Chapter 32
“You’re taking longer than me!” I shout up the stairs, wondering what could be holding Arthur up. Normally, I wouldn’t care about a leisurely pace, but tonight is a big one.
Jam Session. And Arthur and Lance are playing onstage.
He’s only done it a handful of times before, and I don’t know that I’ve ever fully appreciated the experience. That changes tonight. I plan to soak in every detail of him up on that stage.
Also, I want him to see my outfit. ’Cause I look hot.
I found this green dress a few years back with a built-in corset that makes my almost-nonexistent boobs perk up and say hello. The sleeves are long but start partway down my shoulders, so I’m giving a sexy amount of collarbone. The satin material flares at my hips and falls to just above my knees, and I round out the ensemble with a pair of cowgirl boots. Because I’m a country girl now, y’all.
Okay, I still can’t say y’all and not sound like I’m being sarcastic. But I can look the part, damn it.
And I need Arthur to react to how I look because...because I just do.
Heavy footsteps, loud enough for me to hear, let me know the wait is over. I stand in the middle of the living room, arms akimbo, ready to show off my country-girl chic.
Then, I see Arthur.
And I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle a needy whimper.
He looks edible.
The postman has done away with his normal T-shirt and jeans attire, replacing the casual outfit with neatly ironed slacks and a white button-up shirt.
With suspenders.
Hell, I want to grab hold of those and drag him to me.
His worn baseball hat is gone, and the wild hair he normally stuffs under it is neatly slicked back. His dark beard is still imposing, but newly trimmed, and I want to feel the brush of the hair on my cheeks. And neck. And...other places.
This is what happens when a man kisses me so good that I come on his kitchen counter.
Something about that kiss a few days ago flipped a switch in me. Before, I could lock lips with the man without any pesky wanting cropping up. Sure, my body would have a touch of a response, but nothing to be worried about.
Now though, I’m on day three of waking up from dirty dreams about my fake boyfriend. When I have a task at work that’s all muscle memory, my mind wanders to Arthur. Thinking about what he’s doing. Where he is in town.
And would he want to stop by the shop on my lunch break for more kissing practice?
In those moments, I’m glad the hangar is so cold because it’s the only thing partially tamping down my libido.
Besides, if that kitchen kiss proved anything, it’s that Arthur doesn’t need any more practice.
My work is done. Bargain fulfilled.
Technically, there’s no reason for us to make out anymore. Not unless we’re in public and trying to sell the relationship to make Daren jealous.
But what if I want to kiss Arthur just because I like it? Just because I like him?
I must have been quiet for too long because his brow dips low and he mutters a defensive, “What?”
What, is that I want to shove you down on the couch and mount you.
Out loud, I say, “You look good. Really good.”
His expression clears, and I spy a touch of pink on the skin above his beard. “Thank you.”
Hell, he’s so fucking adorable and handsome, and I want to tear his clothes off.
I bite back a groan and try reminding myself that this is all fake.
“Seriously.” I stroll up to him because I can’t stay away. “You’ve gone full Southern gentleman on me.”
When Arthur doesn’t respond, I glance up to find his gaze locked on my chest.
Ah. Thank you corset.
“I see you’ve found my boobs.” I puff out my bust as much as I can manage. “Didn’t think I had any, right? Small but mighty, I like to think.”
Arthur’s eyes dart away, seeming to want to look anywhere but at me. Or my chest.
“I knew you had boobs,” he mutters.
“I’m sure you did. In theory. But here’s the proof.” I twirl, enjoying the flare of my skirt. I don’t often dress up, but when I do, I like to revel in the change. “You ready to head out? Got your guitar?”
He nods. “It’s in the car.”
I pause. “Your car? I thought I could drive.”
Up until this point, Arthur has never pressed me to hand over the wheel, and I don’t want to have to debate with him about it. It’s just that I want my right side facing any passengers in the car because my right ear hears more clearly than my left, even with the hearing aid, which I chose to wear tonight despite my worries about noisy crowds.
