Chapter 19
Nineteen
FELIX
I 'm in a particularly savage mood at the moment.
Robby, one of my most skilled finish carpenters, injured himself on the job this morning. Fucking awful. Blood everywhere, motherfuckers yelling and screaming. Hours in the ER. Hours on the phone with insurance fucks. Paperwork. Finding someone to replace him until he's back to work, which could be weeks, if not months.
Then someone rear-ended me in the Lowe's parking lot as I was backing out of a spot—his fault, not mine; the damage is minimal, but I’ll need a new bumper.
And then, just to top it all off, I stopped at my favorite gas station near the office for a fill-up and a big cup of coffee—necessary at four in the afternoon since I'm not sleeping for shit lately. Get into my truck with my coffee, pull the lid off to let some of the heat escape, seeing as they keep that coffee hotter than the sun itself, and I want to drink it at some point this millennium. My phone rings. What do I do? Drop my fucking phone into the fucking coffee, splashing my thighs with scalding liquid…and my instant reaction, of course, is to drop the cup. More coffee on my legs. Coffee all over the footwell, all over my seat—everywhere.
Burned legs, fucked seats, fucked phone.
Which brings me to now. Sitting in my truck with burning yet wet legs, no coffee, and a seriously shitty attitude. For some reason, the Limp Bizkit song "Break Stuff" is running through my head.
"Fuck it," I mutter. "I'm going home."
I leave my truck running and head into the office. Jess smiles at me. "Hey, Fee." Her gaze snaps to my bottom half—wet from crotch to boots. "Um, you good, boss?"
"No," I snarl. "I'm far from fucking good." I grit my teeth and breathe in and out slowly for five seconds. "Not your fault. Just…a massively shitty day."
"Oh god, Felix, I'm so sorry. What can I do?" she asks.
I hate the hope in her eyes. I've known about her feelings for me for years—she's not subtle. And there's nothing wrong with her, at all. She's a great chick—smart, hot, responsible, and hardworking. I just feel no attraction beyond the basic recognition of her attractiveness. I've done everything I can to politely and kindly make it clear I'm not interested. Most of the time she keeps it under wraps—especially since I brought Ember around the office a while back. But every once in a while, I catch a glimmer of that hope.
And I have to crush it all over again. Yay me.
"No," I say, endeavoring to sound…normal? Not like a grouchy shithead. "My phone is fucked at the moment and I'm going home. So yeah, the one thing you can do is call Bear and let him know he's in charge of wrapping things up for the day, and if there's a 'someone else is bleeding or on fire' emergency, call me on my landline at home."
Jess slides her blue-blocker glasses off her face. "You have an actual landline?"
I snort. “Yeah. Came with the house. It's like five bucks a month with my internet, so I just leave it. Mainly for sending the occasional fax to some jackass contractor who still lives in the stone age and doesn't email."
At that moment, just because the universe fucking hates me and has a wicked sense of humor, the fax machine starts spitting out pages.
Jess glances at the fax machine, and her face goes red as she tries to keep from laughing. Because I am, in fact, one of those jackasses who still uses a fax machine—only for other fax machine-using jackasses, but still.
The timing, man. The timing.
I can't help but splutter a laugh. "Oh, fuck you! Jesus. How is it not a Monday? It feels like a fucking Monday.”
Jess cackles, snatching the sheet out of the fax machine and getting up to scan it. "Just go home and try to relax, Fee. It's after four. What else could possibly—"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I shout, startling her so badly she slams the lid of the copier and almost breaks it. "Sorry. Sorry. But you absolutely cannot say shit like that on a day like today, Jess."
She claps a hand to her chest, breathing shakily. "Holy shit , Fee, I almost had a heart attack."
I turn for the door. "I'm going home now. And for real, I don't want to hear from anyone unless someone is missing a limb or a fucking house is on fire." I pause in the doorway, looking around at the office. "How well do you know the books, Jess?"
"The books. Like…our financials?" I nod, and she shrugs. "Pretty well. Why?"
"See if you can free up a few grand. We need to update this ugly fuck of an office. It hasn't changed since Reagan was president."
