Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Grant
My eyes pop open at seven to the eerie quiet and a sense something is off.
It’s about three seconds before I situate myself and remember the girls are at my folks’, so it’s normal they haven’t woken me. It’s not a bad sign.
Then I sink further into my senses and melt into the moment.
Sam lies next to me, the smooth skin of her back bare and calling to me. The number of times I bit my tongue and held in so many things should mean I can hardly talk today, but I feel more declarations tripping against the roof of my mouth begging to be set free.
You’re beautiful. You’re better than I could’ve imagined. I’m in love with you but I’m worried it’s too soon to say it. You’re mine, though I know it’s too soon to say that.
And then they come—the thoughts, those insidious whispers I managed to keep at bay yesterday.
You can’t love her right. You’ll fail her eventually. She deserves more than you can give. She’s not looking for someone, let alone someone like you.
I don’t want to wake her, so I slip out of bed as slowly as I can and tug on my jeans, then pad to the kitchen as quietly as possible to get some coffee started. I don’t want to sink into anything but the bliss of being with her, but I feel the worry in my gut.
Mr. Bingley trots over and rubs against my legs.
“You ready for breakfast, buddy?”
Without knowing for sure what her morning routine is, I take a stab at it and fill his food bowl with kitty kibble, then check the fridge and find a tiny container of wet food so I dish some of that out, too.
My mind is growing heavier, my thoughts too familiar and guilt-laden as I stand in the kitchen and stare out at my own driveway from a new angle.
From here, I see my cruiser parked in one spot in front of the house.
There’s a bucket and two rainbow-colored trowels tucked behind a bush in the front yard—Poppy and Lil made witch’s brew from rainwater and various ingredients a few days ago after school and I guess we never got the supplies cleaned up.
The house is exactly what I wanted it to be. I don’t remember dreaming of a certain kind of home as a kid or as a young man. I focused on college, then work, then advancing in rank and position, then achieving a place in the EMU, and finally, transitioning back here like my life depended on it.
Because it had. And so had Lily’s and Poppy’s.
Before them, I’d been dragging my feet on settling down.
The time would come, but I wasn’t in a rush.
I was always going to return to JV, always going to get back to occupying the in-town role as oldest son to Mary and Connor Ryan, but I wanted those twenty years in the military.
I wanted the service, the meaning, the work. I loved it.
I didn’t love Michelle. Not enough, at least. And I can see how wrong it would’ve been for her to stay and let the girls get attached to her only to have us fall apart.
My mom helped me dream up this place. She never got to design her house since she and my dad have always lived in the Ryan family homestead house, as it’s fondly known, but she’s responsible for a great deal of designs here in Juniper View and beyond.
When we moved in, I wondered how long it’d take until it felt like home.
We’d crash-landed at the homestead until this place was finished and I worried it’d feel utterly empty without my folks around.
We had our moments of friction, but their support had kept me afloat.
So having a house all to ourselves was nothing short of daunting.
Then I realized, by the time we got settled, it already did. The girls and I had been together eighteen months at that point and though everything else felt upside down here and there, they didn’t.
Thank God, and finally, they didn’t.
Being there with them felt like home.
And now, standing in bare feet sipping coffee with sounds of Mr. Bingley crunching on his breakfast and knowing Sam is dozing in bed, where I’ve just come from?
Damn if that doesn’t feel like home, too.
I want this in a way that is foreign to me. I didn’t choose the girls, though I would over and over again now. I didn’t really choose to leave the Army, though again, it was the right call and I can’t regret what it gave all of us.
But this? With Sam? There’s a bitter kind of cruelty here in saying I choose Sam but it’s quite possible I shouldn’t.
Sheets rustle. I don’t want to miss her waking, so I quickly pour a mug of steaming coffee, then shuffle over to sit next to her. I like that I know how she takes her coffee after we chatted about it at the diner one day, but there’s still so much else to learn.
At the same time, she knows me. And I know her, at her heart.
She is kind, loving, and quietly fierce.
She is brave as hell and ambitious. She loves good food, a great romance, and libraries.
She likes simple things. Bread and butter, as I found out last night.
