Chapter 31
Savvy
I wake up to the light abrasion of Nate’s scruff on the inside of my thighs.
Stretching my arms over my head, I completely give myself up to his ministrations. I’m accustomed to being in control all the time, but with Nate I feel free to let go and have him take the reins.
Something he does fabulously.
We’ve discovered early mornings are our favorite time of day. With a kid around, quiet times are hard to find, but we know for a fact a cannon couldn’t wake Tate in the mornings. She’s a teenager.
The muted light, the mellow vibe, no distractions or responsibilities killing the mood. Bodies still warm and lazy from sleep.
It’s delicious. Best way to start the day.
“Mmm,” he hums against my soft flesh, and I can feel the vibrations disperse through my body.
Unable to resist, I lower one hand to Nate’s head, holding him in place as his lips and tongue play my body with great skill and knowledge. Time doesn’t exist, just an endless wave of sensation, building and building until one final nudge has it crashing onto shore.
I blink my eyes a few moments later, when he effortlessly slides inside me, his body suspended over mine.
“Morning.”
He smiles, softly brushing my lips with his and I catch a hint of myself on him.
I lift a hand to his face as he starts moving inside me.
“Hey.”
We fit so well. Not only are our bodies in sync, but our minds are as well.
Now that all the barriers have come down, and every misconception and deception are exposed, there is nothing left but raw, and sometimes brutal, honesty.
Looking up in his eyes, I see the truth of us reflected back at me. The years we were apart have become insignificant against the backdrop of our shared history. Only the means to an end in bringing us right here, in this moment.
“Yesss,” I hiss against the skin of his neck, as his strokes become more forceful—demanding.
I brace myself against the headboard with one hand over my head, providing leverage so I can receive each thrust for optimal impact. My eyes roll back in my head as my body flies apart.
“Fuck, baby. Every fucking time,” he grunts in my hair as his body goes rigid against mine and bucks through his release.
Then he lifts his head and smiles. “Perfection.”
“Do you have time to pick the tile?”
I’m just shrugging into my coat when Nate walks up with a couple of boards with the different tile samples glued to the backing.
“Isn’t it a little early to start picking finishes?” I observe.
“Ah, yes, however, the building supply and home center has an end of the line sale going on. I was heading into Spokane today anyway to pick up a new battery charger for my tools, and thought I could put in an order for that flooring you like and tile for the bathrooms and the kitchen backsplash. Some of these are half price, which is gonna make a huge difference to the budget.”
We hemmed and hawed a bit over whether to do the work in smaller sections, but after crunching some numbers, we came to the conclusion it would ultimately be cheaper doing it all at once. It would definitely be less disruptive.
Nate started work on my place a week and a half ago, tearing out the kitchen, bathrooms, all flooring, and knocking down a few walls.
Dad’s even dropped by to lend Nate a hand from time to time.
I’d love to be a fly on the wall at some point to see what those two are talking about, but I’m just happy they seem to be getting along.
“Can’t you pick?” I suggest, checking my watch since I’m already running a little late on my day.
“It’s your house,” Nate returns, holding up the sample boards.
“It may not always be,” I point out.
When he started the work, we briefly talked about what the future might look like, and he mentioned he liked my neighborhood better. I think when he bought his house in the same neighborhood he grew up in, it was a bit of a middle finger to the past, but he seems ready to leave that behind.
“Fine, I’ll tell you which ones I think will look good, and you make the final decision,” he offers.
It ends up only taking two minutes to make selections we’re both happy with. I quickly kiss him, yell a goodbye to Tate—who is probably still trying to drag her butt out of bed—and dart out the door, shivering when the cold air hits me.
At Nate’s invitation, I ended up packing a few bags and temporarily moved in with him and Tatum, who didn’t seem to mind at all when asked her opinion.
It’s been pretty good, and everyone seems to get along. I sure am eating a lot healthier. I never spent a lot of time cooking for myself, but I’ve started enjoying tackling dinner together when we get home. It’s far more fun that way, and even Tate has started chipping in.
Yesterday she asked me if I wanted to do some baking with her in preparation for the holidays, but I’m afraid that might be a little ambitious for me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no though, so I was going to ask Phil for some guidance.
The past few weeks have been ones of transition in a multitude of ways.
For one, the weather has decided to skip fall and careened straight from summer to winter.
We already clocked our first snowfall two days ago.
In town it melted off the roads and sidewalks during the day, but a little higher up in the mountains, it has stuck.
It’s at least several degrees colder up at Dad and Phil’s place and it looks like a winter wonderland.
But the weather isn’t the only thing I’ve had to adjust to.
There was also the aftermath of Auden’s reign of terror.
Dad’s been cleared, of course, but the shooting—justified as it might have been—left its mark on him.
There’s a shadow in his eyes I hadn’t seen there before, one that comes with taking the life of a man you’ve considered part of your circle for decades.
He’s had two such cold realities hit him, both with Jeff and with Auden.
