Chapter 25
Betty
I couldn’t stop replaying the almost kiss in my mind. I went to sleep thinking about it, woke up thinking about it, and now here I was, trying to focus on reading my book, but my thoughts kept drifting back.
I’d never spent so much time mulling over a moment that ‘almost’ happened, not even when I was a teenage girl obsessed with boys.
Why hadn’t I manned up and returned his kiss? I scolded myself for not diving in when Gray got that close, seizing the reins and taking hold—that would have been the Betty thing to do.
It felt as though he’d frozen me, leaving me stunned like a deer in headlights.
The book slipped from my grasp into my lap, and I surrendered, tilting my head back with a frustrated growl. All I wanted was to gaze upon Gray, but I was trying to appear cool and unbothered. Yet, at this point, who the hell cared?
“Yolo, Betty,” I said under my breath.
Outside the front windows, Gray was fitting Villainy with a rope harness around his middle and chest. He’d announced over breakfast his determination to turn Villainy into an adventure cat. He’d promptly tied together some makeshift leashes out of scrap rope.
Villy sat placidly on the ground, unbothered by Gray’s efforts as he tugged and worked at a knot. The cat’s large yellow eyes gazed out across the yard, his fluffy tail flicking lazily from side to side.
Mr. Beans, however, showed no actual interest in the outdoors, always looking, but avoiding an open door like the plague.
He sat in the chair across from me, lording over the yard’s activities, content to watch.
When Gray tested a harness on him, he collapsed like a dead weight, unwilling to move.
This was typical of my beanie weenie—he considered control to be a construct and nature beneath him, preferring the comforts of warmth and upholstery.
As I watched Villy and Gray, Larry’s entrance almost went unnoticed until his jerky movements caught my eye. I leaned forward when I spotted him, absorbed in the unfolding scene and the drama that might ensue.
Larry crept up behind Gray. For a moment, I considered knocking on the glass to warn him, but then Villainy’s ears twitched forward, and I knew it was too late. The cat and the weasel had spotted each other.
I held my breath in anticipation, wondering whether Larry or Villainy would be the first to strike. Both were quick, and neither posed an immediate danger, but there was still potential for harm if they wanted it.
Villainy rose to his feet, coiled like a spring. Gray noticed, glancing over his shoulder where Villy’s eyes were fixed.
Gray’s lips moved in conversation, as if he were addressing them both, and he extended a hand toward Larry in a friendly offering.
Larry nudged forward to sniff Gray’s fingers, then batted at his hand, checking to see if he was concealing any treats.
Upon finding none, Larry shifted his attention back to Villainy, who was still watching in a predatory way.
Both animals drew ever closer, my grin widening with each inch that narrowed between them. When their noses finally touched in first contact, I stopped breathing. Neither animal exploded into a fit nor overreacted. They sniffed, then licked, and respectfully observed one another. Impressive.
Gray, having secured the rope on Villainy, slid back a little on his knees, giving them space.
They continued to take stock before Villainy sat down again, and then lay, reaching a paw out as though to play with Larry.
Larry copied him, and they both rolled in the dirt in a friendly and companionable manner.
I giggled, and it was as if Gray could hear me. He looked up, spotting me in my chair, observing the scene. He offered a thumbs-up, which I reciprocated. My gosh, Gray appeared so vibrant and content. This was truly his domain.
I had to confess, this life was growing on me.
While I adored designer shopping and art galas, this felt more essential to my core being.
I can’t recall the last time I paused my relentless drive to stay put for this long—not since my mother passed.
A part of me had grown to dread the silence, fearing it would dig up sad memories of those quiet times with Mom, reading and talking.
But, as it turned out, there was solace in the quiet, and it welcomed me in.
The constant edge I felt in New York had softened. My obsessive need for order had also relaxed. While I would always miss New York and long to go back, I could survive out here just fine if I had to. It was good to know that now.
Larry and Villy wrestled playfully for quite some time before lunchtime arrived and Gray scooped up Villy to bring him inside.
“That was wild, wasn’t it?” he asked as he entered the cabin, a sudden burst of noise shattering the quiet room.
