Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

FIERCE

W e grab blankets and dress in layers, heading outside where I build a fire in the pit, drawing two large Adirondacks close enough to the flames to catch the warmth. I sit down, and Felicity takes a long, somber look at the other Adirondack before climbing into my lap with her blanket and asking me breathlessly, “Is this okay?”

“Are you kidding? This is where you belong.” I draw her tightly against me beneath the stars as we marvel at the pristine clarity of the night sky and the stellar show scattered across the black void like a million glittering diamonds.

“I could get used to this,” she sighs, marveling at the heavens. “You can’t see any of this in San Francisco.”

I kiss her forehead. “So, this place is growing on you?”

Felicity pauses for a long moment. “Yes, it is, Fierce. It may be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.”

“It is yours now, too,” I remind quietly. “If you want it.”

“What I want is you,” she replies decisively, snuggling into me and resting her head against my chest. I savor the feel of her warm breath shed on my chest. “Fierce, there’s something I need to confess to you. But I’m afraid you’ll get mad at me.”

My body stiffens instinctively. I can’t imagine anything in the world she could say that would make me angry with her. But I bite my tongue, not ready to tempt fate.

“I was never completely honest with you about why I joined Mountain Mates, and I should have been. I’m sorry.”

I clear my throat, my heart stalling at the apprehension edging her voice. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a relationship columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle, and I write a column kind of like a tame version of Sex and the City . Are you familiar with the TV show or movies?”

“Not really,” I say, my mind jumping far ahead of what she’s saying. “Do you mean you write about sex or something?” I try to keep my voice steady, but my brain spirals.

She chuckles. “No, it’s not like that. I write about the foibles of dating and relationships in the twenty-first century in the city. And things like meeting people at nightclubs, wine tastings, churches, singles groups?—”

“And dating sites like Mountain Mates?”

She nods against my cheek, curling into me, even as I straighten, drawing back slightly. “How do I put this?”

“Just say it.”

“You are my eighth story.”

I grimace, trying to wrap my head around her words. “So, you’re telling me all I am to you is a story?”

“No. I mean, yes, at first. But then, as things heated up between us?—”

“This is not good,” I say quietly, running my fingers through my thick black hair and looking at the play of the firelight on the ground next to my chair. “And what is my story about, Felicity?”

“My editor wants it to be about how stupid country folks are. How awful you are to date, and why, ultimately, the city still has better choices. That’s the story I was supposed to find here with you. But what I’ve found is the complete opposite.”

We sit silently for a long moment as I try to process her revelation.

“Fierce, don’t you have anything to say? You’re scaring me.”

“I am the eighth article, so you’ve done the same thing with seven other men to sell stories? Did you share their beds and say you loved them, too?”

“Of course not!” she gasps. “You make me sound like a call girl or something.”

“I’m trying to understand the scope of your articles and how I fit into them.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You don’t fit in. Not at all because I fell in love with you, so I can no longer finish the series and will likely lose my job over this.”

I can hardly believe my ears. “Wait, you would risk your career for me?”

“I would risk my career for us,” she says, palming my cheek and turning my head towards her face. Her cheeks are tear-streaked, and it shames me that I’ve done this to her. But my mind is still spinning, trying to sort out everything.

“Do you have any questions?” she asks, knitting her brows.

“What will happen if you don’t write the last article?”

“I’ll lose the promotion I’ve been working so hard for at the Chronicle, along with potential book deals and journalism awards.”

“And you would do that for me? For us?” Emotion grips my voice now.

“Of course. I love you, Fierce. But there’s something else you have to know about me.”

I exhale, feeling my heart pound again, steeling myself for something awful. Shame grips her voice. “I’m poor. Like really poor. I have thousands and thousands of dollars of student debt, and I can barely make ends meet as a freelance writer. You saw how old my Jeep is. I mean, it’s a miracle it made it all the way here, and I live in South San Francisco in this shitty, scary neighborhood. The article would’ve helped me change all that, so if I don’t submit it, you have to understand what you’re getting. I can bring nothing to our relationship. If anything, I’ll drag you down.”

“Don’t ever say that about yourself again, ma luciole,” I croon, pulling her closer and kissing her tender lips covered in salt from her warm tears.

“But it’s true. I’m barely scraping by. You could do so much better than me.”

“And I’m a shepherd who lives in the middle of nowhere. You could do much better than me in many people’s opinions. But we are past all that because we have already decided to be together. So, it’s a matter of figuring out how to make that happen in a way that suits our lives and dreams.”

