Chapter 17

OPEN THE KIMONO

17

"Will you calm down?" Killian tries to reach out and touch my shoulder, but I flinch away from him.

I barrel-roll to the other side of the bed, wanting to get out, but my feet get caught in the sheets and I stumble to the floor. I crab-walk away from him and grab an oversized T-shirt to cover myself. Thankfully the bedsheets have dried most of my skin, so the top doesn't get wet.

"Are you alright?" Killian asks. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Oh my gosh, I'm having a psychotic breakdown," I say to myself. "I've spent too much time fantasizing about a different life, and now I've completely lost touch with reality. Imagining books writing themselves wasn't enough. Oh, nooo…" I grab a pair of panties from the chest of drawers and pull them on in a quick snag. "Nope. Now I also have to bring fictional men to life."

Killian jerks the covers away from himself and gets out of bed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

For a moment, I'm distracted by the six-foot-four of naked man standing in my bedroom. Ripped abs are still there, enticing V of muscle as well, only this time there's no flannel shirt to cover his—I press the heels of my palms over my eyes.

"Deep breaths, Leigh, you're just having a little hallucination is all. Nothing too bad."

I silently count to ten, willing Killian to disappear from my bedroom. But when I lower my hands away from my face, he's still there, still looking pissed, still very much exposed.

"You're still here."

His stare is mutinous. "And where should I have gone?"

"Away."

"Why?"

"Because you're not real."

"Again with this." He crosses the room and plants my hand over his heart just like he did at the lake. "Does this not feel real to you?"

There's warm, wet skin under my palm and a heartbeat. Oh gosh, I'm hallucinating at a level where not only my sight is compromised, but my other senses, too.

"Spoon?"

I shriek away and put a chair between us as a sort of barrier.

"Go away."

"I'm not going anywhere."

From the chair, I grab my satin kimono and throw it at him. "At least cover yourself up."

He snatches the kimono out of the air and regards it with disgust. "I'm not wearing this."

"Well, I don't have any clothes in my house that would fit you, so."

"Where are we, anyway?"

"Dress first, I can't talk to you if you're…" I wave toward his nether regions.

With angry jerks, he shoves his arms into the kimono sleeves and ties the belt over his stomach. "Happy now?"

"Far from it." I glare.

"So where are we?"

"Evanston."

"Where's that?"

"Illinois."

"How did we travel all the way here from Kansas?"

I never even wondered what state Lakeville Hills was in, but Kansas seems hilariously fitting. A hysterical laugh bubbles out of me.

Killian scowls. "What's so funny?"

Still chuckling, I chortle out, "I was just checking if I had my red slippers on. Do you think Toto is going to join us soon?"

"You're not making any sense."

I grip the backrest of the chair. "On that we can agree. Singlehood finally bested me. I'm about to earn my crazy-cat-lady certification a few years and a few cats early."

"Sugar Spoon."

"Don't Sugar Spoon me. I won't be lectured by imaginary book boyfriends."

"I'm real," he roars. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?"

"Okay," I say, grabbing a pair of jeans. I pull them on and throw my bunny slippers at him—the only footwear that will fit him. "You want to prove you're real? Let's see if somebody else can see you."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's go to the coffee shop downstairs. If you can order a cappuccino, I'll shut up."

"I'm not going out of the house dressed like this."

"Don't worry, you don't exist. No one will actually see you."

His jaw sets. Features etched with determination, Killian pulls on the bunny slippers and gestures to the front door.

From my apartment building, the coffee shop is right across the street. I grab my bag and keys on the way out and precede Killian down the hall.

He keeps sulking for the entire elevator ride down.

The streets below are still mostly deserted. I check the time on my phone and confirm it's only 6.45a.m. on Sunday morning.

My hair is still wet, making me shiver in the chilly morning breeze as we cross the street.

I stop in front of the coffee shop, silently daring Killian to pull the door open.

To my astonishment, he does, making the overhead bell chime as well.

The shop is predictably empty at this hour. There's only the young barista behind the cash register.

"Morning, what can I get for you?"

"A cappuccino, please," Killian says in that rough but velvety voice of his.

Nonplussed, the cashier taps in the order. "Anything else, sir?"

"You can see him?" I interrupt. "You can actually see him?"

The barista raises an eyebrow at me. "The hairy dude in a floral kimono and bunny slippers?" He clicks his tongue. "Yes, ma'am. Don't think I'm going to forget the sight any time soon."

I swallow, concentrating on the light tuft of hair on Killian's chest. Calling him a hairy dude seems like an exaggeration. When my gaze rises to his face, Killian glares at me.

This can't be real, it can't be happening.

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

Not even a little.

"Sure. So, we'll take a cappuccino and…" I stare at Killian interrogatively.

"An Americano, black."

Long. Dark. With just a splash of sugar.

