He took a step closer. “Look, I know I took you for granted. That I put duty and my job ahead of you. I fucked things up on so many levels, and I know I probably don’t deserve a second chance. But I love you, Pepper. I’m still so in love with you. I’m here to prove that I’ve changed. And, if you’ll let me, to court you again.”
I stared at him, unable to form words, as his declaration crashed over me like a tidal wave. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. My mind raced through a dozen responses, but my throat had closed up entirely.
Court me? After all this time? After everything that had happened between us? Also, when did he become a man who’d use an old-fashioned word like court?
“Rhett, I—” My voice dried up. I couldn’t finish the sentence because I didn’t know what to say.
He stepped forward, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of sawdust, sweat, and cologne—the same one he’d worn since we were twenty. His eyes were soft, patient. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”
He lifted his hand, and I held my breath as his fingertips brushed my cheek with a gentleness that made my chest ache. The familiar calluses on his palm scraped lightly against my skin, and I couldn’t stop myself from turning into the touch.
“I just thought you should know my intentions.” His thumb traced my cheekbone, then fell away. “Enjoy your spaghetti.”
No demands. No expectations. No attempt to steal another kiss like the one that had left me dizzy on my porch after our date last night.
He turned back to the stove, gave the sauce one final stir, and switched off the burner. Then he grabbed his jacket from the back of a kitchen chair and slipped it on, wincing slightly as it pulled at his injured shoulder. No doubt unloading all those supplies earlier had been overdoing it.
“Gabe’s coming by tomorrow to help me with some of the structural work on the porch. We’ll try not to make too much noise.”
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a quiet finality that somehow felt louder than a slam.
I sank into a chair at the kitchen table, my legs suddenly too weak to hold me. The house felt emptier than it had in months. The spicy aroma of the spaghetti sauce hung in the air, a tangible reminder of his presence.
Court me.
I buried my face in my hands, overwhelmed by emotions I’d thought were long buried. Anger. Hurt. Longing. Hope. The last one scared me the most. Because that was the one that would get me in trouble.
That was the one that would let him try.
Thirteen
Rhett
Concrete took entirely too long to cure for my taste. Now that I’d actually gotten started on the porch, I was itching to see real progress instead of this prolonged worse-before-better phase we were in since I’d effectively braced the roof and ripped out everything else. But I had to wait for the new, properly poured concrete footers to truly cure before I put any real load on them, which meant I couldn’t do squat for a few more days.
I’d been loathe to take time away from Pepper’s house, so I’d thrown myself into other things that needed doing, starting with the overgrown landscaping. Some of it had been cut back prior to the demolition of the porch, but since I’d begun, I didn’t see any reason not to finish and do a good job of it. It was one more thing I could take off her place. After that, I’d gone hunting for things to do, stuff to fix. I swapped out light bulbs, cleaned out gutters, replaced the busted doorbell, re-organized the shed. All things that had been on her honey-do list for longer than I cared to think about. Not that I was her honey anymore, but it felt good to set things to rights. To take care of her in a way I should have been doing all along.
I hadn’t said a word to Pepper about it. Wasn’t even sure she’d noticed. She hadn’t exactly been avoiding me since I’d made my proclamation that I intended to court her again, but she hadn’t sought me out, either. She’d need time to decide how she felt about it—about me—and I refused to pressure her about it. I was here to prove with my actions that things could be different this time. That would mean far more to her than empty words.
And maybe by the time she was ready to talk about it, I’d have something more concrete to tell her about my job. I’d gotten word already that I was moving on to the next phase. All that studying I’d done during deployment and rehab had paid off. I’d covered my absence to take the test with the excuse of letting the concrete set up. Not that Pepper was asking for any kind of accounting of my time, but I was compelled to say something, lest she feel like I was abandoning things in the middle again.
I balanced precariously on the stepladder, holding one of the blown glass pendant lights as I carefully connected the wiring. The kitchen was dim with the power off, but enough afternoon light filtered through the windows that I could see what I was doing. I’d found the three fixtures wrapped in newspaper and tucked away in a box in the garage. They were gorgeous—hand-blown glass in swirls of amber and blue that would cast the most incredible patterns when lit.
I wondered where Pepper had found these. We’d argued for months over what to put in here. I’d wanted something practical and bright. She’d wanted something with character. These were definitely character, and I had to admit she’d been right. They’d transform the kitchen from merely functional to something special.
The first one was already up. I was working on the second when I heard the garage door open. Well, shit.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I glanced down to see Pepper staring up at me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She was still in her work clothes—black pants and a gray t-shirt with the Kiss My Grits logo, her auburn hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Even looking irritated, she was beautiful.
“Found these in the garage,” I explained, gesturing to the pendant light in my hand. “Thought I’d hang them for you while I was waiting on the concrete to cure.”
“I also noticed you cleaned out the gutters,” Pepper said, her voice rising. “And the shed—that was you too, right? The hedges are trimmed, the dead branches from the oak tree are gone, and somehow every burned-out lightbulb in this house has magically been replaced.”
I carefully descended the stepladder, setting the pendant light on the counter. Her eyes followed my movements, bright with something that looked like anger but didn’t quite feel like it.
“Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I just saw things that needed doing and?—”
