Just Breathe (18 page)

“A little bit. It was my grandmother’s baby. She used to play for hours, taught me some.” In the corner, there’s a beautiful, intricately carved wooden double spiral staircase leading to the ceiling.

I must make a critical noise.

“What’s up?” Dominic steps toward me.

“I mean, it’s a nice enough room and everything.”

“But?”

“The only things I like in here, other than the piano, are the fireplace and staircase. They’re beautiful, but the rest is so... lifeless.” My face flushes with heat, and I feel like an asshole for coming into his house and saying this. “I just can’t see you spending much time in here, you know?” I try to qualify further.

He says nothing, just takes me in his arms and lays a slow kiss on me that curls my toes. He pulls back and smoothes a section of my hair behind my ear.

“You’re incredible.”

The look in his eyes leaves me more breathless than the kiss.

“Come on. I want to show you something.” He leads me to the staircase, and I follow him up, enjoying the view.

The staircase is even more beautiful up close. “Your grandfather built this?”

“Yes. Did all the carving himself.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s my favourite thing in the room.” He flips on a light.

“Just the room? What’s your favourite thing in the house?” We reach the top of the stairs. “Oh.”

“Yeah.
This
is my favourite thing in the house.”

Chapter Nineteen

It’s a library. It’s a quarter of the size of the living room and the ceiling is only about eight feet tall. And it’s
perfect
. Dark mahogany shelves, floor to ceiling on three walls filled with books, mostly large leather-bound volumes, but some novels as well. The ceiling and the bits of walls peeking through the shelves are a creamy caramel colour. It smells like new books and old leather, with the faint smell of Dominic underneath it all. There are a couple squishy-looking leather chairs, and a matching couch, in a dark blue. Stepping forward, I trail my fingertips along the top of the desk, looking at the papers, and thick textbooks he’s got open.

“Work stuff,” he says.

The fourth wall has a window seat. I covet! Dark blue curtains are gathered on either side of the window. Looking up, I see it’s not to cover the window—it’s to close the seat off from the rest of the room. I rush forward and look out the window. It’s the same view of the river and must be absolutely gorgeous during the day.

“This room, Dominic.
This
is where you are in the house.” It feels like him. I can picture him slouched over the desk with a cup of coffee and a book, making notes. I can see him sitting here on the window seat, absorbed in a novel until the daylight fades from the sky. “I couldn’t see you anywhere in the rest of the house. It’s beautiful, but this room is you.”

“It’s why I had to show you up here. This is where I spend most of my time.”

A book shifts forward into my hand from a small pile on the seat. A pile of all the books I recommended to him—minus the ones he’s already read, and the one I recommended to him last, melting my heart a little bit more. A thin strip of wood marks the page he’s stopped on. Opening to the page, I finger the blond bookmark, burnished to a soft shine.

“D for Dominic. Yours, or your grandfather’s?” I point at the stylized letter cut into the design.

“It was my grandfather’s.” He walks over to where I stand and sits sideways on the window seat.

“You and he were close?” I sit facing him.

“Yes. He was more of a dad to me than my own father.”

“You guys didn’t get along?”

“No. He was an asshole. Only cared about business, making money. I know it sounds hypocritical coming from me, surrounded by all of this wealth. I come from what they call, ‘old money.’ Mother’s side. I’m pretty sure that’s the reason my father married her.” His voice is tight.

Ouch. “When you talk about your grandfather, the one who built this place, was that your mom’s dad, or your dad’s dad?”

“Dad’s dad. Mom’s parents passed away when she was young, leaving her all they had. I’m a trust fund baby.”

“Terribly spoiled?” I tease, remembering his words from our first date.

“Yes. In a lot of ways. My mother’s family saw to it that I’d never want for money. My grandparents saw to it I’d never want for love.”

And his father saw to it he’d never want for pain.

“Talking about him stresses me out.” His jaw tightens, and his eyes cloud with emotion. “I hate everything about my father.”

I grab his hand and look out the window letting him pick up where he wants to.

“But they’ve been gone for years,” he continues softly. “I miss my grandpa every day.”

“What was he like?”

