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Chapter ten

Gage

“Fucking hell,” I mutter to myself as I pull the pink sequin dress over my head and stare at myself in the mirror.

My skin might be red and irritated from the itchy fabric, but I’m still grinning like an idiot.

I can’t believe I expected anything less than that from Hazel, but she still managed to surprise me.

I can hear the woman in question moving around in the dressing room next to me, slipping back into her original outfit, and I can’t stop thinking about how much fun that actually was—or what her body looks like underneath that Grinch onesie.

The moment Hazel stepped out of her room today, wearing that sexy little black outfit, I had to fight to keep my reaction in check.

Not only did my dick enjoy the sight of her tan legs and petite body encased in black—my favorite color—but the anxiety about going on a date with her went right out the window.

In fact, the only thing I could think about was getting her on the back of my bike. And I wasn’t lying when I said no other woman has been on the back of my bike. Ever .

As irritated as I was about this ridiculous task, the evening has been fun—a breath of fresh air in the monotony that my life has become these past few years.

But laughing with Hazel and verbally sparring with her, seeing that fire in her eyes? I like it.

And that’s a problem.

As well as the phone call from Miranda that came at the worst time possible .

I pull my shirt over my head and button my jeans before sitting to lace up my shoes.

“I’m ready when you are,” Hazel calls out to me from outside the dressing room.

When I open the door, Hazel is dressed in her hot outfit again, and you’d never know she was just channeling her inner Grinch. She’s also sporting a smile that matches my own.

“Ready to look for an ottoman?”

I blink. “Oh yeah. I forgot about that.”

She eyes me curiously. “Well, I didn’t.”

I follow her to the front counter to return our clothes to Judy, and then we head to the furniture section, tiptoeing through the cluttered aisles.

I swear, I’ve never seen so much junk in my life, and I wasn’t exaggerating earlier—clutter makes my anxiety go through the roof.

When we reach the furniture, it’s immediately obvious there are no ottomans to be found.

“I was optimistic, but I’m not surprised.”

I scan the selection—two small couches and a handful of dated dressers. “Yeah, looks like slim pickings.”

She turns and looks up at me. “Well, what should we get now?”

I s hove my hands in my pockets, shrugging. “Beats the hell out of me. You choose.”

“We’re supposed to find something together, remember?”

“Why does it matter? It’s your place.”

The irritation on her face returns, but I’m doing everything I can to give her the control here. If I’m leaving five months from now, why should I have a say in decisions that will impact her later?

“Whatever.” Hazel huffs and stalks off toward the kitchenware.

I let her go and casually stroll around, trying not to let my anxiety get the best of me as I navigate the chaos.

Then something catches my eye.

When I pick it up, goosebumps spread over my skin.

For a moment, I debate if I should show this to Hazel, but as I see her assessing shelves of bakeware, I know without a doubt that she’ll treasure this long after I’m gone.

“Hey, wifey…”

She spins around at that, scowling. “Don’t call me that.”

Chuckling, I say, “Well now I definitely can’t stop because I know it irritates you.”

I hold up the wind chime so she can see it. “I think I found what we should buy.”

Hazel’s eyes grow wide and her lips part. “Oh my gosh…”

“My aunt had a million of these,” I say, trying not to let my own emotion show. But for some reason, I almost feel like seeing this was kismet.

“I know.” Hazel reaches out to stroke the stained glass hummingbirds and umbrella piece at the top holding it all together. “And it has hummingbirds…”

“Couldn’t be more perfec t, right?”

Her gaze lifts to mine, and there’s a faraway look in her eyes. “It’s perfect.”

“All right then. Let’s pay for it and get out of here.”

Hazel follows me up to the register in silence. Even as Judy tries to make small talk while wrapping it up for us, she doesn’t say a word.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this woman, it’s that she always has something to say. Her silence is unnerving.

We walk to my bike, where I stash the wind chime in the side bag before turning to her. She’s gazing absently into the night sky.

“You okay, Spitfire?”

“Uh-huh,” she murmurs, but my gut knows better.

The entire drive home, I dwell on what could have happened to make the night shift.

I mean, I know I was less than enthusiastic about finding something to take back to the apartment, but Hazel didn’t seem that put off by my suggestion.

And up until that point, I thought we were having a good time.

Dinner was fucking delicious, dressing each other up was surprisingly entertaining, and I thought I hit the jackpot on the perfect item to purchase in completion of our task.

So what the fuck happened in the last fifteen minutes?

As I pull into the parking space at her complex, she practically jumps off the bike, tosses the helmet at me, and heads inside without waiting for me.

When I make it to the apartment, I find her in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine.

“What the hell is going on, Hazel?”

Her eyes meet mine and there’s a fire there that I’ve seen before. But something else is lurking there too—and I’m inclined to say it’s pain. That’s something I recognize all too well.

“Nothing,” she says curtly, replacing the cork before putting the bottle back in the fridge.

“You sure? Because you’ve been weird ever since we picked out that wind chime.”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

I toss my keys on the kitchen counter, crossing my arms over my chest. “I may not have much experience in relationships, but I do know that when a woman says she’s fine, it means she’s not.”

Hazel scoffs. “Why do you care?”

“Why do I—” I drag a hand down my face. “Because you flipped a fucking switch on me!”

