her chain. “I’m not a Bulls fan. Not a basketball fan really.”

  She made a face. “You might have to leave after all. I’m not sure I can go out with someone who just said those things. You admitted them out loud to a native.”

  “The Bulls were overrated,” he said, hiding a smile. “What the Lakers did—”

  “Are you crazy? The Bulls won six championships in seven years.”

  “The Lakers have won sixteen, and that’s not even as many as the Celtics.”

  Suddenly she was rushing over to him, poking him in the chest. “You’re playing me. Not a basketball fan, huh? You have given yourself away, my friend.”

  He put his arm around her waist, testing the waters. “You’re too easily provoked on this topic. I’ll have to remember.”

  Her hand settled on his chest. “I won’t bite the hook again. I have self-control.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “We’ll see about that. You’re beautiful when you’re outraged.”

  “Cliché but I’ll take it.” She leaned back to look him straight in the eye. “And you’re even more handsome when you tease me. I like seeing this side of you.”

  He’d shown her another side of himself too, but his embarrassing display hadn’t fazed her. Part of him wondered if it was more dangerous that it hadn’t—if he’d been foolish to think there could be anything simple between them. “You know,” he found himself saying, “we’re heading into some serious waters here. Do you think we should reconsider the personal side of our relationship?”

  “I haven’t changed my mind.” She stepped back. “In fact, I’m more intrigued and on board than ever. If you’ve changed your mind, that’s on you, but where’s the man who asked me out earlier today?”

  “A fair point. I don’t want to back out, but I’m feeling way too much here.”

  She nodded. “Ditto.” She paused, as if to let that sink in, then said, “So, last chance. What’s it to be?”

  He’d run away from way too many things lately. She wasn’t running. If she could take it, then so could he. They’d stray into dangerous territory together. “Forget my minor breakdown.”

  “Good,” she said, coming back into his arms. “We might as well get the whole first kiss thing out of the way.”

  “You might be a hardcore basketball fan, but you’re no romantic,” he murmured, tucking her dark hair behind her ear.

  She snorted. “And you are? Please.”

  “I might be—on some occasions.” He was thinking this might be one of them. What would she do if he lifted her in his arms and took her into the bedroom? Laid her on the bed and undressed her ever so slowly?

  She must have caught the gleam in his eye, because a slow smile spread across her face. “I might be a romantic too on some occasions, but at the moment I’m too hungry.”

  “So am I.” God, she smelled delicious. Like s
piced apple cider from Carter’s kitchen.

  She pinched his cheek like he was a truant boy. “Predictable. Come on. If you’re not going to kiss me yet, let’s go.”

  He helped her into the long black wool coat she pulled from the closet, a touch dressier like the rest of her outfit.

  “You should have kissed me when you had the chance,” Louisa said as she opened her front door. “Who knows? After we share a meal, I might have changed my mind.”

  She was so full of it, but he found himself laughing while she inserted her key into the lock. “I don’t want to get our first kiss or any other kiss we have out of the way. You might remember that after we share a meal.”

  She took his hand. “I might take that into consideration,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Thanks for sharing.”

  His heart grew lighter in his chest as they walked down the stairs and left the main house. But the moment he saw that familiar Greystone, the weight was back on his chest, as crushing as a steamroller.

  He kept his gaze ruthlessly forward as they walked by, aware that Louisa was looking at him, measuring. He told himself the past was the past; it didn’t—couldn’t—matter anymore. He was here to make things right for Olivia and the boys. He needed to remember that whenever his focus slipped.

  Chapter 8

  “You know, we’re heading into some serious waters here,” he’d said before they’d left her apartment.

  As if she hadn’t realized she was in trouble that first night, when she’d found herself attracted to one of the hard cases. To someone who needed help and didn’t want it. To someone whose heart was as wounded as hers had been. Sure, it scared her, but she wasn’t one to back away. Since meeting him, it had been one stumble after another, a rough patch of sidewalk she couldn’t resist walking down. But tonight, when he’d exhibited both his vulnerability and his sense of humor, she’d gone down hard. Whatever his real story might be, she wanted to be with him.

  “This date is slowly imploding,” he said, tucked in the corner booth of the restaurant he’d chosen, toying with a glass of prosecco he’d ordered for her celebration. “I still can’t believe you wanted to order one of Chicago’s best Neapolitan pizzas with shrimp, mussels, clams, and calamari. The Italians would deport you for that.”