Chapter 28
Morgan
Friday afternoon I’m in the bar. It’s too early for the happy hour crowds just yet, but there are a few leaf peepers sitting out back having a drink.
We have a row of Adirondack chairs lined up just outside the big picture windows with fire pits scattered about.
On weekday afternoons in ski season, it’d be full of parents waiting for their kids to finish practice, but now it’s for the tourists.
The yawning expanse of The Enchanted Meadow, the front of the mountain where trails merge and the base of the chairlift sits, is dry grass and the trees are in full color.
The cowbell sounds and I look up to welcome the next tourist, but instead Rory saunters in. I knew she would be back today, but I didn’t expect her to come here.
“Hey,” I say, clearly delighted, and she returns my greeting with a crooked smile, and instead of taking her usual seat she walks down the bar. “No helmet?” I ask, clocking her empty hands. I walk along my side of the bar and meet her in the pass-through.
“No, I’m still in the van.”
She didn’t even go home yet. She drove right into town and came to find me first. She’s still in her jeans and polo from work, her leather jacket layered on top and her hair up in a top knot—a sure sign she hasn’t been riding.
I grin down at her. She tilts her chin up and before I even realize what’s happening her lips are on mine.
It’s a quick kiss, but hell yeah I’ll take it.
She eyes the dopey smile on my face and rolls her eyes. “It’s just a kiss, calm down.” But she’s holding back a chuckle.
I reach out and snatch her by the hips and pull her into my arms, bending her over backward while invading her mouth. Rory’s surprised yelp is cut off by my lips, and it fades to a groan as we both deepen the kiss.
I sweep both arms around her and she does the same. Her shirt rides up, and my fingers graze her waist while hers tangle in my hair. I pull her closer to me, wanting her stretched against me. I’ve missed her all week, even if it’s the norm for us.
My hand glides up her back, fingers tracing along her spine until I’ve rucked her shirt up so much my palms ride over the back of her opposite ribs.
My other hand has gone farther south, delving into the back pocket of her jeans.
This is not the tight jeans she wears on her bike, but a looser, softer fit.
She smells like metal and leather and fall and—
“Hey, get a room!” Paul shouts from the kitchen. Then he dings the bell and I’m guessing the nachos are ready for the couple outside.
I break the kiss but don’t pull away. My forehead goes to hers and I wait while Rory pulls herself back together. She’s breathing hard, and when her eyes open, her pupils are huge.
I’m sure mine are too.
“With you,” I say, and have to clear my throat before I can continue, “it’s never just a kiss.”
Early the next morning—the bar closes at midnight on Fridays, so I don’t get home until one thirty or so—I sneak into the darkened house.
After the scorching kiss in the empty bar, Rory had opted to head home, and my night got busy.
Around ten, when things were starting to wind down, I finally had a breather and could look at my phone.
Rory had sent me a picture of Princess and Rusty, the fourteen-year-old girl who lives next door, playing in the backyard. I met your neighbor, she’d said.
I don’t blame Rory for not staying at the bar. It was crowded and busy and I wouldn’t have been able to spare her any attention. I’m sure she was tired from her workweek and glad to be home, though I’m not sure my place feels like home yet.
I tiptoe through the den and into the kitchen, where movement and a glint catch my eye, and I jump nearly two feet off the ground.
The glint blinks at me. Oh, it’s Bartholomeow.
“Hey buddy,” I say. He flicks his ear and watches as I resume tiptoeing. My door is open, my room dark, which is expected. Princess is probably in there, snoozing in her bed. But when I flip on the bathroom light, Rory’s door is open too.
I frown. She’s obviously asleep by now, so maybe Princess was with her and she left the door open for my dog?
I lean into the doorway and grab the knob to close it before realizing that Rory’s bed is empty. My first thought is that something’s wrong. Rory’s van, bike, and car are all here, my driveway menagerie full. Where could Rory be?
A small, hopeful voice murmurs at me to check my bed. And there she is, an unmistakable plateau under the covers.
I bite my knuckle and fist-pump.
YESSSSSSSS!
I quickly shower and brush my teeth before crawling into my side of the bed. Princess snores gently from the floor and Rory shifts slightly. She mumbles before wriggling across the bed to curl up against me.
My face hurts—I’ve smiled all the way through the bedtime ritual—but I finally doze off with my queen in my arms.