CHAPTER 14
RHODES
The house smells amazing and it does ease my anxiety a little bit. But I’m still nervous. My woman is going to be here any minute and all I can think about is that I hope she likes my house.
I can see her here so clearly. Taking up space curled up on the couch with a blanket. Dancing in the kitchen. Sitting on the porch swing with a cup of coffee.
Seeing myself with her in those moments easily makes my heart ache in the best of ways. I want it. I want it all with her.
Tonight is going to bring me one step closer to making those glimpses of the future into the reality I get to experience. I already know she will be the biggest blessing in my life.
A small part of me wonders if I’m being fair. Being with me means being here, in Sweetwater Valley. Am I asking too much of her?
Whenever she’s mentioned her sister, I can see how much love exists between them.
She hasn’t been shy about her past, her mother’s abandonment, and the responsibility she took on to basically raise her sister.
It pisses me off because she was a child herself and the expectations put on her were unfair. They still are.
But I know it made my woman into something close to steel. The fact that she’s still soft, still capable of so much love when she’s needed to be strong for so long without anyone really having her back, makes me want to spoil her.
Helen should be wrapped in the coziest blankets in front of a fire and never feel the untold weight of expectations far beyond her years.
While she tried to excuse her father’s choices, including in terms of how he treats his daughters differently, I find myself unable to respect the man any longer.
I stumble over my feet a little when the sound of my doorbell fills the house. My heart is racing and my palms are sweating. I’m pretty sure I’ve never been more excited in my life.
Every step toward the door feels like a mile. Then I’m ripping open the door and staring down at the woman who has captured me so completely. She didn’t even have to try. It was just inevitable.
Opening the door and seeing her feels like a revelation. My arm shoots out and hooks around her waist as I haul her against my chest. The way she melts into me as her arms twine around my neck has me taking a deep breath.
Honey and anise.
Helen.
Home.
Mine.
“I missed you,” the words rumble out of me, and she props her chin on my chest as she looks into my eyes.
The light in her brown eyes makes them look like they’re glowing. She’s so damn beautiful that it hurts sometimes.
“I missed you,” she whispers the words back to me, the truth easy to see in her gaze.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I rasp the words.
She sighs and rests her head against my chest for a moment before she perks back up and tries to peer over my shoulder. “It smells really good in here,” she says cheekily. “There’s nothing burning. So far, so good.”
I chuckle and dip enough for our mouths to brush. Honestly, my intentions were to keep it simple and chaste. But I should have known better.
The kiss turns heated within a heartbeat. When our tongues come into play, they twine together, dueling and darting, sliding and slipping. I love kissing this woman and I never want to stop.
But I also need to breathe.
When I pull back from her, we’re both panting. I press my forehead against hers and simply live in the moment. Just for a moment.
“I’ll have you know,” there’s a posh tease in my voice, “I’m a good cook, and I plan to get you addicted to the meals I make. Then you’ll never want to leave.”
Her head tips back and her laughter wraps around me. When she settles back down, her brown eyes are sparkling with joy, and it makes my heart feel so damn light and a little wobbly.
“So, you trying to get to my heart through food?” She shrugs, her smile turning coy. “It’s not a bad approach.”
When I kiss her this time, it is slow and sweet. I savor her taste and her lips tip up into a smile which feels like fireflies buzzing amongst my soul.
“Come on in,” I pull her fully into my house and watch her face as she looks around the room. She doesn’t look disgusted or wary.
It feels like a victory already, even though I would be surprised if she were to have such a reaction, regardless of what my house looks like. She’s too sweet for that and her manners are far too good.
There are people who would take advantage of her and her kindness. But not me. I’ll make sure she’s protected from people like that, people who are takers and only care about what she can add to their life.
Her light deserves to be protected.
“We have a few minutes before I can plate everything up,” I murmur, my hand finding the small of her back like it’s the most natural thing. Because it is. I want to find little reasons to touch her.
It feels foreign and the easiest thing in the world. In the past, I tended to not be touchy. Maybe because G-Bets wasn’t affectionate in an overt way. She wasn’t cold, but touch wasn’t how she expressed her love.
All I want to do is touch Helen.
