Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
PRESTON
Stay , he’d said, and she’d let him lead her upstairs, and somehow, despite his head aching, today had turned into possibly one of the best of his life. His hands were impatient for her, and she hadn’t made him wait, lying across his bed and untying her wrap dress and, yes , this day was like his birthday and Christmas in one. They took it slow, because he had to be careful of his face, and it was exquisite torture having to hold off from kissing Harmony with the abandon she drove him to, but so worth it to hear those gasps of hers drawn out as he tried to show her what he’d almost said downstairs, what he put into every touch, that he wasn’t falling for her, it had happened too quickly, too decisively—he already loved her.
Irresponsibly, hopelessly, doubtlessly. She couldn’t feel the same, not so soon and not before she left—likely not ever—but it didn’t matter. He was gone for her.
After, he’d found her a new toothbrush and let her wash up first, and now he finished brushing his teeth and came out of the bathroom to find her sitting on the edge of the bed in an old T-shirt he’d gotten at a book festival that had always been too baggy for him. It fit snugly over her curves, leaving her thick, dimpled thighs on full display as she stood. “Did you know your blanket weighs, like, eleventy pounds?”
“Twenty-five,” he said automatically.
Her brows flexed, then she nodded. “Autism thing.”
“Autism thing,” he agreed. He hauled the blanket and bedsheets back, and she climbed back onto the bed. He slipped in beside her and only pulled up the regular blanket over them both.
“Don’t you need it?” Harmony snuggled onto his chest.
“A lot of the time.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Takes some getting used to, though.” He appreciated how she took these things in stride, not questioning them but not fussing either. Like when he’d almost melted down in the kitchen. So much of the time he shoved down all the little things that bothered him, the ways his body wanted to react to them, and it was manageable—he’d described it to his therapist once as a low-level hum, like bees in a garden you were aware of and giving space. But sometimes it got to be too much, the air was more and more full of stingers to avoid, then one more thing and suddenly you were drowning in bees. Which obviously had to be dealt with right away and maybe not calmly, because, you know, bees in your lungs.
When he’d snapped at her, his dread had been like a physical blow as much as the one he’d taken to the face today. His stomach had clenched, waiting for the confused, annoyed look, the walking away. Instead, she’d helped him through it. He squeezed her against him now, holding her hand on his chest, and pressed a kiss to her temple.
She gave his ring a spin, which was probably why he imagined she sounded anxious asking, “Do you need to get up by a certain time?”
“No, Dani will drop Lacey off whenever she’s stuffed her full of enough pancakes and let her get dirty in the studio or garden. I should probably work on prepping for the library inquiry, but there’s plenty of time to worry about that in the afternoon. Do you need an alarm set?”
“No.” She lifted her head, smiling, but her eyes fell on his bruised face and she pouted. She kissed him gently. “Is this going to complicate things? For the inquiry?”
He blew out a breath. “Not sure. God, Katherine might want to file a police report.”
“Do you want to?”
He shrugged. “Not really. But maybe we should get a restraining order against Raymond on library grounds.” It was stressful just thinking about it, the kind of thing he could let run around and around through his mind until it pulled him down into hours of sleepless anxiety. But between the lingering relaxed state of his body and having Harmony here to talk to, it didn’t seem as bad as it could have. “We can’t have him disrupting another storytime. People need to feel safe at the library.”
“So what you’re saying is, you can ban someone from the library, if you really want?”
“Yes?”
She snuggled back down, using him as a pillow, sounding smug. “Which means you liked having me around when I was hounding you about the lease.”
Nope, not much room for anxious thoughts with Harmony’s Australia-sized ego around. He reached to leave his glasses on the table and switch off the lamp, and smiled into the softness of her hair. “You’re welcome to trouble me whenever you like, Ms. Hale.”
The soft curve of Harmony’s shoulder, where he’d rolled over with her in the night, was the first thing he saw waking. A moment later, he felt Harmony draw his arm up from where it was draped over her stomach and kiss his hand. She murmured “Good morning” against his knuckles.