"And a cinnamon bun, please," Killian adds.

I pay with money I can't spend, and we wait in silence at the end of the counter for our order.

When our drinks arrive, I ask Killian if he wants to stay or go.

He leans in to hiss in my ear. "I'm not staying in a coffee shop wearing bunny slippers and a kimono."

Fair enough.

We walk back to my place in silence, nursing our cups of coffee.

As we re-enter the apartment, I suddenly feel embarrassed at how drab the open space looks.

There's a bed in front of the built-in wardrobe that I used to share with Ivy and that now sits more than half empty thanks to my recent purge. A small dresser with a tiny TV on top. No couch or living room or even a table, only a tiny desk pushed underneath the window. And my bookshelf. The kitchen in one corner with a bar and two stools. And the only room with a door, the bathroom, has a broken lock.

Killian steps in after me, closing the door. He looks undecided on where to go. I'm sure he's taking in the scarcity of seating options and assessing the penury of the apartment.

He settles for one of the stools at the bar, and I join him, still nursing my coffee cup.

"So…" I start and stop unsure what to say.

"So…" Killian echoes me, and it's the first time I've seen him slightly unsure of himself. "Care to explain what's going on?"

"As if I knew! I was reading a romance novel that had half blank pages and started dreaming about having a cowboy billionaire book boyfriend." I fidget with the coffee cup in my hands, tracing the plastic lid nervously. "And with every new dream, a new chapter would appear in the book. I didn't believe that was possible. I thought I was having some kind of nervous breakdown. But then you materialized out of my sex dreams. And now I'm pretty sure I should check myself into a mental institution."

"Are you saying I'm a book character come to life?"

"Pretty much." I avoid his gaze, opening my cup and staring into my coffee as if it held answers.

"But you weren't in the book?"

"Not initially. But then the story stopped and I imagined a continuation. Then the new chapters started writing themselves just as I dreamed them, with me in them." I finally look up at him, meeting his penetrating gaze.

"Ah, the supposed sex dreams." His eyes darken.

"I mean, not that we actually had sex. At least I was never there for that."

Killian raises an eyebrow. "Interesting. So, how did I end up here?"

"I've no idea. Maybe my subconscious conjured you up because I was feeling lonely and needed someone to talk to."

Killian leans forward, resting his elbow on the counter. "Just talk?"

He manages to be extra sexy even in a kimono and bunny slippers.

I hold up my hand. "Whoa, hold your horses, cowboy. We're not an item in this world."

"How come?"

"You can't just waltz in here and expect everything to be the same as it was in…" I flap my hands wildly. "Wherever you came from."

Killian's face falls, and he looks genuinely hurt. "Why not?" he demands, crossing his arms over his chest. "I just told you I love you, and this is all you have to say back?"

Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair, trying to find the right words to explain myself. "Look, Killian, the person you think you love doesn't actually exist. I'm not her."

"Of course you are," he insists, his eyes searching mine, determined to find a glimpse of the woman he fell for.

"Really? Well, newsflash: I've never been on a horse, wouldn't know the first thing about baking, and can't drive a stick shift." I tick off each point on my fingers, watching his expression change with each revelation. "I'm not a put-together business owner with a house and a car. And I don't wear shorty-shorts all the time or heels or flannel shirts knotted over my belly. I'm no Daisy Duke and I have cellulite. So, no, Killian, you don't actually know me."

"Sugar Spoon," he says softly, reaching out to touch my arm. I resist the urge to pull away. "I may not know those specific details, but I know the core of the woman I fell in love with is the same."

I shake my head, still unconvinced. "You can't possibly?—"

"You have the same dark, curly hair." He gently pulls on a lock and lets it bounce back.

"I might look the same but?—"

"And you get the same deep crease over your nose when you're displeased with me." He smooths over the wrinkle with his thumb.

Even a simple brush is enough to sear my skin. He might be a fictional man, but his touch feels all too real. So does the pull of the connection between us. Maybe there is some merit to what he's saying, maybe the core of who I am is the same person he fell in love with. And maybe he is the same man that has consumed my thoughts for the past ten days.

But I can't trust that what I felt in the book world is real. Despite the reality check at the coffee shop, I can't even trust that Killian is real. Or that he is here to stay.

I swat his hand away. "Can you just not go into full seduction mode right away?"

The grin that curls his lips is devilish. "Why, are you seduced?"

"Can we just not?"

"Fine," he interrupts, holding up his hands in surrender. "Let's table the discussion for now. What do you want to talk about?"

His expression is too angelic, giving me a hint that the topics he'd like to discuss are all but holy.

I scowl, then remember what he just told me about the crease over my nose and rearrange my features before he thinks of smoothing it again.

"Are you sure you're real?"

