Chapter 23
twenty-three
. . .
Rowan
Saturdays have a different rhythm now. Violet’s been staying over every Friday night for the past month, which means Saturday mornings start with the scent of her shampoo on my pillow and the sound of her bare feet padding across the floor.
She always steals my side of the bed, hogs the blanket, and leaves her cold toes pressed to my leg like I’m her personal space heater. And I let her. Gladly.
The hardest part is waking up with her curled into me, her ass fitted perfectly against my cock, and choosing—every single time—not to touch her. Every weekend, it’s the same exquisite torture. I wake up hard as steel and aching for her, but I don’t move. Instead, I stay still.
I count my breaths, like that’s going to do anything to take the edge off.
I memorize the warmth of her, the weight of her trust, the way she sleeps like she belongs in my bed.
And then I pretend like I don’t want to press my mouth to the back of her shoulder and bite down just enough to leave something behind—something that says I was there.
I’m not a sadist, but I’d be a damn liar if I said I didn’t want to mark her in some way. My fingerprints on her hips. My mouth at her throat. Something I could look at later and know I put it there.
This morning, though, was different. She stirred beside me and pressed closer, all warm and soft.
Then her hand slid beneath the covers, her breath ghosting over my chest as she moved down my body.
Her fingers caught the waistband of my boxers and eased them down, and I sucked in a breath I couldn’t afford to lose.
Her lips grazed the V below my hips, then drifted lower.
When her mouth finally closed around me, hot and wet and perfect, I nearly came undone right there.
Heaven isn’t clouds and harps. It’s Violet’s mouth on me at dawn, her blonde hair spilling across my thighs.
Now we’re heading into town, and I’m supposed to pretend I’m not already counting the minutes until I can get her alone again. She wants to try the new coffee place off the square. We’ve just parked, barely a block from the café, when it happens.
He’s tall and clean-cut with a rigid posture. He notices us first.
Violet stiffens at my side.
That’s all it takes. Some switch flips inside me. I know how to read people, and this guy is looking at my Violet like he’s entitled to something. Meanwhile, he doesn’t look at me at all.
Violet doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. The way her fingers tighten around mine tell me everything I need to know.
“Well, look who it is,” he says, voice dripping with false charm. “Violet Larkin.”
“Travis.” Her smile doesn’t show up at all. “Hi.”
Travis’s eyes drop from her face to our joined hands, then finally to me. Something sour flashes across his face before he schools it into a smirk.
His gaze drags over me like I’m something he scraped off the sole of his shoe. “Didn’t think this was your type, Violet.”
Before either of us can say anything, he keeps going. “Word of advice, man. Don’t waste your time. She never puts out.”
The world goes red for a split second. My free hand curls into a fist at my side, every muscle in my body coiling tight.
“Rowan….” Violet says, her voice shaking.
My blood turns molten, rushing through my veins with such force I can hear it pounding in my ears. I take half a step forward before I catch myself, jaw clenched so hard my teeth might crack.
One punch. That’s all it would take to wipe that smug smirk off this bastard’s face. I’ve taken down men twice his size with less provocation. But Violet’s fingers tighten around mine, and I feel her trembling beside me. The fear isn’t for herself. It’s for what might happen next.
And just like that, I swallow it down. The rage. The violence simmering beneath my skin. Because she’s here, and she needs me to be the man who doesn’t solve problems with his fists anymore.
“You know what?” I say instead, my voice dangerously calm. “I feel sorry for you.”
He blinks, clearly thrown off.
“Only a pathetic man tries to humiliate a woman for having boundaries,” I continue, pulling Violet closer to my side. “Says a lot more about you than it does her.”
His face flushes an ugly shade of red. For a second, I think he might swing at me, and fuck, I wish he would. Instead, he mutters a whatever and shoulders past us.
I watch him go, making sure he’s well out of sight before I turn to Violet. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t. You never have to apologize for someone else being an asshole,” I say, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “Especially not that asshole.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “You didn’t hit him.”
“Disappointed?”
She shakes her head. “Impressed. The old you would’ve laid him out on the sidewalk.”
“The old me would’ve been in handcuffs by now,” I admit. “But I’ve got more to lose these days.”
Her eyes soften. “Thank you. For not…you know.”
“Don’t thank me for basic human decency, Violet.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Besides, you’re worth more than five minutes of satisfaction from breaking his jaw.”
She laughs. “That’s oddly romantic.”
“I’m a complex man.”
We start walking again, her hand still in mine. She starts to relax beside me, the tension slowly leaving her shoulders.
“So,” I say, keeping my tone casual, “who exactly was that charming individual?”
She sighs. “We dated for a while… Broke up around the time you got back.”
A spike of jealousy slices through me, even though I know I have no claim to her past. That doesn’t change the fact that some part of me wants to hunt Travis down and make him eat his own teeth for the way he talked about her.
She sighs. “He was the classic nice guy until he wasn’t.”