She literally claps her hands over her mouth. "Oh god, please tell me you're serious. If you're teasing me, Felix Crowe, I will quit right now and I'm not even kidding."
I frown. "I'm serious. I'm not talking a twenty-grand rebuild. Just some new carpet, new drywall and drop-tile, and an updated bathroom. A step or two above a realtor special."
Jess hurries to her iPad, opens it, taps and scrolls, and then comes over to me and shows me what's on the screen: a digital mockup of the office after a refresh like I'm talking about—hardwood floors with rugs underneath desks, a siting area, coffee station, bathroom, pale, neutral gray walls with pops of color…everything is updated and professional and comfortable.
"This is great, Jess. You did it?" I ask.
She blushes. "Yeah, I…honestly, Fee, I hate this office. Like, hate . It's soul-suckingly awful. I've been tinkering with this design for months. I've even estimated the costs, assuming we do the labor, obviously." She swipes to our invoicing and estimations app, showing me the quote, which is extremely reasonable—none of the materials are top grade, but not cheap, either.
I tap a finger on the door frame, which doesn't match the rest of the interior since we used a door Riley salvaged from a demo project to replace it after Bear smashed it to fucking smithereens looking for an address for the asshole who assaulted Noelle.
Scanning the office as it is, I go back to Jess's design. Look at her. "You ever design anything else?"
She blushes harder, nodding. "Yeah, I…I just play around. I've always thought about going into interior design, but…" She shrugs. "I'm too chicken to try." She swipes through invoices and photos until she comes to a series of digital mockups. "Swipe left. These are designs I did for my friend Kayla's house when she was doing some updates. The photos are before and after."
I swipe. The before is a very dated mid-century craftsman living room and kitchen—dark, dingy, and heavy. The after is pulled directly from her design; it removes a key wall to open the space, making it light and airy. Looks like luxury vinyl to resemble vintage hardwoods, a shiplap accent wall (sparingly used because too much of a good thing is a bad thing), and a totally revamped kitchen.
"Who did the work?" I ask.
She grimaces. "McKay and Sons. We quoted for them, but they couldn't afford us."
"Well, it's a great design and looks well executed. Definitely ups their value." I stare outside, thinking. "How about this—you're lead on the office reno. Pick a few guys, buy the materials, and get it done. Do well on that, and we can talk about you doing more design work. I know Eric could use the help."
Eric is our in-house designer. When we were growing and expanding, I did most of the design work as most of our projects were flips or spec—nothing fancy. But now we're doing more and more custom homes and still doing a lot of flip business as well, so Eric is being run ragged. He could use an assistant and/or intern, and if Jess was working with him, I could hire a new office manager…someone who doesn't have a major, years-long, unrequited crush on me.
Jess tears up. "Felix, you mean it?"
I smile at her. "Absolutely, Jess. You're a hard worker. You've been a loyal employee for a long-ass time. I had no idea you were interested in design." I gesture with the iPad. "This is good work. Make this office look cozy and professional and welcoming. Stay within five percent of that budget and get it done in a month, and you're Eric's new intern and assistant."
She flaps her hands in front of her face. “Hooo boy. Okay." She breathes deeply, holds it with her eyes closed, and lets it out slowly, visibly controlling her emotions. "I'll get it done on time and under budget, and it'll look phenomenal. I promise ."
I squeeze the outside of her shoulder. "I believe in you, Jess."
She laughs. "It'll get me and my silly feelings out of your hair, if nothing else." She doesn't look at me as she says this.
I barely suppress a groan, turning it into a sigh. "Jess…shit. I guess I should've addressed this a long time ago. Your feelings aren't silly. I just…don’t return them. And that's not you—you're great. Any man would be lucky as fuck to be with you. There've been a few times I've honestly wished I did return your feelings, but I don't. I see you as a valuable employee and a friend, and I hope we can keep things that way."
She nods. "I appreciate you saying that, Felix. Really." She hesitates. "Can I have a totally platonic hug?"
I laugh. "Sure."
