SWNOVELS The Front Runner: Chapter 8
MIRA
You can’t pick me up. Someone might see. I’ll meet you at your place at six.
I read the text a few times. It stings more than it should, and it feels distinctly improper to not be picking her up—no matter how fake the date is. Call me old-fashioned, but I enjoy ringing the doorbell. Not being able to hold the car door open for her when she gets in has the gentleman in me twitching. I’ve been enough of a brute where Mira is concerned that I feel like I owe her that chivalry.
I’ve spent the entire week avoiding her because what I whispered in her ear a few days ago was crossing a line I shouldn’t have crossed. And I didn’t like the way she shut down afterwards.
The worst part is, I can’t actually say what it is I want from her. Am I attracted to her? Yes. But I don’t think it can ever be more than that—even if there’s a part of me that wants it. I really need her as a veterinarian. My horses do, too. Risking that seems like a colossally stupid idea.
So platonic dates it is.
Friends.
I could try to be her friend so that the dates aren’t just awkward disasters.
Or I could let her off the hook for the dates altogether.
But I shake that thought out of my head. I’d rather prove to her I’m not the bad guy she thinks I am.
And why does what she thinks of you matter?
That’s the real question, isn’t it?
Because I’m pretty sure I’ve made things awkward by reverting to the private school douchebag I grew into as a teenager. In fact, it seems an awful lot like she’s avoiding me. I know she’s been here to check on Farrah and the foal, but she comes at random times, and I haven’t received a single message from her since that day when she told me to stay away while she had Billie here.
She hasn’t even said anything about me naming the foal Loki . . . I put a tag on his stall, so Mira’s seen it, but she hasn’t said anything. I imagined a snarky text from her about it, but nothing came. The name makes me smile, and the more time I spend with him, the more I think it fits.
As he gets healthier, he keeps getting spunkier. When I go down in the evenings to hang out and brush him, he likes to play with my shoelaces. His toothless gums snap at them and pull the strings curiously. And then when he gets them apart and I move my foot, making them drag across the ground like a snake, he spooks. He jumps back all wide-eyed with flared nostrils like they might attack him.
It’s nice having some company.
In the morning when I come to check on him before I go for my workout, his shrill baby whinny rings out through the barn. One morning, I figured I could leave the stall unlatched while I came back with extra grain for Farrah, but he pushed it right open and went on an adventure through the barn. The little prick had fun evading me, making me chase him around like a total amateur, until I got a rope wrapped around his neck and led him back to his stall with a big grin on my face. I’m still glad no one was here to see that episode.
And I’m especially glad that dying horses don’t pull stunts like that.
The lively rat is growing on me every day. It’s nice having someone who needs me. And the moment that thought flits through my head, my phone screen lights up with Ruby Creek High Calling, and my stomach plummets.
Nadia moved here a year ago from Romania after being kicked out of her aunt and uncle’s house. She’s struggling—I can tell—but no one has ever equipped me to be the parent and guardian of a nineteen-year-old with a massive chip on her shoulder. Nannies and headmasters raised me, and I ran in a pack of poorly behaved rich boys—unfortunately, Nadia’s upbringing isn’t so different. She failed her senior year here, so she’s back for a second try. And terrorizing all the teachers and administrators in the process. No one in this small town is equipped for her.
“Yup,” I answer the phone brusquely.
“Mr. Dalca, this is Principal Cooper. Can you come down to the school for a conversation with Nadia and me?”
I sigh out in frustration. “Is she okay?”
“Yes.” The man’s voice is clipped.
“Okay. I’ll be right there.”
What’s it going to be this time?
My mouth goes dry when I swing open the door. Mira is standing on the front landing wearing a gray cable-knit sweater dress with cream thigh-high socks beneath a pair of tall black suede boots. A thick black wool coat with oversized buttons and matching cream plaid print falls open at her sides, like a present that has already been partially unwrapped. She looks cozy and sensual all at once, with her black hair smoothed out straight, a heavy mane spilling down over her shoulders.
She looks edible.
“What are you wearing?” Her face scrunches up as she looks me over from top to bottom.
“What do you mean?” I peer down at my clothes, checking for a stain or something.
She looks slightly flustered as she waves a hand over me. “Just the turtleneck. And the glasses.”
I open one arm to usher her into the house. “What about them?”
She ignores the gesture and licks her lips, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Nothing.” She laughs sharply. “You look like you were shooting a professor themed porno or something.”
I wink at her. “Maybe I was.”
Mira rolls her eyes and dramatically tips her head back with a groan. I don’t miss the way her cheeks pink at my joke. And as much as I should regret the comment, I don’t. She’s the most fascinating dichotomy. Confident and cool, while being shy and awkward all at once. She keeps me on my toes. I just never quite know how she’s going to react.
“Let’s go get this over with.” She hikes a thumb over her shoulder.
I ignore the punch her words deliver. “So, minor change of plans.”
Her slightly upturned almond-shaped eyes narrow at me, and I swear if looks could kill, I’d crumple to the floor on the spot. “No. No change of plans.”
“I don’t think I can, in good conscience, leave my sister home alone tonight.”
Her puffy lips roll together. “Why?”
“She had a bad day and could use some company. I promise I still gave my Amex a workout on your behalf. I have excellent wine and beautiful food and if you come in, I will provide you with a perfectly platonic home cooked meal.”
