Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Willa
C ole was quiet on the way home from my parents’. I thought it had gone well, but maybe he’d been scared off. They were very supportive and loving, but they could go over the top at times. At various points in my life, I’d been embarrassed by them, but as an adult, I knew how fortunate I was.
He parked in front of the cabin, and when he put the truck in park, he shifted in his seat to face me.
“I get it now.” His tone was quiet, subdued.
I tilted my head, studying his expression. It looked like a mix of genuine happiness and pain. How was that possible? “What?”
“How you became you.”
“That’s oddly cryptic.”
He shook his head. “You are one of the best people I’ve ever known. You’re capable beyond my comprehension. And after spending tonight with your parents, I get it. You’re special. You all are.”
My face heated, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Where was this coming from?
“Stop that,” I whispered. “We’re normal people. Yes, they love me a lot, and I adore them, but you’re special too.”
With a simple shake of his head, he opened his door.
I did the same, my mind a jumbled mess. What had that been all about? One of the best people he’d ever known? We still barely even knew one another.
We headed straight to our rooms, and as I got ready for bed, I tried to make sense of that moment in the car. He was hurting, that much was clear, and hanging out with my parents had affected him deeply. I took their love and support for granted. Though I knew I shouldn’t, it was hard not to. It had always been there and always would be. But I could only imagine what it looked like to him.
I changed, washed off my makeup, and paced around my room, replaying Cole’s words. It was only ten, and I wasn’t sure I could go to sleep. The conversation felt unfinished, and if this were a real marriage, I’d want to talk to him and make him feel supported.
I ran my hands through my hair, pulling it up into a bun as I considered my options. Eventually, my protective instincts won, and I set out for his room.
But he wasn’t in his room. When I found him, he was sitting on the couch.
Knitting.
Curiosity bloomed inside me as I watched him work. After a moment, I let it propel me across the room. I only stopped when I stood in front of where he worked. He was on the couch, totally focused on the needles in his hands.
“Whatcha doing?” I asked casually.
“It’s called a rib stitch,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the yarn.
Watching him was hypnotic. Broad shoulders, rippling muscles, Stubble-covered jaw.
He was knitting away, his massive hands moving confidently as he pulled and looped, his wrist flicking at the end of each row of precise stitches. The muscles of his corded forearms clenched, his friendship bracelets jangling as he worked carefully.
Cole Hebert was a big, burly guy, built for swinging an axe or throwing kegs or hockey.
Yet here he was, delicately knitting, his entire body involved in the most magical way.
I took another step closer. “I didn’t know you knitted.”
He looked up at me, a bit sheepish, but he never stopped working as he spoke. “Debbie taught me. It’s good for my anxiety, and I was feeling anxious tonight.”
I sat beside him and pulled one leg up so I was facing him. “Wanna talk about it? My parents can be a lot.”
He kept knitting.
“I hope all that wedding talk didn’t make you uncomfortable,” I prattled on. “Mom would never say it, but I’m their only child, and they love this stuff.”
“It didn’t.”
“I mean it. When Dad is better, I’ll let them down gently. I promise.”
“It’s fine. He is excited to start his therapy.”
There was no stopping the way my eyes teared up. “I almost lost him.”
All Cole’s movements stopped, and he looked at me, not the least bit freaked out or upset about my tears. “You didn’t lose him,” he said softly. “And I know he will do everything he can to be here for you as long as he can.”
For a moment, we watched one another. I couldn’t speak, the lump in my throat too big to form words. The gravity of my reality was starting to hit me. I’d been going through the motions, trying to survive for so long, that I hadn’t stopped to process it all.
“Debbie dragged me to knitting club when I moved in with her.” He changed the subject, as if knowing I needed a moment to compose myself. “I was so annoyed the first couple of times, but she wouldn’t let me beg off. Eventually, I learned the stitches, and I find it really helpful.”
“It’s cool. But you have such big hands; I would think it would make it difficult.”
“Nah, it’s all about the rhythm and pace. It’s basically meditation with your hands.”
“How did I not know this about you?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if you’d think it was strange.”
“What’s strange is my husband not telling me he belongs to a knitting club.”
He smirked. “Don’t hate on knitting club. We meet in the library rec room every Wednesday night and take turns bringing snacks and tea. These ladies run the town. They are the power brokers.”
“So you’ve spent every Wednesday night for the last year hanging out with the elderly ladies of Lovewell?”