He kissed a trail along her arm, over her shoulder, and up her neck, wondering if she’d been awake long. “Do you want breakfast?”
She locked his hand in both of hers, and he was glad he hadn’t rolled too near her in his sleep, because, well, it was morning, and she was beautiful in the light filtering in through the curtains. She was always beautiful. “No. Nope. Not getting out of this bed. Forward my mail to this pillow.” But then she sat up—to yank the weighted blanket up over them. “Not my fault, no escaping from this.” She lay down again, on her back. “Oh, my god. This is amazing. It’s like my entire body is being hugged.”
The way this woman made him jealous of fabric. “That is a service I also provide.” He tugged back the blanket and slid on top of her, bracing himself by the elbows, pressing just past gentle against where she shook with laughter. “No getting away now.”
“Good.” He was so focused on the bright gleam in her champagne eyes he didn’t realize she’d already got her hand between them. He only noticed when she grabbed him through his pajamas.
He dropped his forehead to hers with a sharp exhalation. “I suppose there are benefits to staying in bed a little while longer.” Mindful of the bruising around his nose and cheekbone, he kissed her, and, god, he would never grow tired of that, not if the festival and Harmony leaving were a hundred years away. He kissed down her jaw, her neck, to where he knew he could draw a shiver from her.
Her legs opened under him, and when he shifted to work his own hand between them, she arched her spine, pulling the shirt over her head and happy birthday and merry fucking Christmas to him all over again, because her skin was golden in the rising sun, radiant as her grin. He was pretty sure he was muttering her name and maybe a few other incoherent things against it, but all he could focus on was the weight of her breast in his hand, softness that somehow threatened to break him, and the rasp of her breath as he delivered a first kiss to the pink bud of her nipple.
She gripped him by the shoulders, hard, as he swept a hand between her thighs. God , the heat of her, wet enough to easily coat his fingers before he circled her clit. Harmony writhed beneath him, her hand carding through his hair. When he thrust his fingers inside her, though, both her arms fell against the mattress.
She’d gone breathless when she reached for him again, hands stroking up his abdomen. “More,” she panted. “Preston. I want you.” Her words shone through him like a supernova. Her hands slipped under his waistband, pulling him to her. He fumbled at the side table for a condom and sank into her and, fuck , he must still be asleep, he thought wildly, because this was too good, this had to be a dream.
He felt it everywhere when Harmony laughed. “Full body hugs for everyone.”
“Menace.” He rolled his hips back, then slid deep inside her again, breath stuttering. “Sweetheart.” Hitching himself up on her, he found that angle that always made her thighs tremble and her gasps melt into a deep moan, sweet and low. His hips snapped against her again, again, and she was kissing his throat, his collarbone, hands raking down his back.
If this were a dream he could tell her everything. All the feelings she inspired in him, all the ways he wanted to provide her the same, somehow, someday. Instead he thrummed his finger over her until she tensed and shook apart beneath him, her cry driving a piercing sweetness through him that set him shuddering, everywhere, into her.
It wasn’t a dream; it was real and perfect and he was so goddamn lucky, even as his heart echoed Harmony, thudding more, more, more . As each slow press of his lips to her temple said stay, stay, stay .
“I like it when you call me sweetheart.” Harmony had in fact refused to get out of bed while he showered and was lounging still as he dressed. He flushed a little, pulling on a clean shirt, because that had sort of just slipped out again. “I could get used to this dating for real thing.”
“Me too.” At least that was fully honest. “I would say I wish I’d made time sooner, but I’m glad I waited for you.”
She beamed at that, then her eyes narrowed. “If you’ve never had time to date how are you so good at this? Wait, have you secretly been bringing home women from the Moonlight every night? Have you got a bunch of ‘sweethearts’ lined up somewhere?”
