24. Chapter 24

I make it down the apartment stairs on shaky legs and carry Cassie's laundry to the washing machine. I stayed chill until I mentioned the shower, then my whole fa?ade came crashing down. The word triggered the memory of her losing her towel, which I'd successfully kept in check for almost an entire hour, despite the fact I had to look at her in my jersey for most of that time.

I dare any other straight man to attempt that feat. No one can ever accuse me of not having incredible willpower.

As if looking at her in my jersey or not thinking about her in the shower weren't hard enough, the first load of her laundry that I dump into the washer is full of her… under things.

Red, black, pink, silky. Animal print.

They rain down into the metal tub. I force myself not to take a second look and drop a detergent pod inside, then slam the lid shut. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and walk to the house.

I've seen a lot of Cassie today. But it's not the image of her towel-less or her fancy skivvies I can't get out of my head. As hard as it is, I tuck both away. Dwelling on them feels like invading her privacy.

What I can't unsee is her wearing something of mine.

My jersey. My name on her back.

That's the image that makes my legs rubber as I take the snow-shoveled path from the garage to the back door of the house.

Molly greets me there with her ball in her mouth. When she doesn't go to work with me, she helps take care of Mom. I let her into the yard and take the ball from her. She wags her tail frantically while waiting for me to throw it, and I'm grateful for the distraction.

I'm also grateful it's cold outside. I need something to cool me down. It's not just Cassie in my jersey or the memory of kissing her I can't get out of my head. Thoughts of her using my shower and sleeping in my bed flood my brain with the same force as the burst pipe at the shop.

Even now, playing fetch with Molly, my eyes keep drifting up the stairs to my apartment, where Cassie is either in my jersey or in my tub.

After a few more tosses with Molly, my body temp has lowered enough that I can go inside without spontaneously combusting. Molly follows me, barking her displeasure about cutting our game short. But I still need to get something for Cassie to eat and clean up the shop.

I head for the fridge. I've got my head stuck in it when I hear Grace, Mom's nurse.

"Oh, hey, Bear," she says a little too enthusiastically. "I didn't know you were here."

I turn around, slowly, to face the petite blonde with freckles scattered across her nose. The girl I dated in high school.

"Hi Grace. You're here later than usual." I leave the fridge door partially open, hoping she'll get the hint that I'm in the middle of something.

"Your dad called and said he had to be at the store a little longer, so I told him I could stay. I don't mind. I love spending time with your mom. She's so sweet. Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something?" Grace talks fast, letting her thoughts run loose, like opening barn doors to let all the animals out at the same time.

I shake my head. "No, thanks."

Grace has always talked a lot, but it bothered me less when we were dating. I didn't mind having someone do the talking for me.

She's the nicest girl I know, and she's cute. If I were smart, I'd get back together with her right here and now instead of looking through the fridge, trying to guess what Cassie would like to eat. Wondering if she'll invite me to stay and share whatever I take to her.

I know exactly what Grace likes to eat. Anything that I like. She'd happily share it with me, too.

I could put her least favorite food in front of her, say it's my favorite, and she'd eat it. That's how eager to please she is.

Not that I would ever do something like that. I wouldn't. But it's also why I don't ask Grace out again. We'd fall back into an easy pattern where she'd lose herself in my likes and interests, and I'd go along with it, because it's always easier going with the flow. But there's no challenge in that; nothing that would make either of us grow.

Maybe it was fun for a minute in high school to be adored like that—I'm embarrassed now that all her undivided attention and devotion fed my ego—but eventually I wanted to know her likes and dislikes, and she didn't have any.

But right now, she's looking at me as if I'm the most interesting man in the world.

Cassie's never looked at me like that. Until a few minutes ago—and the night we kissed—the only thing I'd ever seen in her eyes was a fight waiting to happen. But before I left her in the apartment, I saw something new.

Desire.

Don't get me wrong. The fight was still there. She's never going to let me have an easy win. I'll have to fight her for whatever I want.

And, like Grandpa said, I need something to fight for—or against—to motivate me to do better. To be better.

"You sure I can't make you anything to eat?" Grace smiles wide. "It's really no trouble. I was about to make tomato soup for your mom if you want some, too. I can make you a grilled cheese to go with. You used to love my grilled cheese. I'll make one for both of us." She scoots around me and nudges me away from the fridge door. "Or should I make two for you? I remember how much you eat."

The last words come out in a low breath, as if she's remembering a lot more than how much food I can put away. A subtle reminder of how well she knows me.

At that moment, the front door opens, and Dad calls hello from the entryway.

"Dad's home," I blurt. "He and I can make Mom something. You've been here all day."