Her eyes dart behind me into the house, like she’s trying to gauge if I’m lying. A growl rumbles in my chest. “For crying out loud, Mira. Let me feed you and then you can turn around and go home. In fact, you are welcome to leave any time you want. I’m not going to murder anyone in here.”
She steps into the foyer begrudgingly and mutters, “No, you’ll just be filming porn.”
I laugh, closing the heavy door behind us before reaching out to take her coat and hang it for her. I try not to focus on the hum of the zipper as she bends down to remove her boots.
“Leave the boots.”
Her eyes dart up to mine. “Inside the house?”
I just shrug. Trying to play it casual. “Yeah. You look nice.” What I don’t say is that those boots and socks are giving me all sorts of ideas that I shouldn’t be having about her. What I don’t say is that I’d like to see her in just the boots.
“This way.” I saunter further into the house, leading her to the open-concept kitchen.
“Your place is so cozy. For its size I expected it to be different.”
“Thanks. I think?”
She chuckles as we enter the kitchen, my favorite room in the house. It’s surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that slide open onto the patio overlooking the small lake out front. The living room and dining room all blend into the big open space with vaulted ceilings. Warm cream tones play off dark stained wood and exposed stones.
Mira walks to the oversized island in the center of the kitchen and props herself up on one of the stools before looking over at me expectantly while I try not to stare at the expanse of creamy skin between the hemline of her dress and high socks. That small tease of bare skin feels particularly stimulating in the comfort of my home.
“Well? You promised me wine. I could really use some wine.”
“Pfft, you and I both.” I round the island and slide over two bottles of red wine. “Pinot Noir or Cabernet?”
She reaches out, dainty fingers wrapping around each bottle as she pulls them toward herself. Her lips roll together as she eyes the bottles. “Let’s start with the Pinot.”
I chuckle. “Start with, huh?”
She smiles back at me. “Would be a shame to let these go to waste.”
I shake my head as I reach for the bottle with the purple label. The tips of my fingers graze hers, sending a tingling sensation up through my joints, right into my wrist, morphing into an ache in the crook of my elbow. I drop my eyes and turn away quickly, trying to put the feeling of her nearness out of my mind as I uncork the wine.
I hate the way she throws me off balance.
When I turn back around to decant the bottle of wine, Mira is sneaking a furtive glance over at the leather couch where Nadia, her wavy blonde hair freshly washed and falling loose to her shoulders, is curled up reading a book with her sound cancelling headphones on. Under the glow of the floor lamp, with her doll-like face scrubbed free of makeup, she looks younger than she often does.
I don’t love easily, but when I do it’s fiercely. Which is probably why my mother’s betrayal stung as badly as it did. There may be thirteen years between Nadia and me, I may not know her that well, but she’s all the family I’ve got left, and I love her with every bit of my soul. I’ve wanted to protect her for years, and now that she’s finally back with me, I probably won’t ever stop. I may not have been able to protect my mother, but I will protect Nadia if it’s the last thing I do. Leaving her behind killed me, and I’m happy to have her here no matter the added challenge. I would burn the town to the ground for her, and today I almost did.
“Is she okay?” Mira asks.
I pour us each a large bell of deep red liquid and slide her glass toward her. “No. But she will be. She’s tough.” I swirl the wine and inhale the cranberry scent, letting my eyes bounce between the two women before me. “People see that strength and try to tear her down. I think some people—men in particular—thrive off that. She’s young now and has me to make them regret that type of behavior. But in a few years, she won’t need my help at all.” I smirk into the glass as I take a drink, letting the flavour of cherries and menthol pour across my tongue. “She reminds me a bit of you.”
Mira takes a sip, snuggling further down into the upholstered stool, and looks back over at my little sister with renewed interest. “May I ask what happened?”
My molars grind against each other unbidden. “I received a call from Principal Cooper asking me to come down to the school. There were issues all last year, and this year is nothing new. She’s nineteen now, but the transition to living in Canada hasn’t been an easy one. Not to mention what our family has been through the last few years.” Mira’s eyes widen in interest, but she doesn’t make a move to ask anything further. Something I appreciate. “She failed a few classes last year. She’s re-taking them, and it seems to me, she’s got a target on her back.”
I stare down into the wineglass, swirling it, trying to keep my agitation from creeping out and taking over. “Apparently, the principal saw her and felt her skirt was too short. So, in a hallway full of her peers, he made the girl who has already been singled out as the one who failed last year kneel on the floor to prove the skirt didn’t meet their dress code by one inch.” My lips press together almost painfully as I shake my head at the memory.
“Excuse me?” Mira leans forward, her eyes flaring with rage that is reflected in my own. “Did you flatten him?”
I chuckle darkly. I wish. “I’ll admit I went nuclear. I don’t know how I’ll send her back. Or if it’s even my place to. She’s smart—too smart—but she’s also proud and this was a real blow to her pride.” The memory of her tear-stained face still has the power to set me off.
“No shit.” Her words come out with a bite. “Stefan, you can’t send her back to that school. There are other options, and she won’t be missing out on the experience of being at school at this point in her life. Whatever you do, don’t let her see that patriarchal assholes behaving poorly don’t face consequences.”
Her words land like lead in my gut.
But the fierce spark in her eye makes my heart race.