Chapter 23 #2
With that, Bower flipped on the overhead fan before exiting the bathroom and closing the door, giving me privacy. I stood there for a minute. My mind was just as cloudy as the room was becoming. Being cradle carried twice by Bower had done something to me.
I shook my head, snapping myself out of the fog I was in. Slowly, I stripped out of my wet clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the ground, then ducked under the flow of warm water.
It felt glorious. All the sand washing off my feet and down the drain. My skin warming from the cool lake water. I took stock of Bower’s shampoo selection: Basic drugstore fare. A three-in-one shower product marketed toward men.
I squeezed a bit of green shampoo onto my palm and lathered it into my hair, the smell of cedar mixing with the fog of the shower.
This was what he smelled like. There was something exciting about covering myself in his scent.
I scrubbed my legs multiple times—they were itchy from the lake water.
He didn’t have a rag or loofah in here, so I used my hands.
Not that I’d use his loofah. Too many scary bacteria stories from the internet for that.
Plus, that felt like a total violation of his privacy.
Who knew where he would’ve rubbed it. Ugh, stop thinking those thoughts!
The water was now lukewarm and beginning to cool.
I turned the faucet handle to the left, stopping the flow of water.
The curtain rings screeched against the rod as I pulled the curtain aside, reaching for the towel Bower had left me.
I wrapped it around me, drying myself quickly.
The T-shirt Bower had left me was far too big.
It hung down almost to my knees. The shorts, as I had thought, were no different—way too big.
I rolled the waistband four times before I felt they wouldn’t fall off my hips.
I towel-dried my hair the best I could before I opened the door of the bathroom, steam billowing out into the cabin.
“Better?” Bower asked. He was sitting on the single chair at the round table in his kitchen, waiting, like he had nothing better to do than to wait for me to be done showering.
“Much better,” I said. There wasn’t the sand between my toes anymore. My ankles didn’t have dried sand flaking off them with every step I took. I was back at my baseline.
My legs were itchy, though. I bent down to scratch my shin, barely holding back a moan. That felt so much better.
“Ah, shit,” Bower said. “I thought if I got you to a shower in time, you wouldn’t get them.”
“Get what?” The itching was spreading. Now my other leg itched, right behind the knee. I used both hands to scratch both of my legs. Was I losing my mind? I couldn’t stop.
“Chiggers,” Bower said casually. Like it wasn’t a big deal.
Chiggers? The little microparasites that burrowed into your skin and caused an allergic reaction that made little red bumps that made you itch like crazy? Those chiggers?
I whimpered, letting those little sounds come from my mouth travel to Bower’s ears.
I couldn’t help it. There was no acting brave and faking it in this situation.
There were parasites under my skin. I could feel them.
All of them digging in, burrowing, making me their home.
I scratched harder, my skin breaking beneath my fingernails.
My fingers glided over my skin, now slick.
“Mia, stop.” Bower grabbed onto my wrists as he had done before, this time his grasp was tighter. I looked up at his face, his eyes locked onto mine. “You’re hurting yourself.”
Glancing down at my legs, I saw they were covered in red bumps, blood streaked up and down my calves. Shit.
Bower lifted my hands from my legs and pressed them together. “Hold them just like this,” he commanded.
He entered the steamy bathroom and emerged with a wet rag and white tube of ointment.
Grabbing onto my elbow, he guided me to the chair he had been sitting on when I came from the shower.
I sat compliantly, my hands still clutched together like I was praying.
Maybe I should be praying for the parasites to leave my body and rid me of the incessant itching.
Bower wiped the blood off my legs before he flipped open the top of the tube and squeezed a pea-sized amount of ointment onto his fingers.
With sure hands, he worked the medicine into the red welts on my legs, blending the white cream into my skin with his fingers moving in slow circles.
One by one, he massaged each welt, taking time to make sure the ointment was absorbed before moving onto the next one.
Slowly, the itching subsided. I didn’t know if it was because of the ointment he was rubbing into my skin or the fact he was rubbing my skin, making nerves in different parts of my body fire, distracting me from the itching.
