“I don’t have a choice,” I say slowly. “We were leaving for the Bahamas tonight. When we returned in two weeks, the house was going to be ready.”
“What house?” I rattle off an address and her jaw drops. “That corner mansion on the Battery? The one right across from the park?”
“That’s the one.” I lower myself to the bed and drop my head into my waiting hands, the reality of my situation finally registering. “The lease on my apartment ended and I moved out. Been staying at the Dewberry Hotel until the wedding, but I checked out of there this morning. Most of my things are in storage, waiting to be moved into the new house.”
Addison sits down on the bed next to me. “Do you have a friend you can call?”
“Yes, but…” I shake my head. “He has a family. I can’t bring a bunch of press down on their heads by showing up there. And they would show up. They always do.”
“Parents?”
I tuck my tongue into my cheek and don’t answer.
“I’ll get you some sheets so you can make the bed.” She rises and starts to leave the room, but stops with a hand on the frame. Without looking at me, she sighs and asks, “Grilled cheese and tomato soup sound okay?”
“Better than okay.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
CHAPTER THREE
Addison
Who was the mysterious Getaway Girl?
And what has she done with Captain Du Pont?
—TheTea.com
My apartment has shrunk ten sizes since Elijah walked in the door.
Now the future mayor of Charleston, South Carolina and his smooth southern gentleman’s drawl is sitting across from me eating a grilled cheese. He’s still wearing his tuxedo, but it has been deconstructed into pants, a white undershirt and an unbuttoned dress shirt that hangs loose around either side of him. The pendant light hanging over the kitchen table gives his robust body a glowing lining, picking strands of his hair to stroke into the color of new pennies. Not that I’m noticing.
I’ve never cooked for a man before. At best, I’ve grudgingly shoved a box of Cocoa Krispies across the counter toward a dude who’d overstayed his welcome. There’s no denying the pleasurable little flip in my stomach every time Elijah takes a bite, though, chewing with no self-consciousness. Just a big, healthy man enjoying a meal.
To be fair, I barely cook for myself. Ever since returning to Charleston, though, I’ve found myself falling back into habits formed as a teenager. Stopping at the local market on the way home from work and buying the ingredients for something that will last two or three days. The way my grandmother used to do. Stew, lasagna, meatloaf. They always taste best on the third day, she used to say, pouring herself a mug of wine from the Bota Box. Saluting me with it.
These recaptured habits probably have something to do with being surrounded by reminders of the highly efficient and hard-working woman who raised me from childhood, after my mother left. I could almost feel her silent disapproval on the first night of my return as I munched on Lucky Charms on a spread-out blanket in the living room.
Fine, I’d muttered to the lit-up room. I’ll go shopping tomorrow.
“This is great, Goose.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No, really. It’s great.”
“I was talking about the nickname.”
He acknowledges my gripe with a teasing wink, leaning back in his chair with half a grilled cheese in his hand. “What is with the shoes?” When I merely raise an eyebrow, he gestures with the sandwich. “Over by the door.”
I follow his line of sight to my shoe shelf, which is a glass half-moon affixed to the wall. Except for my bedroom, which I’ve made my own out of necessity, this is my only personal touch in the main living area of the apartment. Neatly arranged on the shelf sit four pairs of shoes. Black stilettos, green rain boots, flashy pink sneakers and basic brown sandals. “I have a theory that human beings only need four pairs of shoes. Those are mine.”
“Why do you keep them on a shelf?”
Not used to explaining myself, I squirm in my chair. “Um. Putting my shoes on is the last thing I do before leaving the house. It’s kind of…I don’t know. Symbolic, maybe? Like a final touch to assure myself I’m prepared for whatever I’ve planned that day. A donning of armor before going into battle.” I poke the air with my spoon. “If you laugh, Mr. Mayor, I’ll dump the rest of my soup on your head.”
“I’m not the mayor yet. I still have an election to win.” He tosses the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and I try not to watch the muscles of his throat shift and flex. “My mother has a thousand pairs of shoes.”
“I’m willing to bet she only wears four on a regular basis, though.”