It's a quick and—as advertised—platonic hug. When I let her go, she backs up, lifting her chin and pushing away her personal feelings. "Go home, now. Shoo. Go on."
"See ya, Jess. Thanks."
She nods, waving at me distractedly—she's already working on the reno, probably. "Bye, Fee—And thank you for trusting me. I won't let you down."
I head home, finally. And as much as I'd love to just jump in the shower and kick back with a beer, my truck smells like old coffee, so I change out of my soaked jeans, socks, and boots, set the boots out in the sun to dry, and get to work detailing my truck. I’ve thought about getting a new one on and off for a couple of years now, but I can never convince myself to pull the trigger—I always end up with a new project car instead. Of course, now that the FJ40 is with Nyx getting un-fucked, I have no project.
I also haven't done any work on my build in months—work has been nuts, and then helping Ember with her recovery…whatever. It’s not going anywhere.
Finally, my truck is as clean as I can get it inside and out. I'm feeling less like doing a murder, which is nice. That done, I'm sweaty, shirtless in a pair of rather short workout shorts, and ready to chill on the back deck.
I find myself, far from the first time, wishing things with Ember were different. There's nothing I'd love more right now than to hang out with her on the back deck. We don’t even have to do anything physical. I just enjoy her company. Lately, though—as in the last week or so—she's been avoiding me in the rare times we've both been home at the same time. Even on the rides to her appointments, she's been stiff and standoffish.
I grab a beer from the fridge, take the Louis L'Amour paperback I haven't cracked open since the last time I picked it up out onto the deck, and…actually read. I'm pretty engrossed in the story, so I don't notice Ember until she sits on the Adirondack beside me.
"Hey, Fee. You're home early." She indicates the book and the empty beer bottle. "And actually relaxing. I didn't know you knew how to do that."
I shrug. "It was…" I slip the gas station receipt I'm using as a bookmark between the pages and let the book flap closed. "A spectacularly, magnificently, catastrophically shitty day. So I gave myself permission to say fuck it, and came home."
She nods. "Excellent plan. Is it working?"
I smirk, gesture around the backyard. "I haven't murdered anyone and buried them in the backyard, so yeah?"
Her eyebrows lift. "That bad?"
I recount the events of the day, and when I'm done, she sits back in the chair, blowing out a surprised sigh. "Damn, Fee, what'd you do to piss off the universe?"
"Um? Existed?"
She holds up a finger. "Be right back."
She returns a minute later with a thin joint. "Yes? No?"
I can't help glancing at her head, where her hair hides the evidence of her fracture. "Is that…okay? For you, with the whole…you know, recovery process?"
She sparks her lighter and puffs to get the joint going. "Actually," she says while holding in the smoke and handing me the joint, "there's a decent amount of clinical evidence that it may assist in recovery of a T-B-I by reducing inflammation. So…yeah."
I take a hit. "For real?"
She nods and takes it back, inhales, passes it to me. "Yep. Nothing conclusive. You know how studies are—'studies suggest' blah blah blah, but I've skimmed through several papers on the topic." She grins. “Mainly because cannabis is my one vice and I was worried about that too. Trust me when I say that, I, more than anyone, don't want to do anything to jeopardize my recovery."
"I wasn't judging, Ember, I was just—"
She brushes her knuckles against mine as we pass the joint back and forth. "I know, Fee," she says, her voice soft, her eyes searching and…almost hesitant. "You're worried. Looking out for me."
“Yeah," I say, "Exactly."
She accepts the joint from me, searching me with her gaze. Holds my eyes, inhales deeply, holds it, and then cups my face as if she's going to kiss me. My heart starts pounding, hope blossoming in my chest.
"Inhale," she whispers, a trickle of smoke escaping with the word.
She touches her parted lips to mine, and I breathe in while she exhales—I feel and taste the smoke, but I'm focused on her, her scent, the soft ghost-touch of her lips, her nearness, the exhilaration of her mere presence and the wonder of her touch.
I can't help myself.
I'm still holding my book—I toss it aside carelessly, slide my fingertips along her temples and into her hair, and fuse my lips to hers. Smoke swirls between us, leaking from our lips as they move and mate, trickling out of our noses as we catch our breath.