He ignored her attempts to fluster him and adjusted his shirt collar. “I haven’t had time to date recently . It’s not like you forget how.”
“Oh,” she said, with a wicked look in her eye. “Would you say it’s like riding a bike?”
Fighting to keep a straight face, he told her, “No, of course not. My bike’s a much better kisser.” She laughed, and he leaned over and kissed her before sitting on the edge of the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt. “Dating wasn’t exactly easy, even before having two jobs and Lacey. But I was seeing someone in grad school, until—”
“Until?”
“I got the call.” He cleared his throat. “Came home.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “And?”
She nudged him with her toe. “And she checked on you, right?”
“Of course. She called. But it fizzled out.”
Harmony’s voice lost all of the levity it had carried earlier as she sat up. “She dumped you because your mom died.”
No more buttons to button, so he fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve. “I wasn’t much fun to be around then.”
“Aw.” She made a sympathetic pout. “Does that mean you think you’re fun to be around now?”
Her grin flashed when he shoved her over, scowling and laughing. “You’re so mean.”
“Yeah,” she said as he attacked her forehead with kisses. “I’m terrible. And you love it.”
God help him and his heart that wasn’t quite his anymore, he did. Every outrageous thing she said, that wiped away the emotion clotting his lungs and clogging his throat—the truth that people always left him—and made him laugh right now instead.
He was reheating the last enormous slice of pizza in a skillet when Lacey got home. She said hello to Harmony, who was reading one of the five or so books she’d pulled off the bookshelves, and dumped her overnight bag at the foot of the stairs. “What happened to your face?”
“Someone forgot to use their words instead of shoving. But I’m okay. Harmony took good care of me. Want pizza?”
“No, I had pancakes.” She went back into the living room.
“And some fruit or eggs or something?” he called after her. There was always more to worry about messing up raising a child, though he was probably too anxious about Lacey—seeing people hurt used to send her into meltdowns, and she was clearly fine today. Then again, maybe he ought to be worried about what she and Harmony were talking about because had Lacey just told Harmony he had so many love stories on the shelves because he liked “mushy stuff”? “Lace Face!” he yelled in an attempt to retain some of his dignity. “I’m cutting you up some carrot sticks.”
It worked, at least. He heard Harmony saying to Lacey, “That’s a cute nickname your brother calls you.”
“Oh, he has lots for me.”
“And what’s your nickname for him?”
“He doesn’t have one.”
“What?” Harmony thumped her book shut and looked over at him, aghast and delighted at once, as he brought the first plates out to the table. “We have to think of one, then!”
He set down the carrot sticks. “Please don’t.”
“A really good one.” Her smile sharpened.
Lacey ran over and sat. “Nothing rhymes with Preston anyway. Harmony, why are you wearing the same dress as yesterday? You’re supposed to wear clean clothes every day.”
Chair pulled out halfway, Harmony froze and looked at him. This is your show.
Preston grabbed the last plates from the kitchen because time to think was always good. “She spent the night to make sure I was okay after getting hurt. But she might stay other nights, if you’re comfortable with that, because we like spending time together.” He dared a hopeful glance at Harmony, who smiled back as she took her seat.
Lacey’s face pursed with serious consideration. “Can I have a sleepover too?”
“Um. Maybe?”
“I showed Mason’s friend Courtney how to make paper stars and she wants to see the real stars in my telescope. But she’d have to come at night.”
That thankfully led to plenty of discussion over lunch about if sleepovers meant you were friends, the Beehive cluster, and whether fourth graders should be allowed to bike places on their own, until they finished and cleared the dishes and Harmony said she was going to take off and let them have some downtime.
“Exciting weekend all around,” she said when he kissed her goodbye. “See you soon,” she told Lacey. And with a glint in her eye as she went out the door, “Bye, Presto-Chango!”
Oh, no. But from Lacey’s little grin he knew that was going to stick, probably for a lot longer than Harmony would even be in town or his life, reminding him far past then of the brief perfect time it was.