“You can still sit on the left side.” He collects his keys from the bowl by the door.
Arthur’s comment confuses me until we’re at his car, and I remember how his vehicle is different than everyone else’s. I let out a bark of relieved laughter.
Arthur is a mailman. He got his SUV fixed with the steering on the right side, so it’s easier for him to deliver mail. Which means I can sit on the left side, but he can drive.
I’m still chuckling as I slide in and discover I have a steering wheel on my side too. I study the gadgetry that connects the two.
“Is this the work of the Winstons?” I ask.
Arthur nods. “Cletus fitted it.” He reaches over and plucks my hands off the wheel, where I rested them out of habit, and gently sets my palms in my lap. “No front-seat driving,” he admonishes, but his beard twitches.
“Fine.” I gust out a dramatic sigh. “I guess I can let you take control. At least for a little bit. But only because you agreed to go flying with me.”
Malcolm doesn’t mind lending me his Cessna 172 whenever I ask. The guy might seem reserved, but he’s got a soft spot for flying enthusiasts.
I could go up on my own, but I figured I’d extend an invite to Arthur.
He didn’t hesitate. He said yes immediately. And gave me one of his rare smiles.
Arthur is excited about the flight, which has me giddy to get up in the air with him. To show him how amazing soaring miles above the ground is.
When we started dating, I took Daren up once. He said he thought it was cool, but I could tell he was bored after a few minutes, and whenever I asked him to join me after that first time, he would make excuses.
That always hurt in a small way. Him not being willing to fly with me at all. He didn’t have to love it the way I did. But he could have joined me a time or two over the years. Just because he knew how much it meant to me.
Oddly enough, the memory of my ex helps. Acknowledging that what Daren and I had wasn’t perfect. That, yes, I loved him, but he wasn’t some soulmate that I turned my back on.
Our time together had highs, but there were also lows.
And cheating was way too low to come back from, even with a plane to fly me out of the crater his betrayal smashed in the middle of our relationship.
Unaware of my silent revelation, Arthur buckles his seat belt and starts the car. When the stereo flicks on, it immediately plays what sounds like a podcast.
A very familiar podcast.
“Sorry. Bluetooth,” Arthur grumbles, pulling his phone from his pocket and pressing pause, the car having automatically resumed playing whatever he was last listening to.
But that makes no sense. Because if I’m right . . .
“Was that Hangar Talk?” I point to the speaker where a voice I know well was just discussing how to fly skydivers to altitude.
Arthur scratches the corner of his beard and focuses on his driveway rather than meeting my eyes. “Yeah.”
That’s all he admits before pulling onto the road and pointing us toward the community center.
“Hangar Talk is a flying podcast,” I say, as if he might not know.
Arthur grunts.
“Why were you listening to it?”
He shrugs. “Listen to a lot of stuff.”
I’m sure he does, driving all over town most days. He probably gets plenty of listening time. I also usually have an earbud in my good ear while I’m working—sometimes listening to books, sometimes podcasts, and sometimes Avril Lavigne’s latest angry album about her breakup and how her ex sucks.
But that’s getting off topic.
“Arthur Kraut”—I turn as far as my seat belt will allow me, staring hard at the side of his face—“were you listening to an aviation podcast because of me?”
He sighs and taps an agitated thumb on the steering wheel. “Yes.”
“Because . . .” I prompt.
He flicks his dark eyes to me, then back to the road. “Because I want to know what you do.”
So simple. Yet so world-altering.
Arthur has been studying something merely because it interests me. Because it’s part of my life.
“Oh.” The single word is all I can manage as my mind pushes me to explore new pathways I’ve been avoiding out of self-preservation. But this—this humble act of caring—has made my growing feelings unavoidable.
Arthur Kraut has unknowingly stumbled his way deep into my heart.
And that’s a scary place to have a person. Especially a Kraut.
Before, he only burrowed past the top layer. The spot where friends reside. I cared about him because he meant something to my ex.