She lets out the tiniest, quietest, softest whimper as I plunge my tongue into her mouth. And my god, that sound goes straight to my cock like a lightning bolt.
A predatory growl escapes me and I lean forward, snag her by the hips, and lift her onto my lap. She settles onto my thighs, and her arms go around my neck like they've always been there, like they belong there.
"Fee," she breathes.
"Please don't tell me to stop," I murmur.
"I don’t want to," she whispers, "but we need to talk."
I'm so fucking frustrated and disappointed that I could cry or hit someone—I’m not sure which. Swallowing a dozen different responses, I slide her off my lap as I stand up. I pace away from her, down off the deck, and across the yard, breathing hard and thinking about prune-faced nuns with yardsticks smacking my knuckles—a memory from that one memorably awful year our mother sent Riley and me to the private catholic school…right before she took off, never to be seen again.
"Hey, why'd you walk away?" Ember's voice is behind me, and I feel her hand rest on my side.
"Needed a minute."
"Are…are you angry with me?"
I shake my head, gripping the trunk of the silver maple in the middle of the yard; sunlight filters through the fluttering leaves in a drowsy dapple. "Not angry. Frustrated."
“Frustrated like…" She tucks her chin around my bicep to glance down at my groin. "All we did was kiss for, like, two seconds."
"Yeah, well, you affect me. That fuckin' whimper." I shake my head, but this time it's an attempt to get the sound out of my head before my hard-on comes back. "And also frustrated in the other sense."
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
I shrug. "It's fine. I get it." I squeeze the tree trunk to keep the anger and disappointment out of my voice. "I know you asked for space, and I didn't respect that. I'm sorry, Ember. I shouldn't have kissed you."
There's a moment of silence, and it prompts me to look down at her; she's frowning in confusion.
"Felix, no. God, no. That's not—" She ducks under my arm, twisting to face me with her back to the tree. "I shotgunned you. You think that was…what? A tease? I wanted you to kiss me."
"Then…" I hold my ground, relishing the closeness of her, the way she's gazing up at me with an open expression, so unlike the shuttered looks I've gotten used to since the accident. "I don’t understand."
She rests her hands on my chest. "I had a long talk with Noelle today at lunch."
"Ohhhhh-kay?"
She curls her fingers into my pectoral muscle. "I'm scared, Fee."
I laugh, shaking my head—it's a sarcastic bark rather than any kind of amusement. "Sorry, babe, but I am not following."
Ducking her head, Ember snickers a laugh. "I know, I'm sorry—I'm not making any sense, am I? Giving you all sorts of mixed signals."
"I mean…"
She lifts her head to meet my gaze. "Let me start over. When I told you I needed time and space? That was true. I needed time to focus on healing, and space to sort of…figure out my feelings. And you gave me that, Felix. You never pushed the issue, and you went above and beyond taking care of me. Even when you knew there was nothing in it for you, you…" she shakes her head, swallowing audibly. "Here we go again with the waterworks. Jesus. Gah!" She tips her head back, blinking furiously.
I laugh at the ire in her voice. "Hey, it's fine. It's been a lot and it's totally understandable that you'd have strong feelings."
She shakes her head, swiping a finger under her eyelids. "I know, I'm just not normally a big crier. But ever since the accident, it's all just right there on the surface all the damn time, and I'm suddenly crying at the drop of a hat, and I'm usually the one to drop the hat. I'm just sick of it. I'd like to get through one conversation without bawling." She sighs as if to fortify herself. "Felix, you…you did everything for me. Gave me a home—my own room, something I've never had. You took my wacky mood swings in stride. You cooked for me. Took me to my appointments. Hung out with me. Introduced me to a seriously great group of ladies." She pushes away from the tree to lean into me, hands on my shoulders and chin on my chest, gazing up at me. "I will never be able to thank you enough, Felix."
My heart is pounding, and my hands itch to bury in her hair, to slide over her curves, to strip her naked and take her here in the yard, to hold her, to…make her mine.
Instead, I let my hands rest on her waist just above her hips—intimate but not sexual. "You don't need to thank me."