"I can't tell you how I went from falling into a lake hundreds of miles away to being in this—" he stares at the open space—"apartment in a blink. But I can tell you I'm real, Spoon, 100 per cent. As real as the heat of this cup." He lifts his coffee. "As real as the spicy-sweet smell of this cinnamon bun. Or as the sound of that dog barking out your window."

An incessant yapping has been drifting in from the road below.

"And for the record, I still don't believe I'm an imaginary book character," he says stubbornly.

"Okay, how old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Where did you go to school?"

"Lakeville High."

"What was the name of your first horse?"

Killian opens his mouth to reply, but shuts it back, confused. "I can't seem to remember."

"Isn't that something you should know?"

"And what's your theory for me not knowing?"

"That maybe it's a missing detail of your back story the author didn't bother with, and that's why you don't know."

Killian shakes his head. "I'm not an imaginary man."

"Okay, fine." I stand, grab my laptop from the small desk, and bring it over to the kitchen bar. "Let's settle this once and for all." I open a web browser and type his name into the search bar. The anticipation of proving him wrong bubbles inside me like champagne.

"See?" I say triumphantly when the search doesn't produce any results. "You don't exist in this world."

"I have a team of cyber experts making sure no one can just google me," Killian retorts, sipping his coffee with a raised eyebrow.

I type some more and turn the screen toward him triumphantly. "Did your team also erase Lakeville Hills from the map?"

He doesn't even flinch. "You know navigators are always iffy around town."

"Fine," I huff. "What's your phone number?"

"Ooh, asking for my number already?" He smirks playfully. "I didn't know we were moving so fast, Sugar Spoon."

"Ugh, just give it to me." I scowl, rolling my eyes at his flirtatious tone and ignoring the shiver that hearing my nickname sent down my spine.

"Alright, alright." He gives me a number starting with a Kansas area code.

"Thanks." I dial the number and put the phone on speaker, hoping for the call to go through. The line connects, at least the number exists.

It takes a few rings before someone picks up: a nice-sounding old lady. "Hello?"

"Hi! Is Killian St. Clair there, by any chance?"

"Who, darling?" the woman asks, clearly confused.

"Killian St. Clair," I repeat, glancing at him with a smug smile.

"Sorry, dear, there's no one by that name here."

"Apologies for bothering you. I must've had the wrong number," I say before hanging up. I turn to Killian, my grin widening. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself now?"

"Fine, you win," he concedes, finishing his coffee. "I'll hand it to you that something strange is going on, but it still doesn't mean I'm imaginary. Maybe I just…" He trails off, searching for answers that don't exist.

"Maybe you just what?" I prompt, genuinely curious about his explanation.

"Maybe I'm from a parallel universe," he says with a mischievous glint in his eye.

I roll my eyes at his response, but can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of my lips. "Sure, Killian. A parallel universe."

"You never know." He shrugs. "It's a more plausible explanation than me being a book character come to life."

"Can't argue with that," I say, raising my coffee cup in a mock toast.

Killian takes the cinnamon bun out of its paper bag and bites down on it, the sweet icing clinging to his lips as he chews thoughtfully. "So, what now?"

I don't know what to tell him. "I need a minute."

He takes another bite out of the bun. "Take all the time you need."

"I'm going for a walk," I say on instinct, hopping off my stool.

Killian polishes the last of the pastry. "Okay, I'll come with you."

"No!" I say a bit too forcefully.

He raises an eyebrow at me in a silent question.

At a loss for what to say, I eye the tuft of hair that's coming out of the deep V of my kimono. "You can't walk around in a robe and bunny slippers, I'll go buy you some more suitable clothes."

Killian gives me a long stare, as if he knows the shopping is just an excuse to get out of the house alone. "Thank you." He nods eventually.

We stay in a sort of silent standoff until Killian licks stray icing off his lips, attracting my gaze to his mouth. My heart flutters, and the corners of his mouth turn up in a knowing smirk.

"How are the shops in town?" he asks, too nonchalantly. "I prefer organic fabrics."

"Of course you do." I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Well, let's see what we can find on a grad student budget."

I finish my coffee and go to the bathroom to dry my hair, still damp from our unexpected dip into the book world's lake.

When I come out, I find Killian sprawled on my bed, reading one of my romance novels.

"Please, make yourself at home," I taunt.

"I meant to ask." He pulls the book shut with a loud bang, seemingly unaffected by my barbs. "Where is this famous book I supposedly come from?"

I blush, self-conscious about how I've been hugging the novel to my chest every night. "Should be there on the bed, check the floor, maybe it fell off."

Killian starts searching, lifting the sheets and throwing aside the pillows. "It's not here."

I pull on my coat. "Look under the bed."

He gets on all fours, and the sight of his buttocks sticking up in the air under my flowery kimono wrings another smile out of me. "Not here."

"Well, you keep looking while I go shopping."

I grab my keys and wave goodbye. Maybe he won't be here when I get back.