When I lead her into my living room and watch as she looks around. There are a few photos of the Blue Ridge Mountains by a local photographer. They make me feel connected to home and remind me that my roots here are deep and they matter.
In a way, they remind me to appreciate the life I have. It wasn’t like my grandmother had to take me in, but she did. Knowing I live in the shadow of death leaves a mark. I don’t really understand what it truly means to miss my parents because I never had them.
The thought of losing G-Bets is devastating.
And now Helen.
My house isn’t huge, but there’s enough room for us to start our lives together. While giving her a tour, her face softens with every room she peeks into. It settles something in my chest, and it feels like this is where I belong, where I was always supposed to be.
In this moment. With her.
Her lips part and she lets out a small gasp when we step through the dining room and into the kitchen. It took me some time, but I had it upgraded about a year ago now. I wanted to do it myself, but I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t have the time.
The poured concrete countertops came out even better than I was hoping for. There are copper accents throughout the space, and the lower cabinets are navy. The lines are clean and masculine, but there is light, air, and room for a woman’s touch.
I’m hoping for Helen’s touch in this space.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs and looks up at me, a smile on her face is fragile and brave.
“I designed it with the thought of what it could be for the right person, how this space could become the heart of the home.”
“It could use some plants,” she whispers and bites down on her lip and my knees go weak. “Maybe a little color here and there.”
“That’s what the open shelving is for.”
“I like the metal accents.” She looks up at me from underneath her lashes and my heart starts to pound in my chest.
“What would you change?” I’m not sure why I ask the question, but it manages to slip out. It’s not a test, it’s curiosity.
Helen looks around, really looks and starts to nod slowly. She turns in a slow circle and taps her chin. “Maybe,” she muses and points to a bare wall in the breakfast nook area, “a sign saying something like ‘blessed’ or ‘eat’ right there.”
I choke on fucking air as I stare at her, unsure if I really heard her. Did she really just say that?
I think I sputter out a word or two, maybe, but they’re hardly understandable. Then she turns toward me and the mirth in her eyes has me closing the distance between us and tugging her until our bodies are flush.
With narrowed eyes and fake outrage, I ask, “Are you making fun of me?”
Her hands slide up my chest and then wrap around my neck. “No, I would never,” she gasps with wide eyes.
The smile on her face is luminous. My hand glides around her hip to anchor her to my body while the other slides up until my fingers are tangled in her hair.
“But your face was very cute when you couldn’t decide if I was being serious or not,” she teases me.
“Cute?” I challenge her.
She nods and I’m about to take her mouth in another brutal kiss when the timer on the oven beeps and I mutter, “Damn.”
I hate to pull away from her when she’s smiling, but I have to. She leans against the island while I grab the tray out of the oven and set it on the stove. Helen’s eyes light up as she cranes her neck to see exactly what I’m making.
“Would you rather eat in here or in the dining room?”
The look she gives me is pure innocence. “I like it in here, is that okay?”
“Of course,” I assure her, “this is where I eat most of the time. I usually only use the dining room when G-Bets comes over.” She arches an eyebrow in question and I explain, “My grandmother.”
“That’s sweet. Is she traditional? Is that why you use the dining room?” There’s no judgement in her questions, only curiosity.
My grandmother will fall in love with Helen. Just like I have.
I’ve come to accept that I’ve fallen for this woman. I’m embracing it fully.
“She is kind of traditional and can be stern and a little on the stiff side. But she’s also fierce, generous, and kind. She raised me,” I share with her while I focus on plating up tonight’s dinner.
Helen moves around the kitchen, easily finding utensils and glasses. There’s no pressure in her movements, like she’s simply giving me space to share and be, if I want to. And it feels so damn right having her here with me.
“I don’t know where I would be without her,” my voice is soft, reverent in a way my grandmother deserves.
She doesn’t offer platitudes or empty words as I carry the plates over to where glasses of the tea are now waiting. I clear my throat as I set her plate down in front of her and she does a little shimmy as her eyes light up while taking in our dinner.
“Parmesan-crusted pork chops, sweet potato stacks, and asparagus,” I say with a flourish of my hand and a small bow.