She licks her lips. "You said you only did what you'd do for your friends. But I…am I…am I just a friend, at this point?"
"I don't kiss my friends." I let my hands slip a little lower onto her hips. "Or hold them like this."
She grins. "I dunno. Jess may like it."
I frown. "Jess is a friend, yes, but an employee first and foremost. And I talked to her today. I'm promoting her, sort of, to be an assistant and apprentice for my interior designer. Which will mean I'll see a good bit less of her on a day-to-day basis because I do not now and have never returned her feelings for me, which I am aware of."
"I was teasing."
I shrug. "I know, but I wanted that clear." Fuck it, go for broke. "The only way I could live with you and stay halfway sane the last couple months was to friend-zone you. Think of you as a friend and nothing more. But that doesn’t mean my feelings have gone away. They haven't. I just…"
Her fingers tease up to my shoulders, trace fiery lines down my biceps, slip over to my belly and sear back up to my chest. "Just what?"
I can't look at her as I say this. "Friend-zoning you was the only way to keep my hands off you. It was the only way to…not think of you as an object of desire."
She blinks up at me. "So…you haven't…"
"No."
She shakes her head. "Fee, just so I know we're on the same page, here…you haven't jerked off? At all?"
"If I went there in my mind, at all, you were the only thing I could picture."
She hesitates, gnawing on the corner of her lower lip, which for some reason drives me fucking wild. "I…even if I did know you were thinking about me while doing that, I wouldn't have minded."
I tug her lip free with my thumb. "If you don't quit biting that lip, this conversation is gonna be cut real fuckin' short."
She frowns. "What?"
“You chewin' on your lip. It drives me nuts."
"Like, annoys you?"
"No, babe. Turns me on."
She snickers. "Why? That's weird. It's not sexual at all."
I shrug. "I dunno. It just does." I let out a breath. "It wasn't so much thinking you'd mind as it was for my own sanity. I had to put you in the friend box completely. I'm too fucking attracted to you. I care about you too fucking much to be able to think about you sexually and not do something about it."
"Oh."
"You know how goddamned frustrating it is to know how fucking hot you are naked, to know how it feels to touch you, kiss you, to make you scream my name while you're coming? To hear the shower going on the other side of the wall and know you're wet and naked?"
Her eyes widen. "Wait…on the other side of the wall?"
"Yeah. Your shower shares a wall with my bedroom. Specifically the wall my bed is against."
"Oh…fuck," she breathes. "So…"
My eyes blaze. "Yeah, babe."
Her eyes close, mortification emblazoned on her face. "Every time I masturbated in the shower…"
"Why do you think I started going to my basement to work out while you were in the shower?" I ask. "It wasn't a fuckin' coincidence."
She leaves the shelter of my arms, hands on her face. "Oh…my… god ." She whirls to face me, cheeks tomato red. "Fee, I…ohmigod. I am so sorry. I didn’t even think about it."
I roll a shoulder. "I adjusted when I worked out to give you privacy. You weren't doing anything on purpose. It's fine. It was just…a little rough for a few days."
"And…" she approaches me slowly, almost as if I'm a skittish horse. "You've been totally celibate since you and me…."
I nod. "Yes."
She stares at me for a moment or two. "What about blue balls?"
"I've routinely gone months at a time, Ember. I've never really enjoyed jerking off, to be honest. Maybe that's weird, but it just…it doesn't…satisfy the urge, I guess. I'd rather wait until I can have sex. Or, you know, someone else help me out."
"What did you do before you met me?" she asks. "Don't answer if you don't want to."
"Tinder. Even in the winter, we get enough tourists that I could meet up with someone for drinks and…you know…" I grimace, embarrassed. "Casual hookups. But it was only once in a while, when I really needed the relief. But it had been several months before I met you since I'd done that. And that said, I will help myself out if the Tinder pickings are slim. I just…the casual stuff stopped being fun and started feeling like another form of masturbation, I guess. Up till I met you, it just seemed easier emotionally to focus on work, keep busy and just not…think about it."
