And yet here I am.  Wanting.  And loving it in a perverse way.  The anticipation, the sensations, the exhilaration–they’re as addictive as Cole himself is turning out to be.  My worry, however, is that they’re as destructive as an addiction.

I can’t let it get to that point.  I have to protect Emmy, first and foremost.  And even though I feel like Cole could be good and…safe somehow, if the tide shifts, I have to be ready and willing to bail.  Emmy comes first.  Always. She has to.

The knock on the door pulls me from my troublesome thoughts. I glance at Emmy on the floor.  She’s in the beginning stages of another drawing.  She probably doesn’t even know I’m in the room. She loses herself when she has a crayon in her hand. I’m glad she has that respite from the world around her and the ugliness it can sometimes show.

I get up and walk to the door. As I near it, I don’t even have to stretch up on my toes to peek through the glass at the top.  My heart is already pattering at the dirty blond crown I can plainly see.  I know who’s outside. Every nerve in my body is screaming his name.

I slip off the chain and unlock the deadbolt, swinging the door open to Cole. His longish hair is framing his face and, despite the cold, he’s wearing only a sweatshirt and jeans. But I forget all about that when I look up.  The moment I meet his intense cerulean eyes, I’m stuck. Trapped.  Drowning in a sea of blue.

Neither of us says anything. The thump of my daughter running up to me and slamming to a stop against my thigh jars me back to reality.  I glance down.

Her thumb is in her mouth, but she’s already smiling around it.  Cautiously, she eases just far enough away from me to still be able to hold on, but also be able to reach Cole’s hand.  She curls her fingers around his and tugs him toward us.

His eyes flicker back up to mine as he steps forward.  Still caught in that blue gaze of his, I don’t retreat.  We just stand in the doorway, almost chest to chest, his handsome face staring down into mine.  Up close, I can count every long eyelash that frames his bright eyes, number every light brown whisker that dots his lean cheeks.  He’s the perfect combination of beautiful and manly.

“May I come in?” he asks, his voice sending a chill skittering down my spine.  I can feel Emmy pulling him in, pulling him closer to me.  I don’t back down. Something in me craves his closeness.  Wants more of it.

I tip my chin up, my lips tingling with an unspoken desire for him to touch them, caress them. Devour them.  “Of course,” I reply, yet neither of us moves.

For several long seconds, we are rooted to this spot, the attraction between us as perceptible and vibrant as a living thing.

But then he moves to one side to step around me, letting Emmy drag him to the living room so she can show him her drawing.  She picks it up and holds it out to him.  He takes the paper gently from her fingers. It looks so small when it’s held in his big hands.  He could easily crumple it, probably crush it into dust, yet he doesn’t. He holds it delicately, as though it’s the most precious thing in the world.

I was so lost in thought before Cole arrived, I wasn’t really watching what Emmy was drawing, but from Cole’s elbow I can plainly see that it’s her attempt at capturing them. She’s holding his hand and her shoes are at least five sizes too big.  I’m guessing it’s from the day she went to fetch him for me when I was stuck in the tub, holding off a flood.

Cole squats down in front of her, turning the paper back to face her.  “Is this me?” he asks, pointing to the tall man with pale yellowish-brown hair.  Emmy nods, toying with the hem of her Hermione T-shirt.  “This is really good.”  Cole’s expression shows that he’s impressed and that he’s not just being kind.

I’m proud, of course.   Emmy does a great job when she takes her time.  She often adds details that surprise me.  Every doctor she’s had since we left has encouraged her to draw as a means of therapy. Thankfully, she seems to really enjoy it.

Cole starts to hand the picture back to Emmy, but she pushes it back toward him.  “Is this for me?”

She nods.

“Thank you. I know just where I’ll put it.”

He stands, holding the paper in one hand while he smiles down at Emmy. I can see the moment she becomes uncomfortable with his quiet attention.  She lowers her eyes and edges toward me, eventually leaning her forehead against my side.

When Cole’s gaze leaves Emmy and lifts to mine, there’s a sadness in it, a grief that nearly staggers me. I can only imagine that he’s reminded of his loss every time he looks at my daughter.

“Cole, I…”  I don’t even know what to say.  I probably shouldn’t bring it up.  For all I know, I’m not supposed to even know about his loss. But I feel the need to say something, to offer some sort of comfort, even though I know that there is none. I don’t think there is comfort for a parent who has lost a child.

As always, his frown reappears, like he’s burying deep any small sign of emotion.  Or maybe just burying his pain.  I might never know.

“I brought you something,” he begins.  I’ve been so wrapped up in his consuming presence, I’d forgotten to even wonder why he might be here.  Cole reaches into his pocket and brings out a cell phone.  An iPhone to be exact. “I wanted you to have something for emergencies.  My number’s already in it.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him that I have a phone. I have a child. It would be totally irresponsible for me not to have a way to at least call 911.  This, however, is a nice phone.  A real phone. The kind I used to have when I was still at my aunt’s.

The thought heralds an onslaught of rapid-fire images and emotions that make my heart feel like it stopped in my chest.

“It’s just a phone,” Cole says.

I drag my eyes away from the flat, rectangular screen.  “What?”

His frown deepens.  “It’s just a phone. It won’t bite.”

“Oh. Right. I know. I just…sorry. I was just thinking.”

“You don’t have to use it to call me. I just wanted you to have it in case of emergency.  The winters here are–”

“Brutal, I know,” I finish for him, shaking off the chill that has settled over me.  “I really appreciate it. You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugs.  “I know.”

I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s the need to know something about this enigmatic man while he’s standing here in my living room, feeling charitable.

“Why did you?”

“Why did I what?”

“Why did you get me a phone?”

“I told you. I–”

“I know what you told me, but we aren’t your responsibility.”

His lips thin in aggravation.  “I didn’t say you were.  I was just trying to help. I can see that I made a mistake.”

When he sets the phone on the coffee table and starts to turn away, I stop him with a hand to his forearm. I feel his response to my touch–the rippling of muscle under my fingertips.  “Wait!  That’s not what I–”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Cole, stop!  Please.  I didn’t mean it like that. I just…I don’t want you worrying about us. It seems like you…like you’ve got enough to worry about without us adding to it.”

His eyes are like a turbulent sea.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I sigh, exasperated with myself and the mess I’ve made of things.  “I just mean…God!  I don’t know what I mean. I just know that I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.  I…I’m grateful for the gift.  Thank you.  I just…I hate that you went to so much trouble for us.  Jordan…Jordan said you don’t drive and I…I…”

His expression turns stony and cold.  “People say all sorts of things about me.”

“So you do drive?”

The further tightening of his features answers my question.  “Use the phone if you need it.  Toss it in the garbage if you don’t.”

He pulls away and heads for the door in long, angry strides. I’m left to either watch him leave again or chase after him.