Chapter 26

chapter

twenty-six

OWEN

"Who was your favorite teacher in high school?" Addie sticks her plastic spoon in her ice cream and holds a finger up. "And don't say Se?ora Gomez. She can't hear you, so there's no need to kiss her ass."

"She always gives me extra Spanish candies, though." Even when she was my teacher and not my co-worker, Se?ora Gomez would sneak me a few extra pieces because, according to her, I was muy grande and needed more food than the other kids.

She wasn't wrong.

"You brownnosing chump."

"You're one to talk," I toss back. "Weren't you voted teacher's pet four years in a row?"

"Someone had to take the title. Why not me?" She shrugs, completely unbothered by the superlative that others might consider insulting. "Besides, I was good at being the teacher's pet."

"I respect it." I use the back of my hand to wipe excess ice cream from my mouth.

"Use a napkin, for crying out loud." She reaches over to the nightstand, plucks a napkin we got from Dairy Queen, and hands it over. "Your favorite teacher—someone we don't currently work with."

"Coach Stevens," I say without hesitation.

"Your old baseball coach?"

I nod as I set my empty cup onto the nightstand on my side of the bed. "We still keep in touch. I even went to his daughter's wedding over the summer. In fact, he tried to set me up with her a couple of years ago. Said I already felt like family, and he'd be ecstatic to make it official."

"What happened there?"

"I guess I'm just not into women who are nice to me." I throw my arm around Addie's shoulder and give it a squeeze.

"Who is?" she teases back, playing along as voices drift in from outside.

Since we returned with our treats in hand, guests have roamed the halls, likely tuckered out from a day of exploring the history of Savannah and walking along the river.

In the parking lot outside our window, car doors click shut, and cell phones ring. The faint music from the room next door offers a quiet lullaby for us as well.

The world is still awake, thrumming with energy and a heartbeat of its own, as Addie and I come alive in here. We're getting to know each other in ways that have my blood pumping and my pulse skyrocketing.

I've never enjoyed the company of a woman like this, but then again, Addison Lockhart is no ordinary woman.

"Your turn in the hot seat." I follow Addie's tongue as she licks her bottom lip and stows her cup away, shifting out of my hold. "Is it true you once dated a professional zombie?"

Her eyes widen. "Where did you hear that?"

"Teacher's lounge. I hear everything in there. My secret is to pretend to make coffee so the others don't suspect I'm eavesdropping. They usually forget I'm even standing there."

"You're either an evil genius or you're ridiculous, but I'm confused because you've put me in some kind of sexy trance."

"All of the above," I proudly offer. "But talk of sexy trances will not get you out of answering this burning question. Did you or did you not go out with a guy who dresses up as a zombie every single day to go work at a haunted house year-round?"

"We did not date," she asserts.

"I heard they did pop-ups all around Georgia. Did all the traveling turn you off?" I playfully joke.

The tips of her ears turn red as she throws her head back and groans.

"Oh!" I snap. "Did he come to bed in full makeup and costume? Zombies don't do it for you, do they, Lockhart?"

"You are relentless!" She tosses her hands up. "Okay, here's the sordid story, and please don't make me regret telling you this."

I bounce on the bed, jostling her next to me, but I can't help it. I'm more excited for these details than I am the World Series.

"I met Drew at a convenience store in Atlanta during a school field trip to the CNN headquarters. He was wearing a suit and tie, and he was totally charming. We hit it off over our love of Skittles, and he asked for my number to keep in touch."

"Do zombies have phones?"

She glares. "Do you want to hear the rest of this?"

I make a motion with my hand to zip my lips tight.

"Long story short, he asked me out, and we went to dinner, where he cried over his divorce for an hour. As it turned out, he'd only been wearing a suit the day I met him because he was going to meet his ex-wife and attorney."

"So, what was the problem? He was single, at least."

"Being single is important, but it's not exactly the only criteria I need."

"What else do you need?"

"I need guys to not try to come to bed in their zombie costumes."

"I knew it!"

"For the record, I did not learn this detail about him firsthand," she reassures me. "Evidently, it was one of the reasons he and his ex divorced."

"Sorry that didn't work out for you. He sounds like he really needed a win." I stifle a laugh behind my hand, sure my face is red. Pressure builds behind my eyes.

Addie smacks my chest, and I lose the battle. My laughter rips from my throat. "It's not funny! This is my life," she bursts. "And to be honest, Zombie Drew might not even be the worst experience I've ever had."

"For the love of God, please tell me more."

"For your information, it's not polite to laugh at other people's misery," she clips, but I don't miss the twitch in her lips. She's enjoying this as much as I am.

"What did I tell you before? I'm not polite." I lay a clumsy kiss on her mouth, enjoying the faint strawberry taste on her tongue, until I work a giggle loose.