"But you didn't have a woman you're attracted to living with you, masturbating in the shower." She covers her face. "Fuck me. The more I think about it, the more mortified I am. I'm…not always quiet."
I can't suppress a laugh. "No, you are not." I let arousal flare in my expression. "The only reason it was so difficult to hear was because it was so fucking hot, Ember. Don't be embarrassed.”
“Easy for you to say. You weren't jerking off where I could hear."
"True." I feel my mouth running, hear myself saying stupid shit—and I'm powerless to stop myself. "I could arrange for that, if it'd make you feel any better."
"It just might," she whispers, stepping closer. "Although, if I'm being brutally honest…I'd rather watch." She licks her lips nervously. “Or help.”
"Fuck, Em." I swallow hard. "Do not fucking tease me."
"I'm not, I swear."
"What did you and Noelle talk about that prompted this whole…conversation?" I ask.
"Wanting you, being attracted to you, our chemistry…none of that was ever the issue holding me back, Fee. The opposite. I'm…I've been mixed up about you because…I…" She looks away, thinking, then back to me, starting over. "It's because of how attracted to you I really am. How strong my feelings are."
"And that conflicts with your grieving process?" I ask.
She tips her head side to side. "Sort of?" A pause. "I just…I miss him, you know? From the day I met him in Oregon until the day he passed, I never spent a single day away from him. I don't know if I spent more than an hour or two here and there apart from him in the eight years we were together. And then he's just…gone."
She backs up and turns around, speaking, facing away from me. "It’s so hard to put into words, Felix. It's not just missing him that's messing with me. It's…everything. My whole way of life—he became nomadic with me. That's not an option for you—it's just not, and I'd never in a million years even ask. Your life is here. But I've never belonged anywhere, with anyone but Mom and then Dutchie. And now…everything is different. My whole way of life is…just gone. And I…" she hesitates, her voice wet with tears. "Dammit. Fuck!" Pause. "I don't know if I could go back to the way it was. If I even want to, whether anything happens with you or not. Being on the road, vlogging, I can't do that without Dutchie. That was our thing. Our life . He’s gone, and it's gone with him."
"Ember," I start.
She holds up a hand, still facing away from me. "Just…let me get this out. Or, let me try at least."
This is a thing with her, I think: she stews on things for a while, and then has to let it all out in an uninterrupted monologue.
“Okay," I say. "I'm here, and I'm listening."
She reaches behind herself without looking. "Come closer. Please."
I move closer and take her hand—she pulls me up against her and snugs both of my arms around her middle, leans back against my chest and takes a few slow breaths.
"That's all one part," she says. "Then there's you and me. I told you about my relationship with him. We talked about our sex life a bit too. And…in talking to Noelle what I…well, I knew it, but talking to her was the first time I verbalized it out loud."
"What's that?"
"My physical connection to you is fucking insane. How I respond to you. How I feel about you. How it feels to be with you, even considering the fact that we haven’t actually had sex." She tightens her grip on my hands, squeezing harder. "That's hard for me to come to grips with. Because I…I don't know how to feel about it. What does it say about my relationship with Dutchie? He healed me. Gave me the space and safety to heal and feel comfortable in my body, and with my sexuality. I wouldn't be able to be like this with you without what he did for me. But…letting myself just enjoy…you, us? It feels like a betrayal even though I know it's not, even though I promised Dutchie on his deathbed that I'd move on and let myself fall in love again. But it’s just not that fucking easy."
"I understand all that, Ember," I say. "Not from personal experience, obviously, but I get it. It makes perfect sense. And I'm willing to wait until you’re ready. If you find out you're never ready, I'd understand that too—I won't lie and say that I wouldn't be hurt if you decided you couldn't be with me ever , but I’d get it. I wouldn't hold it against you."
"I'm not saying that."
"What are you saying?"
She doesn't answer for a few moments. “When you said the thing about only doing what you'd do for a friend, I sort of freaked out a little bit. Or a lot a bit."
"I just meant—" I start.
"I know that now ,” she interrupts. "But it just…I guess it made me realize that I don't want to lose you."