Grace's face falls, but she moves away from the fridge. I open the door to put a barrier between us, then bury my head in the fridge again. I don't even look up when Dad walks into the kitchen.

"Hi, Grace. Hi, Bear. I didn't know you were here," he says.

"Hi, Mr. Thomsen."

The tiredness in Dad's voice and the disappointment in Grace's are only slightly muffled through the refrigerator door.

"I may be here for a few days, actually." I say to the yogurt on the top shelf. "Cassie's staying in the apartment,"

"Cassie?" Dad and Grace say at the same time, he with surprise and she with suspicion.

"Pipes broke at the shop. The whole place is flooded. I'm headed back over there to clean it up as soon as I fix her a little something to eat." I grab the container of leftover chili that Adam brought over a few days ago.

It's Mom's recipe he now makes at the restaurant. I know he was hoping she would recognize it, but she didn't. She ate it with as much interest as she'd have eaten chili out of a can.

Each of us takes turns feeling the heartbreak one day at a time.

When I turn around, Dad is holding takeout containers. "Zach brought me dinner from the Garden when he came into help. I've got sliced pork in plum sauce for Grace." He hands her one bag. "And another pork and a chicken pot pie in here."

Dad lifts the second bag.

"I'll take the chicken pot pie to Cassie. She had it once and loved it."

He raises a questioning eyebrow—which I choose to ignore—hands me the bag and takes the chili. "I'll eat the chili. You enjoy dinner with Cassie."

Grace's face is full of disappointment until Dad asks her about Mom's day.

I only stay long enough to hear that Mom slept a lot of the day and struggled to swallow her food.

I don't stay for anymore. I can't.

I carry the food to the back door, then tell Dad I'll be back later as he and Grace walk to Mom's room.

My brief interaction with Grace has put things back into perspective. I know I have to be careful not to send her the message that I'm still interested in her. But I have to be careful about sending Cassie the wrong message, too.

I really like Cassie, but I already moved too fast kissing her before I ever asked her out. And now I've seen her at her most vulnerable—without her clothes. The last thing I want is for her to think I'm only interested in her physically. I'm definitely interested in kissing her again, but not just because she's beautiful.

There's so much more that makes her beautiful than the way she looks. If there's any possibility of a relationship with Cassie, I want to get to know her better.

I carry the bag of food to the door and knock softly. When there's no answer, I poke my head inside. Water is running in the other room, so I walk all the way inside and call Cassie's name.

The water stops, and Cassie's voice floats from my bathroom. "Is that you, Bjorn?"

So, we're back to Bjorn.

That's disappointing.

"Yeah. I brought you some dinner. Both of us, actually. If you don't mind my staying for a few minutes." I reach for a plate when I hear the bathroom door open.

"I don't mind," Cassie says.

"It's chicken pot pie from the Garden." I keep talking to steady my nerves. I don't want to risk spilling anything on Cassie again.

Then I turn and nearly drop the bag.

Only her face and one bare shoulder are visible in the small opening between the door and wall. She has a towel wrapped around her hair. One hand is pressed to her chest, holding something close.

It's another towel.

Cassie is wearing a towel again.

And I'm close enough to watch a bead of water from the one wet lock of hair that's come loose from her towel travel across her collarbone, down the middle of her chest, to the hand clutching the towel just below the line of her cleavage.

"You really didn't have to go to all that trouble," she says.

But my mind has gone blank, and I can't remember what I've done. Ever. In my entire life. There's only this moment right here.

"It smells delicious." Cassie lets the door open a little more, and I get a better look at her very long legs.

"Yeah." I lick my lips. "You do…" Oh no. "I mean…you do." I shake my head. "I mean, the chicken. The chicken smells delicious."

Cassie grins, and I swear she lets the door creep open another couple of inches on purpose. I don't know what's changed since I went to the house, but she's definitely flirting. I'm not complaining, but my head is spinning. Is this some kind of sneak attack? Or is this what happens when you offer to do a woman's laundry?

"Do you mind if I wear your jersey a little longer?" Cassie leans her head against the doorframe and sends me a soft smile. "At least, until my clothes are done?"

I swallow. Hard. "Yeah… of course. Wear it as long as you want… need. I've got others."

They all belong to Cassie now. Because I am never planning to finish washing her clothes. She can only wear my jerseys from now on.

And towels.

Jerseys and towels. That's her new wardrobe.

"I'll just go put it on." Cassie pushes herself away from the doorframe, and I get a glimpse of her from the top of the towel on her head that frames her entire face, making her green eyes shine; to her tan shoulders and slender arms; past the towel that hits her mid-thigh; down her legs that go on forever; all the way to her toenail. Which are painted. Red.

"Be right back," she says before she shuts the door.

And I may never recover.