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He laughs.
“And don’t pretend like your world and mine are the same. We might as well exist in two separateuniverses.” I set my taco down so I can face him squarely. “You have celebrities like Chef Baley on speed dial. You have a dedicated driver and areallyfancy car. You probably sleep in a giant bed with Egyptian cotton sheets and a massage function.”
“You are more than welcome to have a massage in my bed, Ris. You know that.”
I glare at him. “I’m sure it’ll be too crowded in there, Mr. Bachelor of the Year.”
I’m half-joking.
But Cody doesn’t laugh.
With a determined tilt of his chin, he sets his hand on my thigh and slides me across the bench. I gasp, falling backward from the inertia. Our knees buck and he releases my thigh to wrap an arm around my waist.
He pulls me toward his chest. His smile is almost feral, and those gemstone green eyes darken a shade. “The only woman I want in my bed is you. You can believe whatever you want about me, but that much,” his finger slides down my ear to the side of my throat, “needs to be very clear.”
“Cody…” I roll his name off my tongue, tasting it the way I savored the flavors of our tacos.
He sets his forehead on mine and I sweep my eyes closed.
Then I pull back.
“Let’s not make this confusing.” Lifelessly, I push my sauce around with a spoon. “It’s better if you stay in your lane. Let me stay in mine.”
“Ten years ago, I made that choice.” He shakes his head. “But I won’t make the same mistake again. I don’t care how far you think my world is from yours, Ris. If you can’t enter my world,” he narrows his eyes slightly, “I’ll make my home in yours.”
* * *
Cody’s promiseis still ringing in my head when he drops me off at work. Thankfully, he’s on a call and can’t leave any more heart-wrenching parting shots about ‘entering my world’ or ‘only wanting me in his bed’.
Every time he talks like that, my heart skips a beat and it gets harder and harder to remember why I’m resisting him.
Cody’s town car drives away and I wander into the main room, noticing the women preparing their kiosks.
“Maggie.” I wave to a small, frail girl with sad eyes. “It’s good to see you.”
Maggie’s story is particularly tragic and I understand why she was hesitant to join the co-op at first. But I’m glad she did. Her knitting skills are top-tier. The girl can spit out knitted creations like a 3D printer.
“How are you feeling? Ready for the grand opening?” I ask, touching her shoulder lightly.
She winces. “About that… I don’t think it’s such a good idea for me to join.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes dart to the side and she rubs a spot right under her ribs. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
“Of course you’re ready.” I note her skittish behavior. Her eyes keep darting to the door and she looks pale. “Maggie, are you okay?”
“I’m just tired.”
My alarm bells are wailing, but she doesn’t seem interested in talking about it and I won’t force her if she’s not ready. “If you really don’t want to participate, that’s okay. But why don’t you stay for the meeting, take a day and think about it? I was really excited about seeing your work in action.”
Her lips curl up slightly. “O-okay.”
Time flies as we prepare marketing materials for our co-op’s social media. We take some pictures as a group and then break off to make arrangements for our stalls.
This is new for all of us and it’s clear that our clients are on edge at the thought of exposing their work to the masses. Erica is our mood-raiser, singing, whistling and alleviating the pensive mood.
At the end of the day, people leave one-by-one, but I notice Maggie lurking behind. She’s sneaking glances at the door with a fearful look on her face.