But now, Arthur’s made his own place for himself in my chest, and the big man takes up a lot of room.
We’re silent for the rest of the drive to the Jam Session. Every so often, I feel Arthur’s attention on me, as if he’s glancing over to check if I’m okay.
I don’t know. I might not be.
But I also don’t have the words to explain what’s spiraling through my mind. When we arrive, Arthur stalks around the front of the car and opens my door for me, giving me a hand out of the car. I don’t need it, but I find I like the gesture. It adds to his Southern-gentleman appearance. He pulls his guitar case out of the trunk, and we walk into the Jam Session together, pausing just inside the entrance.
“You’ll come see me play?” he asks. “Me and Lance?”
Did he think I wouldn’t? I don’t need Lance to sweeten the deal.
“Of course.” After I get enough space from you to remind myself that this isn’t real. “Just going to fill up a plate of food first.”
Arthur lingers for another moment, then bends at the waist and brushes a quick kiss against my cheek before striding toward one of the music rooms.
I manage to walk a straight line to the food offerings and fill my plate without paying attention to what I’m grabbing. When I settle at a table in a quiet back corner, I simply stare at the food, which winds up being a handful of potato chips, a scoop of coleslaw, and a large slice of banana cake.
Even partially comatose Robin has good taste.
Still, I don’t start eating, too befuddled by my feelings to discern if I’m hungry or not.
“Hey, Robin. Mind if I sit here?”
I glance up and realize Gwen is lingering by my table. The tall postwoman looks gorgeous with her black sweater dress and perfect makeup. She does online tutorials on how to apply the products, which I’ve been meaning to watch. Anything more complicated than mascara intimidates me.
“Sure. Go for it.” I wave at the spot across from me. I need a distraction from my tangled thoughts.
She settles into the seat and digs her fork into a pile of potato salad. “Arthur came, right? I want to see him and Lance. They’re great in a backyard, but here, it’s another level.” Her voice carries easily to me since we’re sitting away from the music rooms and the crowd by the food tables.
“Yeah, he’s . . .” I wave in the general direction where my boyfriend disappeared.
My fake boyfriend, I remind myself.
Gwen tilts her head. “You all right?”
No. Maybe. I don’t know.
I pick up a potato chip and crumble it between my fingers as I try to figure out a response.
“You don’t have to tell me.” Gwen offers me a sweet smile. “Sorry, I can be a little nosy.”
Gwen is Arthur’s friend. Maybe she could help me with this.
But what exactly do I want help with?
Figuring out if Arthur likes me?
Figuring out if I like Arthur?
Figuring out what to do if we like each other?
I brush chip crumbs off my hands, then drag in a deep breath, not sure what words are going to come out on my exhale.
“I want to fuck Arthur.”
Gwen’s mouth pops open in an O, and I decide that’s a technique I never plan on using again because what the hell?!
The mail carrier’s cheeks color, but then her shocked expression morphs into a curious one.
“You’re saying you haven’t?” She blushes deeper. “Sorry, I just assumed. With you two living together and all.”
I shake my head. “I sleep in the guest room.” Or on the couch. Or in his chair. But not in his bed. Not since that first night.
Okay, maybe one Saturday, while he was at work, I took a nap there. But that doesn’t count.
“We kiss, but haven’t gone further than that.”
Unless you count me dry-humping him in the kitchen.
“And you want more now?” she asks before taking a bite of her food.
I do. I want alot more. But Gwen doesn’t know that the little I have with Arthur is fake. Technically, we’re not even at the starting line.
“He was there for me after my breakup. But . . .” There’s a sharp insecurity that’s digging into my side, and I suddenly realize what it is. “I’m not looking for a rebound.” That’s it. “Not that I’m ready for, like, a whole relationship again or anything. But I...like Arthur. And I want something. With him.”
“Okay.” Gwen draws out the word, her brows wrinkled in thought. “The kissing you and Arthur do—is that not something?”
