Chapter 11
Sophie
“You sound happy. Are you going to tell me what that’s about?” Mom prompts on the phone.
It’s the same question she’s been asking me every morning for two weeks. Ever since I slept with Whiskey. She can hear it in my voice, but each time, I dismiss it as the fresh mountain air. Except this time, I tell her the truth, “I met someone.”
“Is he good to you?”
I can’t help the smile on my face as I crack the eggs for breakfast. “He’s the sweetest.”
She chuckles. “Do I get to meet him?”
“It’s still new,” I say softly.
There’s a rustling sound then my mom sighs. “I have to go. We’re filming the rain scenes today, but I’ll be there next weekend for your 5K race.”
I know my mom is incredibly busy. Since the show exploded in popularity, everyone wants a piece of her. There are episodes to film, TV and magazine interviews, brand partnerships for the show, and dozens of other things that she manages effortlessly.
Yet she always finds time to be there for me.
It was that way even when I was a kid. She used to tell me that being a mom was her most important job, and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.
One day, I hope I’m lucky enough to tell that to my kids.
Maybe kids that happen to look exactly like Whiskey.
I tell her I love her and end the phone call, humming underneath my breath. The eggs are almost ready when strong arms slide around my middle. I lean back against Whiskey’s bare chest. I love the way he smells of sleep and early morning lust.
“How’s my girl today?” He murmurs, pressing soft kisses to my neck.
“Extra tired. Someone kept me awake all night,” I pretend to be mad about it. But it’s hard to be mad when he woke me up three times to give me orgasms. It’s a good thing he lives secluded in a mountain. Otherwise, his neighbors would know that Whiskey keeps me satisfied and full of come.
“Is there a way I could make it up to my beautiful girlfriend?” He asks, his hand going higher to cup my breast.
I freeze at the word. We haven’t put labels on this, and I didn’t want to ask. This thing between us is new and fragile. “I’m your girlfriend?”
He flicks off the stove, removing the pan from the burner then he turns me to face him. He cups my head in his hands. “You’re my girl. You belong to me now.”
I smile up at him. “Good because that means you’re my man.”
He kisses my forehead. “Damn straight I am. Now let me feed your cute ass before I take you back to my bed and ravage you again.”
I shake my head and duck from his arms. “Don’t you start making promises like that. I won’t leave today, and I plan on going into town.” I plate the food and place it on the table. “You could go with me if you wanted to.”
He sets my black coffee on the table and passes me a fork. “Got some stuff I have to get done here.”
I take a bite of my eggs and nod. “You know what I’ve been through, so I’m the last person to ever pass judgement. But do you ever leave your mountain?”
He hesitates before he says, “I leave it. Sometimes, I go around my mom’s place—edge her lawn, clean her gutters, little chores like that. I just can’t…I haven’t seen my family for a while.”
“Because you were injured?” I question, keeping my tone especially gentle. I want to find a way to help him, but I don’t know how to do that.
“Because I’m not the same boy who went away,” he explains.
“I think they would be proud of the man you are,” I say.
He shakes his head and says, “You don’t get it. I was a foster kid.”
“Why would that change anything?” I ask.
He says, “When you’re a foster kid, you’re not loved for who you are. You’re loved for what you do. You have to work extra hard to belong. I did it by being funny and always smiling and never giving anyone a reason to worry about me. I can’t go back to being that person, not anymore.”
My heart aches at his raw confession.
I say, “Well, if I had a son, foster son or not, I’d want you to know that I loved you no matter what. Even if there were days that the darkness stole your smile. I’d want to be there for you on those days, especially on those days.”
He swallows, looks down at his food. “I have stuff to do,” he mutters again.
I nod and accept his answer. I understand that it’s all he can offer me right now. Maybe one day it will get easier for him. Maybe one day he can understand that he is so very loved.
Whiskey is extra quiet during breakfast, probably thinking about everything I’ve said.
When it’s time for him to leave for work, he presses a kiss to my forehead the way he has every day for the last two weeks. “We’ll go on a run together later.”
I nod and smile, liking that idea. He’s spent the last two weeks training with me. He never complains about how far we run. And he doesn’t try to make conversation during our runs.
He’s just there with me, a silent support. Reminding me that not only am I strong, but I’m not strong alone.
I wave to him, then drive into town. I stop in at Mallory’s place to talk about her idea for adding a makeup counter.
“Have you made a decision yet?” she asks me.
I shake my head. “No, I haven’t come to any decisions. But these are the figures you asked for. How much capital you’d need if we were going to do this.”
She takes the list and glances it over. “You let me know if you decide. I know you can hire just anybody.”
“You let me know what you decide. You can hire just anybody,” I point out.
She gives me a smile that’s filled with warmth and kindness. “I could, but I’d much rather it be you.”
After that, we spend a few minutes talking. She shows me her latest inventory. The dresses are adorable, and I even buy one for myself. A little white one with a sweetheart neckline and little smiling pumpkins on it. It’s the perfect cute autumn dress.
After that, I go to Emma May’s grocery store. She spots me while she’s restocking shelves and waves me over.
“You look better and better every time I see you.”
“I kind of met a guy,” I tell her, feeling my cheeks heat.
“Oh?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. There’s another look on her face. Just like a couple of weeks ago when I bought the wedding dress. It’s a look I can’t quite define. Like she might know a secret I don’t.
“He’s my boyfriend. We’re dating,” I tell her.
She brightens instantly. “You should bring him to the fall festival. We’re having one in two days.
There’ll be caramel apples, a pumpkin decorating contest, face painting for the kids, hayrides, there’s even a haunted house at the edge of town.
Most everybody will be there. You should come and bring your fella. ”
“He’s kind of quiet,” I explain. “He prefers solitude, but I’ll ask him.”
The truth is, I want to ask her about Whiskey. I want to know who he is and who his family is. But it’s not my place to tell his secrets. He promised to be gentle with my heart, and I have to be gentle with his. That means being patient and letting him heal at his own pace.