I feel my heart slam against the prison bars of my ribcage, hear my blood roaring in my ears. "You're not going to. You haven't."
She turns in my arms, keeping hers pinned between us, hands flat on my chest. "Ever."
"I'm here, Ember. I've got you. Just…say the word and I'm yours."
"What's the word?" she asks.
The germinating seed of hope sprouts, blooms. "Figure of speech, babe. Just tell me you're ready. And for the record, this is still on your terms and at your pace—whatever it is."
"I'm just scared, Felix."
"Of what?"
"Everything. That I'll…I'll somehow end up loving you more than him." She buries her face in my chest. "That I'll forget him. I'm scared that I won't—that I'll never be able to love you fully, the way I did him. I'm scared that if I—if we— when we have sex, it'll be…better, and I'll freak out."
"Ember," I whisper into her hair. "Hey. Listen to me, okay? I'm no expert on this stuff. But I really don't think either of the first two scenarios is gonna happen. What we have, or what could have, or will have…it's ours . It's unique. I'm not him—for better and for worse, I'm not him. You had your life with him. You won't forget it, or him. Sure, memories fade with time. I don't always have the clearest memories of my father, but I haven't forgotten him. He's gone, several years now. I miss him. He was a bit of a bastard at times, and not always the best husband or father, but he did love Rye and me, and he did his best. Especially considering that his father was a real piece of shit. But I remember him, good and bad. He was my dad." I cup her face, tilt it up to mine. "You won't forget Dutchie. I don't want you to. I won't let you. He's part of you. I'll never be jealous of the parts of you he had that I won't. So…you won't love me more than him, because it's not…I dunno, apples to apples. I'm not him. I'm me."
She touches her forehead to my chest and nods. "I like how that sounds."
"As for sex?" I tip her face up. "I don't think comparisons are fair to anyone—you, me, or him. But I think you know that. You said it yourself, sort of—where you are now in terms of your sexuality is because of your relationship with Dutchie. If he hadn't passed away, I think you would have found a way forward with him that satisfied you. But he did pass, and now you have to decide what you want to do." I pause and stare into her silver eyes. "If— if you decide you want to pursue things with me, then we'll take things however you're most comfortable. And if you do freak out, that's okay. I promise I'll understand and do whatever you need to get through it, even if that means backing off and giving you more time and space."
"You wouldn't resent me or think I'm being a cock-tease?" she whispers.
"No, Ember, absolutely not. You're not that type of girl. You've been very clear about where you are with your feelings on this stuff, and if you have an issue and need to back off, that's a totally different thing than playing games with me. I've never thought you're playing games."
She lets out a relieved sigh. "Thank you, Felix."
"For what?"
"Being so understanding." She rolls her head back and forth on my chest. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."
"I'm no expert, but I think that's just called welcome to being a person."
She snickers. "You're not an expert on being a person?"
"Nope. Still figuring it out, and rarely successfully.”
Ember slides her arms up around my neck, trailing her fingers up and down through my hair from the back of my head to my nape. "I can't make any promises about how things will go, Felix, I just know that I want to try."
She searches my face, showing me with her expression the depths and complexity of her emotions: fear, uncertainty, and desire all tangled up in a Gordian knot.
I decide it's time to push her, just a little bit. "Do you trust me?"
She nods without taking her eyes off of mine. "Yeah."
I dip at the knees, scoop my hands under her ass and lift her—she immediately and instinctively hooks her legs around my waist, keeping her arms around my neck, fingers toying and teasing through my hair. I walk with her across the yard, up onto the deck, and inside. She rests her forehead on mine, taking slow, deep breaths.
She twists to glance down the hallway at my open door, then back to me, frowning. "I don't know if I'm ready to—"
I nip her lower lip with my teeth, silencing her. "Ssshhh. Just trust me, Ember."
She hesitates, and then nods. "Okay." A breath. "Okay. I do. I trust you."
I sit on my couch, and now she's straddling me. I frame her face, pull her down.
Touch her lips with mine.
"We'll just start here," I breathe. "Just a kiss. Nice and slow."
I feel her lips curve against mine. "This…I can do."