He moved me to stand with my back to him, his fingers rubbing the ointment into a spot on the back of my thigh. When his fingers left my skin, I felt a rush of air against the back of my legs as he stood up behind me, his breath hitting the skin behind my ear, causing my hair to brush my cheeks.
Involuntary shivers went down my spine. My hair was down.
I hadn’t tied it up again since I’d showered.
I brought my hands up to my hair, pulling it back into a ponytail.
A large, calloused hand covered mine, wrapping his fingers around the thickness of my ponytail.
Another hand took hold of the hair binder I kept on my wrist and pulled it over my hand.
I lowered my hands to my sides, breathing deep breaths.
With him standing behind me, I couldn’t see his face. I felt blindfolded, waiting for him to make the next move. His fingers dragged across the crown of my head, smoothing the hair, sending ripples of pleasure down my body.
I tried to keep still and not tilt my head back, letting him know how much I was enjoying it. I shouldn’t have been enjoying it as much as I was. There were chigger bites all over my legs, and I had just fallen into the lake. He was being nice by doing my hair. That was all.
When the top of my head was smoothed, Bower took the hair binder and expertly wrapped it round my ponytail twice before giving it a gentle tug to secure it.
He spun me around, examining his handiwork, tucking a tendril that he had missed on the side of my head behind my ear.
I couldn’t help but lean into his hand and close my eyes as he did.
Even the smallest touches from him were potent.
Bower kept his fingers moving, tracing my jaw and stopping underneath my chin, his index finger hooked beneath it.
I fluttered my eyes open, taking a moment to look at his face.
I couldn’t remember a time that I was as close to him as I was now.
His breath hit my face. He breathed rapidly, as if it was in time with the fast beat of my heart.
There were crease marks on the corners of his eyes that deepened every time he smiled.
There were even a few stray freckles I had never noticed before.
He looked as he always had to me, all those years ago.
He was Bower, just older, with a bit more maturity in his features.
What did he see on my face? Stress lines on my forehead from trying to be the perfect daughter?
The mass of freckles that Archer found juvenile?
I tilted my head toward the ground, preferring my feet to his judgment. Bower was quick to correct me, using his finger to guide my face back to meet his.
There was something understood between us.
The silence had never been awkward. We thrived in quiet, the time we spent to be introspective while still being around each other.
We knew each other so well. Like right now I could tell Bower wanted to do something that would change the course of our entire relationship.
I could tell this by the way he was breathing, how his eyes darted to my lips before reconnecting with my eyes.
The worried look on his face as he pondered the same thing I was: Should we do this?
I saw the thought flash through his eyes before he acted, reaching behind my head, cradling the back of my skull with his palm.
His other hand wrapped around my lower back and pulled my body into his, the soft parts of my body hitting the wall of muscle that was his.
He stared into my eyes, asking for permission. Like he didn’t already have it.
“Oh, yes, this is a family resort,” a voice was saying, suddenly coming closer from outside. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Bower and I held our breaths, still staring at each other. His movements paused, his hands still cradling my head and gripping my lower back.
“It’s so beautiful here. I get why Mia loves coming here,” a male voice said.
I froze. My vision waning, the sounds meeting my ears suddenly inaudible. What? No. He couldn’t be here.
“We love having her here.” That was Betty’s voice. What was she doing with Archer? What was Archer doing here?
Three knocks sounded on Bower’s front door. They echoed throughout the cabin and my head. They sounded like the last ticks of the clock before Cinderella’s carriage turned back into a pumpkin. Like the perfect moment I was just experiencing was about to expire.
“Bower, you there?” Betty’s voice infiltrated the cabin. “We’re looking for Mia!”
I pulled away from Bower quickly. He looked at me for a moment with those blue eyes before turning around and opening the door.
Betty stood in the doorway, Archer peeking his head around her round frame behind her, looking into the cabin. His eyes locked onto me, and a look of surprise came over his face right before he took a couple of steps backward, almost tripping over his feet.
“Oh, Mia! I just met this man.” Betty smiled at me before she turned around and looked at Archer. “Remind me, what’s your name?”