A Valentine Kiss. Christy McKellen

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СКАЧАТЬ CHAPTER FIVE

      MILA HEARD THE door to the house slam and closed her eyes. Clearly Jordan hadn’t returned from their trip to the amphitheatre in a good mood. Not that she was feeling particularly cheerful herself. She had let him bait her into lashing out, into revealing things she didn’t want him to know.

      It was only because she had been feeling particularly vulnerable after hesitating at those stairs. She had always hated that reminder of her accident—any reminder, really. But as she had stood in front of those steps, her heart in her throat, she had hated that the most. Because every time she thought she would be able to take a step she was reminded of the sensation of tumbling to the ground. Pain would flash through her at the memory of lying at the bottom of the steps, her breathing staggered, waiting for someone to help her.

      She blamed that feeling for the accusation she had hurled at Jordan from nowhere earlier. She had never intended letting that slip—the real reason she thought he’d left—but her tongue no longer seemed to obey the ‘think before you speak’ rule she had always played by.

      Heaven knew she was tired of taking all the blame for him leaving—yes, she had asked him for space, but that had been said in grief, in pain. She hadn’t meant it, but when he’d packed his bags she hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask him to stay. She had wanted him to—every fibre in her being had urged her to stop him—but she had also wanted him to want to stay. She had wanted him to refuse to go, to tell her that he needed her, to acknowledge that they needed each other to get through the heartbreak of losing their son.

      But he hadn’t, and she had been forced to admit to herself that their make-believe life—the one where they were playing at being a happy family and where she was a worthy wife—was never really going to be her life. Jordan hadn’t had any reason to be with her before she had lost their baby, so why would he bother with her now, when she’d proved that she wasn’t capable? When she’d proved that she was broken, especially during her grieving?

      He must believe that, too, or he would never have asked her if Greg had told her that. Jordan must have said it to Greg at some point, in confidence, and the stunned expression she’d seen on his face must have been because Jordan had thought Greg had broken his confidence...

      Hurt beat at her heart, but she set her shaking hands down on the lists of the things she needed to do and the notes from the phone calls she had made at the kitchen counter.

      ‘Hey,’ he said, and the deep voice made her heart jump in the same way it had when they’d first met.

      She turned and saw the amicable expression on his face. Had she been mistaken about his mood? Perhaps not, she thought as she looked in his eyes.

      ‘Hi,’ she replied, determined not to let her emotions get in the way of amicability. If he could do it, so could she. ‘You were gone for a while.’

      ‘Yeah, I bumped into Frank and we talked about the vineyard. I got us some food, too.’

      She could tell from his voice that something was bothering him, and while her heart wanted to ask him about it, her head told her to keep to the game they seemed to be playing.

      ‘That was nice of you,’ she said measuredly, and took the pizza from him.

      It had already gone cold, she saw when she opened the boxes, making her wonder if he’d gone somewhere else after picking the food up. But she was distracted when she saw he had got her favourite pizza, and she had to force herself not to be swayed by something as simple as that that only indicated his memory.

      ‘Frank couldn’t have told you all that much,’ she said, and took out two oven trays to warm the pizza on. ‘You two spoke about the place quite often while you were gone.’

      ‘Did he tell you that?’

      She looked back at him, and was suddenly struck by how attractive he was. He’d taken off the red winter jacket he had on that morning, and now she was being treated to the sight of the muscles he sported almost lazily under his long-sleeved top. Even his light blue jeans highlighted the strength of his lower body.

      She swallowed, and told herself to answer him instead of staring like a fool. ‘Frank’s mentioned it, yes. But he told your dad first, and Greg told me. I think he thought that if I knew you’d kept in touch, I’d get in touch with you.’ She closed her eyes briefly as soon as she realised she’d said it. It was being in this kitchen with him, she thought, and desperately changed the topic. ‘Do you want to eat now?’

      ‘I’d like to take a shower first, but that shouldn’t take too long.’

      There was a pause, almost as if Jordan had wanted to say something else and then decided not to. She glanced at him and saw an unreadable expression on his face. That in itself told her something was bothering him, but still she refused to ask him. That wasn’t supposed to be her job any more.

      ‘This is different,’ he said, abruptly changing the topic.

      She followed his gaze and for the first time since Jordan had first brought her to his father’s house she saw the brown cupboards and cream countertops. But since that was the part of the kitchen that hadn’t changed, she knew he was referring to her new additions.

      ‘I thought a little colour might cheer the place up.’ She didn’t add that she’d hoped it would cheer his father up, as well. Greg had always been a man of a few words, and often she’d thought that it was because of sadness. He hadn’t ever spoken much about his wife—like father, like son—but when he had she’d seen that Greg had loved and missed her. And then in his ill health and missing Jordan, his sadness had become grumpiness and sometimes even meanness.

      Jordan was watching her when she looked up, a complicated expression on his face, and she wondered if he realised what she hadn’t said after all.

      ‘I knew it would be something like that,’ he said, and it sounded forced. ‘I would never have pegged Dad as a fuchsia kind of guy.’ He nodded his head to the curtains and matching utensils that were scattered across the counters.

      She smiled a little, felt her guard ease a touch. ‘I think he grew fond of it after a while. Though at the beginning he made all sorts of noises.’ The smile widened. ‘And then he started seeing how the colour lightened up the place, and how the art helped me, and he got much better then.’

      The walls were covered with her mosaic artwork—something her doctor had once suggested she do to keep herself busy during a postaccident, postbaby check-up—and she was quite proud of it. It made her remember the simple things she had taken pleasure in before her life had been destroyed.

      ‘How did it help you?’

      He said the words so quietly that at first she didn’t register what he’d asked. And then she realised that her guard was down, and her shoulders stiffened in response. It shouldn’t be this easy to slip up in front of him, she thought. Not when slipping up meant talking to him about the time she was trying to move on from. Not when it meant him prodding her about it again.

      ‘It just gave me something to keep busy with while I recovered,’ she said firmly, and then turned to put the oven on and slide the trays with the pizzas into it.

      She took her time with it, and it didn’t take long for Jordan to get the picture. After a few moments, she heard the shower being turned on and she sighed with relief.

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