A chuckle rumbled from deep inside him, though his focus was fixed on his knitting again. “They would take great offense to be called elderly. And trust me: they get shit done. I mentioned having trouble recruiting sponsors for RiverFest at one meeting, and the next thing I knew, they were all pulling strings.”
“So they’ve formed a secret cabal that runs the town?” I was giggling so hard my eyes were tearing again.
His lips tipped up on one side. “Joke all you want, but I mean it.”
“I’m sorry you missed out on it tonight.”
“Happy to do it. Your parents are great.”
“What about your mom?” I straightened, watching his expression. “Should we call her?”
I knew very little about the woman, other than that she was really young when she got pregnant with him and she moved to Florida a few years ago. But given the reaction everyone was having to our marriage, it made sense we should probably tell her.
His face was a blank mask. “I’ll call her eventually.”
“Will she be upset?”
“Doubtful. She’s not super involved in my life.” The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, made my heart clench.
I inhaled deeply, then slowly let it out. “Radical honesty?”
He paused his knitting and gave me his full attention. “Sure.”
“Her fucking loss. You deserve better.”
He exhaled heavily. “Wow, that was some powerful honesty.”
“I’m serious. If it’s any consolation, you can share my parents. They will happily smother you with love.”
He said nothing, but his expression was doubtful.
It hurt to see it, how alone he seemed to feel, and every single cell in my body was screaming at me to help him.
“How about I get my Kindle—I’m behind on this book Magnolia has been yelling at me to read; something about a school where people learn to ride dragons—and I’ll read while you knit?”
He nodded silently, so I jumped up, put the kettle on, and dashed into my room to get my Kindle.
We settled on the couch, sipping tea and quietly doing our own thing for a while. The couch was large, but so was Cole. He took up so much space that we were always sort of touching.
And I loved it. The comfort of his proximity helped push aside all the bullshit of the day.
Eventually, I leaned into him, my body sagging against his.
As I read, I soaked up his warmth and let his strength anchor me.
He knit, a peacefulness settling over my little cabin. Our little cabin—what was mine was now his, after all.
As my eyes drooped, I knew I’d be paying for staying up too late if I didn’t get to sleep.
“I need to go to bed.” I stood and stretched wide.
As I turned, ready to head down the hall, he caught my hand, garnering my attention.
Even sitting, he was almost at my eye level. Slowly, he turned my wrist. Then he angled closer and gently pressed his lips to my pulse point.
I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t speak. That simple gesture had my entire body screaming with pent-up desire.
He looked up at me, his lips inches from my skin, his dark eyes molten.
The look sent a shiver down my spine.
People tended to underestimate Cole, write him off as unserious or a clown.
But he possessed this intensity, this focus. And the closer we got, the more I saw of it.
My skin was on fire where his rough fingers touched me, and my insides were heating up too. I swore a primal need flashed in his eyes, causing my breath to hitch as I struggled to understand the sensations pummeling me from such minimal contact.
As quickly as desire hit, panic replaced it. Why was he holding my hand and looking at me like that? This was wrong. But was it? A wrist kiss was hardly a display of desire. Though with the way he watched me, it certainly felt like it was. The feel of his lips on my skin was not something I’d ever forget. Never mind the fire in his eyes.
My heart pounded against my breastbone, tapping out a rhythm that told me to leave. I needed space. Yes. Space. Far way. Maybe the next county. Maybe Canada? The border wasn’t that far. And my passport was here somewhere.
With a grunt, he dropped my hand, and at the loss of the contact, I took a step back. God, I was too close to him. It was dangerous, this hot, twitchy sensation coursing through me, and if I didn’t get out of here, I worried I’d say the wrong thing. Room. I needed to get to my room.
I took another step back, snatching the empty mugs and my Kindle off the table.
“You didn’t tell me what you’re making,” I said, gesturing to the pile of emerald-green yarn in his lap, doing my best to keep my voice from quivering. I was feeling things. Confusing things. I needed to extract myself immediately.
He looked away from me, a blush creeping across the skin above his scruff.
“It’s a beautiful shade of green,” I said, uncomfortable with the silence.
When he still didn’t respond, I turned, put the mugs in the dishwasher, and headed toward my room. He needed space. That was cool. I needed an ice-cold shower and a Valium, but that was another story.
“Willa.” His voice was low, rough.
Breath hitching again, I turned in the doorway.
“It’s the exact shade of your eyes. I noticed you don’t have a scarf, and since it’s winter and all…”
He left the thought hanging between us.
When he looked back down at his project, I turned and darted into my room. I didn’t want him to see the smile that was almost splitting my face in two.