Chapter 13 Graham
Chapter thirteen
Graham
The walnut planks still sit untouched on my workbench. Knowing Eric, the hike with Brenna likely took most of the morning, but it’s almost one o’clock now, and I’m losing my damn mind. I pick up the chisel for the hundredth time then set it down again without making a single cut.
The jewelry box I finished hours ago sits on the corner of my bench, the mountain range I carved into the lid inspired by the memory of Brenna, her face tilted up to the sun yesterday. She belongs here, in these mountains, with me. If I haven’t blown things with her already.
I slip the small box into my pocket and head for the door. Screw productivity. I need air, need to move, need to do something other than imagine every possible reason she might not come back.
But as I step outside, my heart damn near stops. Her Range Rover sits in the parking spot by the rental cabin. How did I miss her return? The workshop’s positioned uphill, but still—
Relief floods through me, releasing my coiled tension. She’s safe. She’s here.
I stride toward my cabin, ignoring the question in the back of my mind. Why didn’t she come say hi when she returned? Maybe, her conversation with Eric was the final straw. Maybe, forever is too much for her to handle.
My concern ratchets up the second I walk through my cabin door. The place is empty. There’s not a single sign she’s been here at all.
Fuck. She went straight to the rental. Didn’t even consider coming to see me first. This is worse than I thought.
The walk down the meadow feels like a death march. With each step, I’m mentally bracing for the rejection I’m about to face. For Brenna to tell me she’s changed her mind, no matter what permission Eric gave us. That what happened was a mistake she won’t repeat.
But when I’m halfway there, I spot her through the back porch screen. My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and throat because she’s more gorgeous than ever.
Brenna’s sitting at the pottery wheel, her hands covered in gray clay.
She’s shaping what looks like a bowl or maybe a mug.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and there’s a smudge of clay on her left cheek that reminds me of the smear of real mud on her cheek the night we met. When I rescued her in the storm.
Or, to be honest, when she rescued me.
She doesn’t look up when I approach, just continues to guide the clay with steady hands.
The scent of wet clay drifts through the screen, mixing with traces of her expensive perfume, creating something raw and elemental that makes my mouth go dry.
The wheel spins with a gentle hum, and watching her work through the mesh barrier—completely absorbed, vulnerable in her concentration—fills my heart with joy.
“I was wondering when you’d come down,” she says, without looking up. As if I hadn’t been counting the hours until I’d get to see her again. As if I’d taken my sweet time once I saw she’d returned.
“Why didn’t you come up?” The question comes out rougher than I intend.
She glances up at me through the screen, her green eyes calm but knowing. A small smile plays on her lips, but her hands never stop moving, clay slick between her fingers.
“I knew you’d track me down.” Her voice holds quiet confidence. “And sometimes, a girl likes to be pursued.”
She didn’t change her mind. Didn’t give up on me. I still have a chance.
Relief hits me like a sledgehammer. I waste no time whipping open the screen door and filling the small space. In two strides, I’ve erased the distance between us and dropped to my knees.
“I’ll chase you until you’re mine completely. Until there’s no doubt in your mind you belong with me.”
She arches her brow but sits back as the wheel continues to spin. The corner of her lip curls up ever so slightly, making her look so damn gorgeous. The minx knows she’s got me wrapped around her little finger, and she loves it. I do, too.
“I’m not the one with the laundry list of reasons we can’t be together,” she says, pointing out the fact that remains. “Not the one who pretended we were strangers.”
My head drops. “I know. And I’m sorry. So sorry for pushing you away, for pretending you were a stranger when you already meant the world to me. I was an asshole and deserved your anger. Still do.”
She reaches over and tips up my chin with a single finger. “Did you mean what you said to Eric?” she asks quietly. “About making me yours?”
I reach into my pocket, pulling out the small maple box. Her eyes widen as I hold it in my palm between us. Her breathing changes, becoming shallow.
“I don’t just want you,” I say, my voice gruff with emotion. “I want to build a life with you.”
She stares at the box then looks back at me. “Graham…”
“It’s empty now, but maybe…someday—”
“You made this for me?”
“Yesterday, although I finished it this morning when I was going out of my mind, waiting for you to come home.”
“Home,” she repeats softly, as if she’s testing the word.
I set the jewelry box on the low table at her side and flip the switch to turn the wheel off. My hands hover over hers, and I can feel her pulse racing where my fingers brush her wrists, but there are still some things that need to be said.
“You’re so young, Brenna,” I say, swallowing hard. “And I’m old enough to be your father. What happens when you realize what you’re giving up? What happens when—”
“Stop.” She shakes her head, as if she’s a little girl who doesn’t want to listen.
“I may be young, but I know what I want. And what I don’t.
” Her voice grows stronger, more certain.
“Between my stepfather and the boys my age, I’m sick of being treated like a trophy or an acquisition. You see me. You see all of me.”
“Twenty years is a lifetime of difference—”
“Is it?” she challenges, her green eyes fierce. She reaches for me but stops short, lifting her chin. “I may be young, but I grew up in the city. Hell, I drove across state lines to find my father and ended up finding myself. And you.”
Her words stop me cold, especially the conviction in her voice.
“Your age doesn’t scare me,” she continues, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“What scares me is the thought of going back to that life where I’m settling for fake instead of real.
” She scoffs, showing her exasperation with me.
“You think I’m too young? I think you need me as much as I need you.
We can make our own way. Learn what love looks like, what it can be. Together.”
Christ. This woman. Wise beyond her years. She’ll be the death of me, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You’re sure?” I ask, searching her face for any hint of doubt.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
I lean forward, pressing a tender kiss to her soft lips. She leans in for more.
“Let me clean you up,” I murmur against her lips.
She nods, and I guide her hands to the basin of cool, fresh water beside the wheel. The clay dissolves under my touch as I work it from between her fingers. Rinsing her impossibly smooth skin, the gray streaks disappearing to reveal creamy perfection, makes my jaw clench.
Her breathing becomes unsteady while I clean each finger, my calloused palms sliding over her delicate hands. When I reach the clay smudged on her forearms, working my way up her bare forearms toward her elbows, she shivers despite the warmth of the afternoon.
“I couldn’t touch you last night,” I whisper, my mouth close to her ear, my voice barely controlled. “It was torture. Knowing you were right there, in my bed, in my flannel, and having to keep my hands to myself. But I swore I wasn’t going to touch you again until things were settled between us.”
She spins on the small stool to face me, her knees brushing my thighs.
The touch sends fire racing through my veins, and my gaze drops to the generous swell of her breasts before I force my eyes back to her face.
Her clean hands come up to frame my face, water dripping on my lap, but my entire focus is on the need burning bright in her green eyes.
“They’re settled now.” Her tongue swipes across her bottom lip.
“They are.”
And with that, I kiss her, claiming her mouth with all the hunger I’ve held back.
She responds immediately, her lips parting under mine, soft and eager.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers, fighting to maintain control when all I want is to bury myself in her and show her exactly how much I’ve missed her.
“I’m going to hell,” I murmur against her lips.
Her face breaks into a smile. “I’d say this is closer to heaven.”
“The fact you were a virgin was a gift,” I tell her, my voice raw. “Something precious you gave me. And there are so many things I want to show you, so many ways I want to love you.”
Her pupils dilate at my words, a pink flush spreading across her cheeks as her breath comes in short pants. She looks at me through thick lashes, desire etched across her beautiful face.
“Then tell me, what’s a girl got to do around here to get that spanking I heard about?”
Fuck.
That’s all the invitation I need.