“Larry being chill?” I responded. “Go figure. I never doubted Villy, but Larry? Really?”
“Right?” he agreed, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up.
Villy approached my chair, hopping onto my lap and dragging the rope with him. He was purring and looking up at me, so I ran my hand through his ebony fluff. “Did you enjoy being outside?” I cooed, and he continued to purr and stare before licking the tip of my nose.
Looking up, Gray pulled out some tomatoes and was slicing them in the kitchen. Dear God, this was the best and worst part of my day lately. Forget missing out on soap operas; watching Gray play chef was just as good—my own personal cooking show.
I sat up a little straighter so I could see more of him while he worked. He pushed his long navy sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the sexiest forearms I’d ever catalogued in my book of Betty Gold Stars.
I appreciated that his skin was completely bare of tattoos, aside from his scars.
If anything, the scars were sexier than a tattoo, and told more of a true story.
Nowadays, it seemed every man of the large and strong sort had tattoos, so it was a welcome change that he didn’t.
His skin was as virgin of ink as the forest outside, and apparently, as virgin as the day I met him, too.
It was still hard to believe there was no one before me; he was so skilled at everything he did that night in New York, so composed and experienced, never faltering or making mistakes. It felt as though he understood the female body better than I did myself.
There were times I questioned his existence, and indeed, the reality of my entire situation.
Perhaps I’d died in the townhome, and this was the afterlife.
But if this was indeed heaven, surely there would be a television.
I missed enjoying movies and spending entire days bingeing shows and eating snacks.
Gray rounded the counter, adding the diced tomatoes, onions, and garlic to the mix before sliding it all into a pan on the hot stove.
It sizzled immediately, filling the room with the intoxicating aroma.
He drizzled in olive oil and shook the pan to combine it all.
His biceps flexed with the movement, golden-brown hair falling in soft tendrils from behind his ear as he focused.
I licked my lips, needing to shift in my seat and bite back a moan.
Christ on a cracker, how much more of this eye candy could I handle without going in for a taste? And why couldn’t I just find the courage to take what I wanted? This wasn’t like me.
The answer was simple, if I were honest with myself.
For starters, being here placed me out of my element.
I had game when it came to flirting, but out here none of those old rules applied.
Secondly, I was still scared. What if his uncle found us?
If that happened, what if Gray were killed?
I couldn’t bear it. I’d already lost my mom too soon, and I wasn’t strong enough to go through something like that again.
Gray filled a large stockpot with rainwater from the tap and lugged it over to the stove.
Jesus H., every single muscle in his upper body strained and bulged against his shirt.
I shuddered. He set the pot down and seasoned it with salt, a delicate gesture out of place with his size.
I bit my lip, my hand moving automatically, stroking Villy’s hair.
Keep this up, and I’d drool soon.
This right here; this was another reason—a part of me knew I wasn’t good enough for him. Look at him. He was a saint, a tortured soul who came out here to the forest and was touched by the gods, or forest fairies, or some magical thing far beyond my meager station.
I had a hard time envisioning the Gray he’d described from high school: nerdy, rail-thin, and awkward. I didn’t see that as being possible. How could someone so drastically change? But that answer was obvious, too. Change your surroundings, and all bets were off the table.
And me? I was just Betty: an often abrasive semi-thief with a fondness for pretty gems, cats, and comfy socks. Was my immediate availability to him the only reason he liked me?
Of course there was Tallulah, but still. Beggars can’t be choosers, right?
He ripped open a pack of spaghetti, fisting it in his hand.
I swallowed thickly, peeling my eyes away from the sight of sexy carbs being handled with such confident command.
My mind was well and truly in the gutter.
Any more of this and I’d orgasm where I sat.
That pasta, and the way he handled it? I felt undeserving of that kind of sexual attention from a man like him. Dare I say the pasta made me jealous?
I wasn’t built long and lean like a model.
I was easily an eight to his ten. If he’d learned about sex from books, it likely meant he’d only encountered one type of woman—the perfect kind.
He deserved a supermodel; in fact, he was a supermodel.
An outdoor brand would sign him faster than you could say gra-no-la.