It’s the kind of betrayal that burrows deep, I know. But Dad and I are both lucky we also have a lot to be grateful for, a lot of love in our lives.
Phil said it best; you can’t change the shit behind you but you can damn well make sure you don’t let it stain your future.
I hop behind the wheel, and hurry to the station to welcome Rick Althof to the Edwards County Sheriff’s Department.
Out with the old and in with the new.
Nate
“Why can’t we just buy one at the stand by the gas station?”
I glance over at Savvy, who is hiding a smile, before lifting my eyes to the rearview mirror to look at Tatum, who is whining from the back seat.
“Where’s the magic in that?” I ask her.
It earns me a mutinous glare that only makes me grin harder.
My daughter has made me spend close to four hundred dollars in the past few days on Christmas shit. Small-town living has gone to her brain, and she now wants to turn our house into a Norman Rockwell Christmas painting like a lot of others have in town.
She’s the one who called me a Grinch—because I’ve never owned a single Christmas ball or string of flickering lights in my life— and told me we needed a little magic in our lives, so it’s fun throwing that back at her.
Not that she was wrong, I haven’t celebrated Christmas, or any other major holiday, in a very long time.
In fact, the last time I sat down for a Christmas dinner was one Savvy’s mother cooked.
The entire dinner I felt Sheriff Colter’s disapproving eyes on me.
Haven’t celebrated a single one since leaving Silence.
But things have definitely changed since then. It’s a new beginning, and I’m making a lot of clean starts; with Tate, with Savvy, with Brant Colter, and with the town of Silence in general.
The holidays are for family, and although I may never have had much of one, it would appear I have one now. One that, ironically, includes the man I thought I hated more than anyone else, the woman I’ve never stopped loving, and the daughter I don’t deserve.
Phil is out on the porch when we pull in, tying some greenery to the porch railing. She waves when she sees us rolling up.
“Happy Thanksgiving! Are you guys ready to go pick out your Christmas tree? The turkey is in the smoker, I already have the thermos of hot chocolate packed, and Brant is hitching Clovis to the sled.”
Clovis is a partially blind Belgian draught horse Phil rescued from the slaughterhouse, much to Brant’s dismay, or so the story goes. The animal is to drag the entire family up the mountain to find an elusive perfect Christmas tree for each house.
This whole day was Phil’s idea, who has embraced grandparenthood with gusto since she met Tate, and seems to be reveling in the role.
“Do we have to?” Tate complains. “It’s cold. Can’t we just do the baking?”
That is the plan for this afternoon; the womenfolk bake Christmas goodies, and Brant and I are supposed to build wooden stands for the trees we bring back, peel potatoes, and keep an eye on the turkey.
“Let it go, Tate,” I warn her in a low voice. “It’s a package deal. You’ve gotta learn to go with the flow.”
“Your dad’s right,” Phil steps in, draping an arm around my daughter and tugging her close. “You’ll be snug as a bug in the sleigh, I’ve already loaded up the blankets. You never know, you might actually enjoy it if you open your mind.”
Still a little in awe of Phil since finding out she is a famous rock star; Tate seems more inclined to listen to her than she ever does to me.
Her soft, “Okay,” and conceding shrug are evidence of that.
The sleigh is little more than a platform on runners, stacked with two rows of straw bales behind each other. Brant and Phil sit on the first row, with Brant handling Clovis, and Savvy and I flank Tate on the back row, our knees wrapped in a large quilt.
It’s pretty up here. A bit chilly—especially for a Nevada transplant like my girl—but the snow is pristine and the air is clean and fresh. It doesn’t take long for Tate to warm up to the experience as well.
I get to do the honors, cutting down the trees we find in a small copse of younger Douglas fir after a short, twenty-minute ride. By now Tate is smiling, accepting the mug of hot chocolate Phil pours for her.
“Can you handle it?” Brant asks, supervising my work.
I suspect it was his wife who suggested he turn over the saw to me.
“I’ll finish this tree, but would you mind cutting down the other one? My shoulder is bugging me a bit.”
“Sure. I’ll take care of it.”
It may be my imagination, but it looks like his chest puffed up a little.
“My, my,” Savvy mumbles by my side, slipping her arm into mine after I hand off the saw to her father. “You’re a fast learner. You handled him like a pro.”
“Meh, I’ve been watching you and Phil, taking notes.”
“It shows.”
She grins up at me and I can’t resist dropping a kiss on those lips.
“Gross. I’m losing my appetite here,” Tate objects.
“You didn’t seem to think it was gross when I caught you and Carson outside Strange Brew the other day,” Savvy returns with a wink.
I’m not quite sure what she is talking about, but I’m convinced I’m not going to like it.“Sorry…what was that?”
Tate bulges her eyes at Savvy, who turns back to me to pat my cheek.
“Not to worry, honey,” she informs me in a soothing voice. “I’ve got it all under control.”
My daughter is suddenly very interested in her hot chocolate, while Brant lets out a hearty chuckle.
Phil spreads her arms and inhales deeply.
“Love…isn’t it fabulous?”