And books. I heard May say Sam has finally got a library card which she’s using “with glee,” as May put it.
Making her happy sounds so easy, and ironically, I’d do just about anything to that end. I should do something for her…
She can be so tender, it makes my heart squeeze when I see her talking with one of the girls.
“Morning.” My voice is rough from disuse.
Her eyes blink open and the instant soft smile on her lovely face makes my heart kick.
“Sleep well?”
It’s a casual question on one hand, but she must feel its weight the way I do.
“Yes. Better than I have in a long time.”
Or maybe I’m reading too much into everything today. Either way, I’m happy with the response.
“Good. Me, too. Though I woke in a panic, worrying what the girls were up to being so quiet.”
Her grin splits and she chuckles, then sits up with a sheet wrapped around her and accepts the coffee mug I offer with a quiet thank-you.
“That must’ve been scary.” She takes a sip and hums.
My stomach tightens. She’s too beautiful with her hair messy from sleep and her face bare. Sitting there wrapped in sheets like a gift, sipping coffee like it’s nectar of the gods and not the most basic drink…
I clear my throat. “For a second, it was.”
She looks up from her mug. “Only a second?”
“Once I realized I was here with you, it was far from scary.”
She bites her lip to hide a smile, but there’s nothing for it.
Right as I’m about to dive headlong into the pull of her and banish every concern pawing at me, my phone blares a ring signaling my dad’s calling, which actually means my girls are calling. I exhale and hold up the phone. “This’ll be Poppy, if I had to guess.”
She’s not bothered. If anything, she seems charmed.
“Daddy! Gram made us waffles! And we had whipped cream and sprinkles and special strawberry syrup!”
I hold the phone between us and Sam grins ear to ear while I feel a familiar crushing delight in this child. “I don’t even get a hello? A good morning?”
An aggrieved sigh comes through the line, then, “Good morning, Daddy.”
“Morning, Pops. Were the waffles delicious?”
“Best I ever had. Okayloveyoubye!” It’s all one smash of words, and then sure enough, the call ends.
“And this is my life.” I glance at the phone again, then toss it across the bed.
“I like your life.” Her voice is soft and her expression earnest.
Something flutters in my chest, then bursts to life, full color and light filling me up. Yet again, I’m not sure she has any idea how perfect her words are.
Yet again, I’m not sure I can have them for my own. Not really.
I’ll have to stop taking things from her, even words, if I’m going to let that nasty voice of reason take over.
I reach up and smooth her hair behind her ear again, then let my fingers slide down her neck and over her shoulder, tracing down the line of her arm. “Do you?”
“It’s a beautiful life. This town, your family, your girls…” She shakes her head, glancing away to hide something.
I don’t let her, guiding her chin back toward me. Tears shimmer in her eyes, and I have the impulse to kiss them away. I have the desire to drop to my knees at the edge of the bed and worship her with my mouth. I have the gut-level need to tell her how I feel.
But for now, I keep it all packed away and weasel my way into more time with this woman. “How about we spend the day together? We’ll go pick up the girls and have a picnic lunch. You can finally meet the horses, and—”
“Yes.”
We share a laugh at her enthusiasm.
“I’d love to spend the day with you.”
And I love you. But I don’t say that.
Not that I think she’ll run screaming from the room, but it feels like too much. And… what if she did?
We’re barreling toward something huge and the last twelve hours have been momentous. I want her to know how I feel, and I’m borderline desperate to know how she feels. But I know what she’s coming from, and I won’t push.
I’m also not sure it’s right for me to say those words when I’m not sure I can do right by her.
I’ve barely held up my end of the responsibilities that come from being a son, a brother, a father, and a part of this town.
Do I actually have any more love to give?
Can I actually be a partner to this smart, inspiring woman?
Yes, it’s there in my gut. If I don’t push and don’t force the issue by telling her how I feel, then she won’t be forced to make a choice. Sure, she could end up choosing me and no small part of me wants to believe she would.
But there’s historical evidence to show I might not get chosen. It might not be right for her to tether herself to me so soon after finally agreeing to try dating. Why would I rush this?
So for now, I just tell her I’m glad, and I rejoice in the day ahead I’ll spend with all three of my girls.