She shakes her head again, lifting her glass to her lips and taking several gulps before dropping the glass back down to the counter, studying the liquid like it holds all of the answers to every question flowing through her brain right now.

I exhale sharply. “If I did something, tell me. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did.”

Silence.

I want to bring her smile back, but what am I supposed to do if she won’t talk to me?

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone.” Dropping my arms, I turn to leave the kitchen, but stop dead in my tracks when she speaks.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were that day?”

I freeze.

Shit.

I close my eyes and let my head fall. I knew this conversation was coming at some point, but I didn’t expect it to be now .

Twisting to face her, I find her only a few feet away, her hands hanging at her sides and tears in her eyes.

“I didn’t know who you were,” I say carefully. “So it didn’t make sense to tell you who I was.” I shrug.

“So you just go around drawing on random women for the thrill?” Her brow furrows as she waits for my reply.

How do I explain this to her without revealing too much?

I push a hand through my hair and blow out a breath.

“It’s something I started doing a few years ago.

Art is like this universal language and some people just give off this energy that I can’t ignore.

When I saw you sitting in the coffee shop that day, I felt something.

So, I followed my gut, and the first thing that came to me when I touched you was a hummingbird. ”

Her eyes well with tears. I take a step closer to her, but she takes a step back, turning away from me.

“Fuck. Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing.”

I place my hand on her shoulder. “It’s obviously not fucking nothing, Hazel. Talk to me.”

She gathers herself and turns to face me again, inhaling shakily. “Before my dad died, he told me that when he visited me, he would come to me as a hummingbird.”

My chest aches from her admission. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah. So that wasn’t just some meaningless interaction for me, Gage. It felt like it was a message from my dad.” She wipes under her eyes again. “And then you came up to me with that wind chime today, and all I could do was think about your aunt and all of the wind chimes she had on her porch.”

“I know,” I reply, hating how seeing her cry is affecting me.

This pull toward her is growing stronger by the day. No matter how detached I try to remain, I can’t deny that we are connected somehow, and all of these little coincidences are getting hard to ignore.

“ Nobody knew about that conversation except him and me.” A tear slips down her cheek. “I told my mom eventually too, but that day when we met at the coffee shop…it meant something to me.”

“I’m sorry, Hazel. If I would have known—”

She cuts me off. “But that’s the thing, you couldn’t have, right?”

We stand there, eyes locked, and I can hear my heart hammering in my ears. I place my hand over my chest, willing it to calm down. But when I’m around this woman, it never does. Somehow, in four short weeks, I’ve grown to care about her.

And I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

She sighs. “Whatever. I get it, Gage. I was just some random girl, and this whole thing is just an inconvenience for you.”

She starts to walk away, but I grab her hand, pulling her back to face me.

Before I can think better of it, I reach out and cup the side of her face.

Red blotches cover her cheeks and her eyes are still brimming with tears, but right now I have an insane desire to kiss her, to make her feel better, to taste those lips that have been haunting my memories for weeks.

What the fuck?

“Maybe your dad was with you in that moment. Maybe that’s why I felt the hummingbird when I started talking to you…”

Her eyes bounce back and forth between mine. “Yeah. Maybe…”

“And today? Maybe my aunt was with me today when I found that chime…”

“I thought you didn’t believe in that stuff?”

My eyes drop to her lips as her tongue peeks out to lick them. “I don’t know what I believe anymore, Spitfire.”

She holds my gaze, something charged building between us. Before I can stop myself, I’m leaning in.

Her lips part, her breath catching as her gaze flicks from my mouth back to my eyes. “Gage…”

I stroke her cheek with my thumb, loving how her breath hitches when I do.

And then I snap back to reality.

Before I do anything stupid, I jerk my hand away and take a step back.

Her expression falters. It’s quick—just a flicker of hurt—but I see it. And I hate that I put it there. It’s enough to warn me that I’m playing with fire, and if I’m not careful, we’ll both get burned.

“We should get some sleep. It’s been a long day,” I say, turning away from her and hating myself for it.

She’s funny, yet serious. Kind, but doesn’t take shit. Loves her family and holds strong in what she believes in. She values her relationships with people, which is exactly why she shouldn’t be wasting her time with me.

Hazel scoffs. “Yeah. I agree. Wouldn’t want you to miss your beauty rest, although"—her gaze rakes over me as she folds her arms—“I’m not sure it’s helping much.”

There she is.

A smirk tugs at my lips. She’s back to giving me hell, and honestly, I’m relieved.

I could fire back with something snarky. Hell, I could be a top-notch ass right now if I wanted to. But instead, I chuckle and walk down the hall toward my room. “Good night, Spitfire.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she mutters, turning back to the kitchen.

“Fuck.” I close my door and lean back against it, my heart pounding so hard in my chest that I need to get it under control before this night turns into an even bigger shit show.

I f orce a slow inhale, then let it out through my nose. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

It doesn’t help.

With a low curse, I walk over to my nightstand, twist the cap off my medication, and toss a pill into my mouth.

“Lock it up,” I mutter to myself, continuing to focus on my breathing. “Don’t let her in.”

But even as I say those words, I know it’s already too late.

Hazel Sheppard has officially gotten under my skin.