His pale reflection in the window smiles. “He was old school. Hard working, strong. Honest. He was funny. He played solitaire every day at the breakfast table. Game after game. Said he was trying to beat the devil, whatever that meant. This one time I bought him a laptop with nothing but card games loaded onto it. I loaded up Solitaire, showed him how to play it. But he never used it. I think the shuffling of the cards was part of the ritual. The gentle snapping of them against the table as he flipped them over.” He falls silent, lost inside memories I can’t reach.

“What was your grandma like?”

“She was like a warm hug on a cold day. She didn’t always tell you how she felt, but she always showed it with her actions. A favourite meal; paying attention to things you liked, and surprising you with them as gifts later, when you thought she’d forgotten all about it.”

“Little things that mean so much,” I say softly. Now I know where he gets it from.

He squeezes my hand. “In a way, I’m glad I grew up with my grandparents instead of my parents. Seeing the love, the respect they shared. They really were best friends. They needed each other.” A sudden memory lights his face. “This one time, Gran went to visit an old friend for a couple days. She had made suppers, put them in the fridge, but left Grandpa to fend for himself for lunches. I walked into the kitchen, and he asked if I’d like a tuna sandwich. I said yes. He was stirring the mayo into the tuna, but had a strange look on his face. I asked what was wrong. He said he didn’t know why it was so runny.”

“The tuna was runny?”

He chuckles. “He hadn’t drained the water out of the can.”

“That’s adorable.”

“I know. He was so used to her doing the cooking, that something that simple flummoxed him. He kept saying, ‘I don’t know what Gran does differently.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell him. I was twelve. But they took care of each other, complemented each other perfectly.”

“They sound like great people to grow up around.”

“They were. They pushed me to go for my dreams, to never settle. They tried to raise me right.”

“You’ve done them proud.”

He pulls me to him, squeezes me gently. “I’ve tried.”

“You’ve succeeded,” I insist.

He strokes my cheekbone with his thumb and leans in. I’m happily drowning in his eyes, wallowing in the pool of heat in my belly. Then he pulls me to him and kisses me. I reach to grab his shirt so I can clutch him tighter to me, but he isn’t wearing a shirt. My hands explore the warm planes of his chest, the strong lines of his shoulders and arms. Women would kill to have skin as perfect as his.

Warm, champagne bubbles softly swirl up my spine and stroke my scalp. Dominic kisses down my throat, unleashing hot sparks across my skin. A shiver tears through me.

“Dominic, if you aren’t careful, these books are going to see more action than they’d planned on.”

He laughs, and continues kissing and nuzzling my neck, running his hands across my lower back. “I’d love nothing more than to knock some of these books off the shelves with you.”

My inner librarian disapproves. She can go to hell.

Chapter Twenty

“Hey, do you want to call Clay, pitch in for an ounce?” Nick asks.

“No, I’m still taking a break.”

“Still? It’s been over two months.”

Huh. I guess it has. “Why don’t you just call him?”

Nick gives me a look. “Not sure if you noticed or not, but he always gives you a better deal. You’re cute. He’s sweet on you. I’m willing to exploit that.”

“Come on!” I laugh, but kind of know it’s true. Personally, I think he just likes that he gets to hang out with us; not only are we not sketchy characters, we’re all capable of decent conversation. Clay’s had plenty of time to hit on me when we’ve hung out alone and hasn’t. I’m sure we’re both just fine with the dynamic of our relationship.

Kennedy turns down the stereo while I key in Clay’s number. It rings three times before he answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Elle.”

“Elle who?”

“Ha ha. Can you swing by?”

“How much you looking for?”

“An ounce,” I reply.

“Can’t make it for about an hour, hour and a half.”

“That’s cool. We’ll see you then.” I hang up.

“How long?” Nick cracks his knuckles.

“An hour-ish.”

“That sucks.”

“Well,” Kennedy says. “We could go pick up some food and be back before he gets here. Maybe Chinese? Could kill some time anyways.”

“Sounds good.” Mmm Chinese. “I’ll grab my coat.”

“Oh,” she pulls a face. “I think one of us should stay here in case he comes early. I’d stay, but I have to hit the bank if we’re doing food too.” She drops her share of the weed money on the coffee table. Nick does the same.