"Fine!" She pushes me back onto my side of the bed. "This is not exactly funny, so you'll be sorry you asked. I haven't told anyone this before, either, so give me a break."

The increasing gravity in her voice as she talks causes a stutter in my pulse, and my smile melts away like the remaining few bites of ice cream in her cup.

"My last boyfriend was Stewart. Things were okay between us, but it wasn't anything special. We were never going to work forever, but he cut the relationship short when he told me I should be more like my mother." She gulps and averts her gaze, her tone hesitant.

It's clear this confession is hard for her.

Hearing it is hard for me too.

"He told me I should be like my mom, who's more fun and less uptight. Maybe if I loosened up like her, he'd love me."

I furrow my brows, and the urge to demand his full name so I could throw my first uppercut is on the tip of my tongue.

But she laughs. It holds no life or humor in it like the one she let loose earlier, and I hate that this Stewart is the reason for it. "I guess he did me a favor in the end. I got out of that relationship much sooner than I'd expected, so there's that."

"He didn't know what he had, Lockhart. You're funny and kind and loyal. You're?—"

"You don't have to do that." She waves me off. "I didn't tell you just so I could be showered in compliments. I guess I just told you because it felt like it was finally time to let that go."

"I meant what I said about you," I whisper. "And I'm glad to be the one to take this burden off you."

She meets my gaze, and the balls of her cheeks redden.

For the next few seconds, we stare at each other, both of us frozen.

Our breaths even sync up.

She has no idea how special she is, and I can't stand the wasted time I spent teasing and verbally sparring with her, when I should've been worshipping the ground beneath her. She deserves nothing less.

Then again, had we not been at each other's throats, we wouldn't be us, would we?

Arguing with her is one of my favorite things about us.

"I think we've talked about me enough tonight." She clears her throat and peers down at her fingers in her lap. "I want to know more about you. I mean, we've known each other for basically our entire lives, but I don't know that much about you."

"What do you want to know?"

"Is everything too much?"

I release a soft chuckle. "You won't be impressed."

"Try me."

"Two of my favorite foods are steak and peaches, not at the same time. I love being near water, whether it's in an ocean, river, or simply a glass." I shift on the bed, and she remains stock-still, her attention solely on me. "I enjoy helping my family with new babies, technology problems, or painting a new studio. And I'm happy to be teaching. It's exactly what I'm supposed to be doing with my life."

She drops her gaze and uses her finger to trace the scar along my knee. "You don't… regret not playing baseball?"

"Some days, I miss playing professionally. More than anything, I miss the team." A smile tugs on my lips as I recall too many good times to count. I'd need a year to relay them all to her. "But when I tore my ACL for the second time, and the doctor told me my career was over, I was relieved."

She arches a brow.

"Here's the truth—I only ever pursued baseball because I was good at it. It was fun, and it challenged me in ways I needed when I first started. When others told me I was good, I just listened and went where they suggested. I didn't stop to consider what I really wanted, because according to my dad, I'd be batshit to throw away all my potential. He was my biggest fan."

"Sounds like a lot of pressure from him."

"I think it was the only way he knew how to connect with me." My smile slips into more of a frown as I internally consider how far apart we've grown since my surgery. Without baseball, it's like he doesn't know what to talk to me about, so we end up discussing my sisters, Huck, or the lawn.

He taught me to rid my yard of weeds by spraying them with a mix of a gallon of white vinegar, a cup of salt, and a tablespoon of dish soap.

"Anyway." I sigh. "Being told I couldn't play anymore was like giving me permission to finally chase what I really wanted to do. I just didn't realize until that moment in the doctor's office that I was ever looking for permission." I dip my head and swallow, my pulse throbbing in my leg. "I've never admitted this to anyone before."

"Your family doesn't know?" Surprise is heavy in her question.

"They kind of assumed I was always too devastated to talk about it, so they tiptoed around the topic until it became old news, next to Whitney's unexpected pregnancy, Lottie's new studio, and Laurel's bright future in medicine." Another sigh escapes me like admitting all of this out loud is draining for me.

The truth is, I don't remember the last time I even talked this much about myself to one person. I'm more of a listener.

"Why don't you tell them the truth?" she asks, and her tone is so gentle. So free of judgment or any kind of demand. She's genuinely curious.

I open and close my mouth for a beat before I finally say, "It's never felt important enough to share the truth with them. Anytime we're together, there's always some other crisis, and at this point, it's been too long to clear the air now."

"I think I know what you mean." Addie places her delicate hand on my veiny forearm, her touch soft but firm all at once.

And I kiss her.

Each swipe of my tongue massages hers with gratitude and pleasure and everything in between. It's no ordinary kiss—none of my kisses with Addie have been.

It's like each one tells a story, and I'm not done exploring the next chapter.