My jaw tightens again. “He ever put his hands on you?”
“No,” she says quickly, then adds, “Nothing like that.”
“Violet,” I say, gentling my voice, “what did he do?”
She hesitates, looking down at the sidewalk as if she can find the right words trapped between the cracks. For a second, I think she isn’t going to tell me. Then she blows out a shaky breath.
“He cheated,” she says. “Told me it was my fault. Because I wouldn’t…you know. What he said back there.”
My fists curl again. This time it has less to do about him and more about the pain in her voice. “That’s fucking bullshit,” I say, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. “He’s a coward for blaming you.”
She tries on a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s fine. I’m over it.”
I stop walking, tugging her gently to face me. “You don’t have to be over it. Not for me. Not for anyone.”
Her gaze lifts to mine. “I almost started to believe him. I thought I was broken or something.”
I cup her face in my hands, tilting it up so she has no choice but to see the truth. “There is nothing broken about you. Nothing. You set boundaries, and he couldn’t handle it. That’s on him. Not you.”
She gives me a sad smile and nope. That won’t do.
“Violet, the fact that you trust me enough to stay over, to let me hold you, to wake me up the way you did this morning…” I shake my head, half wrecked by the memory. “That means everything. I would never ask for more if you didn’t want to give it. Okay?”
She nods, but her eyes are still glassy. I pull her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her, not caring that we’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Who gives a shit if people stare. All that matters is that she knows I’m not going anywhere.
“I mean it,” I whisper into her hair. “You could tell me tomorrow that you never want more than what we have right now, and I’d still be the luckiest bastard alive.”
I press a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary. When I pull back, her cheeks are pink, but the shadows in her eyes have started to fade.
“Now,” I say, threading my fingers through hers again, “let’s get that coffee before I hunt down your ex and accidentally trip him into traffic.”
She laughs, the sound lighter, and it loosens something in my chest. “Accidentally?”
“Very accidentally. Multiple times.”
We reach the café, and I hold the door open for her, my hand instinctively finding the small of her back as she passes.
It’s a little crowded inside, the Saturday morning rush filling every table with couples and families.
The line stretches nearly to the door, but Violet doesn’t seem to mind.
She’s staring up at the chalkboard menu, her eyes brighter than they were a few minutes ago.
“They have lavender honey lattes,” she says, bouncing on her toes. “And look—homemade cinnamon rolls!”
It’s always the little things with her. She lights up over something as simple as coffee done right. She notices wildflowers growing where they shouldn’t be. Laughs at dumb jokes like they’re worth savoring.
It’s everything I love about her.
She leans into my side a little as we inch forward. “Did you ever date anyone?” she asks.
I look down at her, but she’s fixed on the menu board. It’s in the way she’s not looking at me that I understand my answer matters a lot more than she’s letting on.
“No,” I say after a beat. “Not really.”
She’s quiet for a second, then shifts on her feet, teeth biting the inside of her cheek. “So…like, how not really are we talking?”
My brow arches. “You want a number?”
She finally meets my gaze and scrunches her nose. “No. I mean, not unless you want to tell me. I just…” Her voice drops. “I haven’t really dated much. I guess I don’t want to seem stupid or naive.”
“Violet.”
She blinks up at me, but doesn’t look away.
“I wasn’t a monk. I won’t lie to you. There were people, but no one ever got close to what you were to me. What you are. I never let them.”
She swallows hard, her lashes lowering as she nods slowly. “Okay,” she whispers. “That’s…okay.”
I wince. It’s anything but okay. She’s giving me grace I don’t deserve, and that does something brutal to my chest. I want to go back and find that younger version of me and shake him until he gets it through his thick fucking skull.
I didn’t protect her. I punished us both.
By the time we reach the counter, she’s smiling again, ordering her lavender honey latte with extra whipped cream. I get plain black coffee because some habits die hard, and we find a small table by the window.
“So,” she says, wrapping her hands around the steaming mug, “what’s on your agenda today?”
I take a sip of my coffee, savoring the bitter warmth. “Fixing the fence. A tree came down in that storm last week and took out about twenty feet of it.”
“Need an extra pair of hands?” she asks. “I’m useless with tools, but I’m very good at offering moral support and looking concerned when you swear.”
I laugh, reaching across the table to brush my thumb across a smudge of whipped cream at the corner of her mouth. “I wouldn’t say no to the company.”
She catches my hand, pressing a quick kiss to my palm that sends heat curling through my veins. “Then it’s a date. Me, you, and manual labor.”
I still can’t get over the fact that Violet Larkin kisses me whenever she feels like it.
The bell above the door chimes, and I glance up. My entire body goes rigid as David Larkin, Violet’s dad, walks in with her mom trailing behind him. Violet hasn’t noticed yet, still sipping her coffee with a small, content smile on her face.
“Violet,” I say quietly, warning in my tone.
She looks up, brows furrowed, then follows my gaze. Her smile falls in an instant.