“Ah, fair enough.” Nick’s the driver of the group, so it looks like I’ll be staying home.

“Centennial Gardens. What do you want to eat?” Kennedy asks.

“Like you even need to ask. I haven’t changed my order in years.”

“I know, but you never know. Maybe you’ll wake up one day and decide to try something new.”

“Doubt it.” Nick pokes her shoulder. “Let’s get going, Ken.”

“Hurry back!” I call, but they’re already out the door. Throwing one of my mix CD’s into the stereo, I head to the kitchen to get plates ready for supper and make sure there’s room on the counter to set the food, for ease of dishing up. While we all have our certain items we always order, we do prefer eating buffet style, sharing our choices.

The kitchen’s a bit messy, so I unload the dishwasher, do some dishes, and give the counter a swipe with a cloth. There’s a knock at the door. “Shave and a haircut.”

I look at the microwave clock. Clay is early. And Kennedy and Nick have been gone for forty-five minutes. They should be back by now.

Drying my hands on the thighs of my jeans, I walk to the door and check the peephole.

“Hey, Clay.” I swing the door open.

“Hey.”

“Come in. Kennedy and Nick went to grab some food.”

“Oh, I can’t stay. I’ve got other deliveries to make.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He walks in and follows me to the living room while I grab the money. Weird. He usually chills with us. “Here you go.” I hold out the cash.

He pulls out an ounce.

I open the bag and smell it. My mouth waters. I haven’t smoked in almost two months, but I still like the smell. “Awesome.” I set the bag on the coffee table.

“Yes it is.” He puts the money in his pocket. “Well, I should get going.”

“Okay.” I walk him to the door in time to see Dominic’s car pull up in front of the house. “Shit,” I say quietly. Dominic gets out of the car.

Clay’s eyes narrow and ricochet from Dominic to his car, back to him again, then back to me.

“Is he why you haven’t been calling me lately? Getting your product from someone else? Look at that car. He’s not a small time dealer like me. You’re playing with the big time boys, Elle?”

He thinks Dominic is a rival
dealer?

“It’s not like that, Clay.”

Dominic is coming up the walk and smiles at me and my
dealer
. Former dealer. Oh my god, Clay needs to go.

I keep my voice low. “Okay, Clay, well, thanks for stopping by. I’ll call you in a couple weeks.” The urge to shove him away from the house is so strong I have to jam my hands into my pockets.

Dominic strides up the stairs as Clay passes him, giving him the stink-eye, sizing him up then turning to me.

“You know,” Clay says. “I may not be as fancy as he is, but you’ll never find better than me. Whatever he does for you, I’ll top it. I may be small time in comparison,” he waves at Dominic’s car, “but I’m honest, and I’ll work my ass off to make you happy.”

I could just die now.

Dominic looks confused.

“It’s about quality,” Clay concludes. “And you won’t ever find better than me. Think about that, Elle.”

“Okay, Clay,” I say brightly. Oh my god,
go away
! “See you later. I’ll call you in a couple weeks.”

He stares hard at Dominic and walks away, getting into his truck. He revs his engine and pulls away from the curb, speeding off.

“Who was that charmer?” Dominic asks.

Um...what can I say?

“Clay.”

“Is he an ex?”

“Yes!” Thanks for providing that excuse! “No.” Him being my ex doesn’t work—why would my ex be here? That’s sketchy. “He’s just a guy friend, but recently told me he has feelings for me, and wanted to be more than friends.”

“Ah. So you’ve been avoiding him?”

I nod. “It got awkward and I haven’t been calling him.”

“Ah. And then I show up at just the wrong time.”

“That’s all right.” I lean forward and give him a hug. “I’m always happy to see you.”

I can feel his body relax. He thought it was an ex, when in reality it was so much worse. I squeeze him tighter and debate coming clean. I can do this. I’ll say,
Dominic, I know you’re really anti-drug, and you have reason to be, which is why I’ve been lying to you. Not directly, just sort of by omission. But I have to tell you something. I—

“Thanks for trusting me with the truth. It must have been so awkward for you,” he says quietly.

Yeah, definitely not coming clean about Clay being my dealer and me being a pothead. Pulling back, I run my hands up his arms.