Dammit. I guess this is happening.
I clear my throat. “Well, if you’re hinting at sex, I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”
At first, he looks genuinely confused. Then understanding flashes across his face. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I like having sex with you, but that’s not what I meant.” He reaches for me. “What do you normally do?” His hand gently rubs up and down my spine.
“Um…lay in bed and sulk. Binge something, read a book, catch up on drawing. But it’s fine—we can go out if you want.” My voice sounds foreign to me, like I’m trying to fake my way through this conversation.
He hugs me tight. “You don’t have to entertain me just because I’m here. I came to check on you. I hated not flying to Texas. I wanted to.”
His confession hits me in the feels. He wanted to fly to Texas. He was worried about me. I nod to keep from getting overly emotional. After a few deep breaths, I ask, “So, how long are you here?”
“I leave tomorrow night. But I’m down for a day of rotting. Do you have snacks, or do we need a snack run later?” He tangles his fingers in my hair, playing with the strands.
“A snack run might be necessary, but before that, you might want to consider a shower,” I tease.
“Are you saying I stink?” he feigns offense.
“I’m saying you smell like a stinky boy.” I giggle.
“Fine. I’ll shower, but then we’re getting snacks and maybe ice cream.” He lets go of me.
“Pick any shower you want. I assume you’ve found at least one since you snuck in.” I wave him off.
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re not good at pretending to be mad about it.”
“Careful. I’m ferocious when I want to be,” I warn.
“I know. I plan to stay on your good side from here on out,” Cas says, creeping away before I can say anything else.
“You better hope I don’t shut the hot water off on you, sir,” I shout after him.
I can hear him laughing on the stairs.
While Cas showers, I make myself back at home on the couch and get sucked into cartoons. I’m completely absorbed when I hear the doorbell. That’s odd. Very rarely does anyone ring the doorbell—and the groceries were already delivered. I’m notexpecting anything else. I hear the water shut off as I walk to the front door.
When I open the door, there’s a middle-aged woman in jeans and a T-shirt standing on the porch. “Are you Vivienne Taylor?”
“Yes, how can—“
She cuts me off. “You’ve been served.”
She tosses a thick pile of papers at my feet then walks away.
I’ve been served? What does that even mean?
I pick up the thick papers, held together by a large binder clip and flip through them. The front page has a very formal letter from the courts. I wander inside, reading it over. From what I can gather, my request for an emergency protective order was denied, and I have a court date for a regular restraining order in a few weeks. I collapse onto the sectional, pulling my knees into my chest as tears slide uncontrollably down my cheeks.
How can they deny my request? Jackson was arrested for hiding in my bushes. Isn’t that reason enough for a restraining order? Cas walks into the room, sees me crying, and rushes to my side. His hair is tousled and towel-dried with small beads of water dripping from his sideburns. He takes the papers from my hand, sits down, then pulls me onto his lap.
“What does it say?” His voice is calm and even.
“They denied my emergency protection order. It’s a court date for a regular one.” My voice comes out shaky as I dry my tears.
“I think we need to get you a lawyer. Let’s not worry about this right now. I promise everything’s going to be okay. How does ice cream for lunch sound?” Cas strokes my back in long, soothing motions.
The anxiety leaves my body. He makes me feel so safe. His confidence that everything will be alright is not just reassuring—it’s infectious. I laugh nervously. “Ice cream for lunch sounds irresponsible, but I know a cute place nearby. It’s locally owned and so good.”
“It’s settled then. Ice cream for lunch. We can take Van-dina,” he says casually.
