Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
SHILOH
Ewan always buzzes with a low vibration like he’s a strip of neon humming with energy.
Sometimes I think it’s stress or nerves, while other times it’s enthusiasm.
Ewan was always the one happy to do and go and experience, and was always the first to be bored once his mood turned.
Not even seven years of time could change how well I can read him, which is how I know that his energy from this past week has been off.
Less excitement and more anxiety. He flits around my house like a pretty little hummingbird, moving my art around, reorganizing the cupboards in an alphabetical fashion, and adding two new Sharpie animal drawings to my collection.
This last came as something of a surprise.
I was scared that his self-consciousness would get the better of him and he’d stop giving or even just showing me things.
Granted, he hasn’t shown me any paintings, nor have I gone into the spare bedroom that we’ve converted into a space for him.
Ewan will invite me in when he’s ready, and if all I ever get is a trio of Sharpie ocean critters, I’ll die a happy man.
The thing is, I think he is painting in there.
Several days this past week, I’ve come home and not had him greet me at the door.
I went about my routine, and when I got out of the shower, he was seated on my bed waiting for me, a sheepish expression on his face as he apologized for letting the time get away from him.
As if he was required to be next to me the moment I walked inside.
When I’d told him he could paint all night if he wanted, he’d flushed and looked away from me, and I’d let the subject drop.
If he didn’t want to talk about it, we wouldn’t.
Something is definitely picking at him, though, and if it isn’t work, then it must be us.
Which scares me. He’s been here nearly two months, and even though he never once confirmed it, I’ve always had his stay in Siren’s Point lasting three.
Maybe it’ll be more, but there’s an equal possibility that it’ll be less, and the thought of that terrifies me.
I’m not so stupid as to think my spare bedroom and a sleepy hometown will be enough for him.
Of course, in the privacy of my own mind, I can admit that I hope I’m enough for him.
Even if he doesn’t stay, maybe I’ll be able to wrangle an agreement to come back.
He’ll have a bed and a chair on the patio waiting for him, food and warmth and love.
The best I can dream for is a long-distance relationship, whether it’s a romantic one or not.
All I can hope is that we don’t have a repeat of what happened seven years ago—that I won’t wake up one day to find him gone, washed away with the tide.
I don’t want to be an anchor holding him down, but I do want to be the port he returns to.
The slick, oily dread in my stomach warns me I need to be careful, warns me that sometimes love isn’t enough to make things work.
I don’t want to love him at a distance again.
I could, if I had to, but I don’t want that.
What I want is this—Ewan already in bed when I get out of the shower, chest bare and shoulders propped up on the pillows as he frowns at something on his phone.
The thin white sheet draped over his lap makes the shape of his legs little more than a tease below.
He looks over at me and smiles, cheeks dark with scruff and pale skin glowing in the light from the lamp.
If I were the painter, he’d be the only thing I’d paint, just as he is now, mostly covered yet somehow more tantalizing because of it.
“Earth to Shiloh,” he jokes, head tipped back against the wall, hazel eyes watching me.
We never had a conversation about living together, yet somehow, every night has ended with him in my bed.
He hasn’t stayed at the rental cottage since the day we set up the office as a studio, and every day, there seems to be more of his things scattered about with mine.
I find his socks easier than I can find my own, and something about that makes me unbearably happy.
I’d give anything in the world for this to never be taken away.
“Just enjoying the view,” I tell him softly, sliding into bed beside him. “Playing Scrabble?”
“Daniel is going to win, the bastard. I think he cheats.”
“Or maybe you’re just a sore loser,” I correct, chuckling when he gasps.
Lying back, I pillow my head on my arm and stretch my legs out.
My back twinges where I twisted it wrong today, and not even the ten minutes I spent under the scalding hot water in the shower was able to burn it away.
Ewan rolls over and flops an arm across my middle. I grunt.
“Look,” he says, sliding closer and holding his phone above my face so I can see the screen. “Quixotry.”
“Oh, so you’re the one cheating,” I comment, making him snort.
I feel the movement in his belly, pressed as he is along my side.
I wish I hadn’t let myself get bogged down with worry in the shower.
Now there’s a hint of sadness alongside the happiness, a little sliver of doubt about how long I’ll be able to enjoy this before it’s gone.