It wasn’t supposed to be. Only practice. But I don’t have teacher-like thoughts on my mind anymore when I pull Arthur in. All I’m thinking about is how I miss the way his mouth feels against mine. How my day is better once I’ve felt the brush of his beard on my cheeks and I spy the streak of color across his that indicates some spike of emotion.
But is it pleasure?
Maybe every time Arthur flushes after a kiss, it’s embarrassment.
The guy is loyal to his family. Maybe every time he kisses me it feels like a betrayal even if it’s all supposed to be pretend.
If that’s the case, then I doubt he wants to make what we’re doing real. That would be too far for him.
I realize Gwen is waiting for an answer.
“Those started as”—I try to think of something that’s not a lie, but also doesn’t involve explaining our whole deal—“a comforting thing. Not a romantic thing.” That sounds weird, but Gwen is kind enough not to point it out.
“But now, you want to be romantic with Arthur?” she clarifies.
I nod slowly.
“You should tell him.” Gwen raises a forkful of apple pie and gestures with it. “People don’t think so because he’s grumbly, but Arthur is a sweetheart. A romantic soul. I think he’d like knowing you want to, uh...be romantic with him.”
Even under her foundation, I can see Gwen’s blush return, and I really wish I hadn’t blurted out how I wanted to fuck her friend.
I should have used the much classier bang.
And the problem is, she’s both right and wrong.
Arthur is a gooey teddy bear at heart, ready to give his all to a partner. He’d probably make them banana pancakes all the time and cuddle with them in that big bed of his and make out with them in his coveted recliner. He’d give them his rare smiles and quietly support them in every possible way.
Sounds like a dream, but Arthur is the real deal.
Only I’m not the woman in that fantasy scenario.
I failed the soulmate kissing test.
Not that I believe that’s how it works.
But Arthur does.
And he kissed me and told me I wasn’t it. Hell, he’s kissed me a bunch more times, each better than the last, and he has never even hinted he’s getting soulmate vibes.
Horny vibes, sure. I’ve felt him harden against me more than once. But sexual attraction isn’t the same thing as identifying the love of your life.
I can see it now—me confessing I have feelings for Arthur and him going statue-still in discomfort.
Or worse, pity creasing his eyes and wrinkling his glorious beard.
No thank you.I’ve had enough pitying looks thrown my way in the Piggly Wiggly, and at Daisy’s, and even at the gas station for the few minutes it takes to fill up my tank.
As much as my revenge might dig a knife into my ex’s gut, it doesn’t change how our split came about. By now, at least half of Green Valley must know some version of the truth. That I’m the woman who moved to town for Daren Kraut and got dropped for a girl with a better rack. Even now, with me fake dating Arthur, I still get the bless-your-heart commiseration pouts.
But this arrangement with Arthur was never about how Green Valley saw me. It was about enraging my cheating ex, which mission accomplished. Daren is a pissed-off porcupine whenever I see him.
Both of our goals have been met. I could end the farce with Arthur.
But I don’t want to, and that reveals just how much everything has changed for me. How deep I’ve gotten myself into another relationship that’s going nowhere.
“I don’t think I helped,” Gwen says, her eyes sad.
Her dejected expression makes me chuckle despite myself. “You tried. That counts. Thanks for letting me talk through some of it.”
Gwen wipes crumbs from the corners of her mouth, and I realize her plate is empty.
Mine is too. Damn, when did I eat all that food? I didn’t even get to enjoy it.
“Do you want to go watch him and Lance play?” She waves toward the rooms, where the sounds of instruments drift through the air.
“I do.” Even though I know the sight of him will tangle me up even more.
The moment we step into the folk music room, I find Arthur on the stage with Lance and three other men I don’t recognize. As far as I know, they all haven’t practiced together, but every note they play seems a perfect match.
As if sensing my arrival, Arthur glances up, and his eyes lock with mine across the room. His beard twitches as he sends me a subdued smile that still makes my body tighten in all the best and worst ways. And I realize something.
I think I hate Arthur’s soulmate.