“But is it even possible?” she asks, sniffling.

“This is where I need your help, Firefly. Because you are the brains in this relationship. As they say in the old country, ‘Non dago borondatea, bide bat badago.’”

“That sounds very wise. What does it mean?”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Felicity chuckles. “You know we say the same thing in English.”

“I thought it fit the moment better to make it sound exotic.”

She swats playfully at my arm, shaking her hand and exclaiming. “Ow!”

“My muscles are too hard for you?”

“Yes?”

“Then, you should love me instead of hit me.”

“I can do that,” she says softly.

“Read me your articles—every one of the dating ones. I want to know how I fit into the picture. Maybe there’s still a way we can work this all out.”

“Okay.” She sighs, pulling out her cell phone. “All of them?”

“Every single word.”

I listen intently, staring into the sinewy, fluttering flames of the fire, grimacing and gritting my teeth when she describes a date at a nightclub with a guy who sends her a dick pic. Internally, I imagine hunting the man down and killing him with my bare hands for such a dishonor. Even though it happened many months before she and I started talking on Mountain Mates. But then, she reads the part about shrinkage and feeling underwhelmed, and I realize my woman is perfectly capable of slaying her own dragons. The pen is mightier than the sword, after all. At another point, I put my head in my hand as she describes kissing a man after a wine tasting.

“Fierce, are you alright?”

“Skip over it. I can’t hear anymore.”

“But that was the worst of it,” she clarifies wide-eyed.

“So, you didn’t sleep with him?”

“No, silly,” she says, kissing me. “You are the only man I’ve ever been with apart from my college boyfriend.”

“An educated man—” I hiss, making my insecurities painfully obvious.

“That doesn’t mean anything. You are an entrepreneur. A very talented one, and you’re going to make me the queen of your sheep’s milk cheese dynasty. Remember?”

I laugh, stroking her soft cheek, bright red from my beard and the nippy night air. “God help me if you put that in my story.”

“Let me finish reading, and then let’s talk about what I could put in your story. If you’re okay with me writing the story at all.”

I nod.

She goes back to reading, and I listen intently, marveling at her storytelling and wittiness. She makes me laugh many times, and I secretly wonder what the hell she sees in me. But I’m too selfish a man to ever give her up now. And I know I can make her happy—wonderfully, blissfully happy, even if what I offer is a simple life. Felicity’s voice dies away, and she pockets her phone, snuggling against my chest.

I clear my throat, overwhelmed by the blessing this woman is to me. “You are a gifted writer.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“But you are. That is obvious. And very funny, too, although I’m ready to kill every last motherfucker who looked at you, put his hand on you, or kissed you.”

“Fierce!”

“This is a part of me that will never change. I’m loyal to a fault but just as jealous. That said, I trust you to write the story from your heart. Telling the truth about your experiences here without giving away too much about us. Because though I trust you completely, I also guard our love jealously, not wanting to share our precious stories and time together with anyone else. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, it does. And my editor will hate it.”

“Do you write for yourself? Or your editor?”

“For me.”

“Then, write your story, and keep writing always, only about marriage and babies because I won’t let you go on any more dates unless they are with me.”

“That goes without saying.”

“I don’t think it does. You are mine now. But you have a gift you must share with the world. Quit worrying about student loans, old cars, scraping by. I’m your man now, and I pledge to always care for you. To keep you well-fed, loved, happy, and wanting for nothing.”

Felicity turns towards me, straddling and kissing me until I feel dizzier than anything the fruity wine could do.

“I need you, Fierce. Please make love to me.”

Her words stop my heart, and I swallow hard. Unbuttoning and unzipping my Wranglers with one fluid motion, I reach beneath her skirt, dragging her panties to the side and sliding into her tight, silky cunt, still swollen and sensitive from earlier. The way she grips me is everything, stealing my breath and making my heart pound against my ribs.

How does she feel like the place I was always meant to be?

Tears fill my eyes, and she wipes them away, tenderly palming my cheeks as streams flow down hers. Leaning forward, I kiss the salty trails on her cheeks as she heals me from the inside out in ways I didn’t even know I needed healing.

I take her tenderly beneath the veil of stars, savoring every sensation and thrust as our breaths fill the air with great white puffs. Together, we come undone, crying out into the night. Afterward, she nestles against my chest again, and I feel closer to her than anyone ever placed on this planet. My thoughts immediately turn to loss with this revelation. If I lost this woman, I would die. I hold her closer, breathing in her delicious vanilla scent . You must never lose her then, Fierce. Whatever you do.

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