“It’s a real word. It means, like…impractically idealistic,” he explains. After a second of grinning happily at his game, he locks the screen and tosses the phone onto the mattress. It slides to the floor with a thump, and he mutters a soft “Oops” before dropping his head down onto my shoulder.
I slip my arm around him, trailing my fingers up and down his back, feeling the way his skin pebbles in response. Cold-blooded, my Ewan. I pull him a little closer.
“I’m going to blow you in, like, five minutes,” he tells me, making me laugh. He sounds tired, and if there is one thing I know about him, it’s that sleep doesn’t come easily. If he thinks he can fall asleep, he needs to do that, not suck my dick.
“Did you sleep last night?” I ask, knowing perfectly well he didn’t.
He was tossing and turning and waking me up every hour as he did.
I’m an incredibly heavy sleeper, but even I couldn’t stay that way amid his gymnastics routine.
I didn’t say anything, not wanting him to feel bad about waking me or, even worse, decide it’s better if he sleeps at the cottage and not here with me.
“Yeah, a little,” he lies. I flatten my palm and stroke up and down his back slowly. He sighs. “Okay, no. I didn’t sleep. Sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t.” I don’t even hesitate over the lie. He could keep me awake indefinitely, and I’d never complain about his presence in my bed. “You know it’s okay for you to get up if you need, right? If you want to go paint or just sit downstairs for a bit. Whatever you want.”
I almost add you live here but manage to swallow the words down. Ewan panics and struggles and runs, and I’m not sure whether grand declarations about our relationship are going to nudge him in that direction. It’s better that I treat him like a startled deer, careful and slow and patient.
“Would it bother you if I did this?” he asks, raising a hand to wave vaguely in the air above us. It takes me a second to puzzle out what this he’s referring to.
“Snuggle? No, why would that bother me?”
He huffs, the sound somehow managing to convey both embarrassment and humor.
“Well, sometimes it’s too much. I don’t want to suffocate you. But also…you’re really warm and soft, which is nice.”
“In every relationship, one partner is warm and soft, and the other is bony and cold,” I joke.
“Hey,” I grunt when Ewan’s teeth meet my shoulder, biting gently.
“I don’t mind if you borrow my body heat,” I tell him, smiling when he settles his head back down, hips wiggling closer.
We’re both naked, and I haven’t forgotten his earlier promise of a blow job.
But…but there might not ever be a more perfect opening for me to bring up something I’ve been unable to think past each time we make love.
If I don’t ask for it now, there’s every chance I’ll never get it in the future.
Ewan might be gone, and as depressing a thought as that is, it’s also a possibility I can’t ignore.
I need to take what I can get, gather each little moment I can so I have them when I’m in need of the memories.
“You could also…wake me up if you wanted,” I say quietly, body already reacting to the fantasy and Ewan’s proximity.
“Wake you up? No, why the hell would I do that? Insomniacs suffer alone, Shi. We don’t bring people down with us.”
“No, I meant…” Clearing my throat, I fidget, rubbing Ewan’s back a little faster in an effort to distract myself. I never brought this up with Roy, and I feel a little strange bringing it up now. “You could…touch me, while I was asleep. If you like.”
I wish I hadn’t said it the moment the words leave my mouth. How do people ask for what they want without feeling ashamed of it? The answer is they don’t. And if they’re smart, they never ask for it at all and take whatever sex they can get, even if it isn’t quite what they desire.
“What do you mean?” Ewan asks. Even without seeing his face, I know he’s scrunching his nose up the way he does when he’s thinking particularly hard.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He pushes up onto his elbow so he can make the cute scrunched-nose face right at me.
“Tell me,” he demands. I close my eyes and use my arm to pull him back down on top of me. No way in fucking hell am I asking him for this when I can see the color of his eyes. He falls back against me with a huff and adds, “Tell me, Shi.”
“Sometimes I just have a fantasy about being asleep while you, well…have sex with me.”
“Oh,” Ewan replies softly. I can’t pick out anything from that oh, so I just lie still with my eyes closed and pretend I never said anything at all. It’s a strange thing to ask for, and I know it is, which is why I’ve never done so before now.
“Sorry. Just forget I—”