Chapter 4 River
River
I should not be getting as worked up as I am. Yet, one little offer has had me wishing time would hurry along.
“Yeah, River, just us.”
Her words keep echoing in my mind, replaying like a record. She didn’t include Melanie, despite their growing relationship. If she had a man in her life, then she wouldn’t be seeking out any time to be spent alone with me.
Thirty minutes. I have thirty more minutes before I can pack up and take Daliah out for a meal that might finally satisfy my hunger. She wants food, but I want more than that.
This morning, I’d been ready to fight whoever had made my luck turn so sour.
Yet, it’s my unfortunate fate that has led me to spend the entire morning with her at my side.
Every inhale has been dizzy with sugar and flowers.
That soft and sweet voice was clear enough that I could distract myself with every one of her conversations.
And now, we’re going to spend another hour together. All because she was the first to ask to do this.
Even though I keep reminding myself that she’s younger, that she could easily snag whatever man she wanted to instead of a guy who hoards himself up in his cabin between appearances, I couldn’t help but give in.
My restraint is feeling more and more worn at the edges. I don’t think I have the strength to keep telling myself no. Not anymore.
So when it’s finally time to pack up, I’m on my feet in seconds. I don’t worry about the few jars I have left over; I’m more in a rush to shove everything in a crate so I can get the hell out of here. Unfortunately, Daliah isn’t feeling as desperate as I am.
When Melanie comes over to share her excitement about her sales, she spends the time listening to her like she cares. It’s worth celebrating, too, but the woman still doesn’t think to invite her to join us. Instead, she congratulates her with the same soft curve she gives everyone.
I guess she saves her big, beaming smiles just for me. That thought alone is enough to force me to swallow a groan.
Reminding myself that all we’ll be doing is just sharing a lunch, I’m forced to ignore the heat that clutches at me in an ironclad grip. At the demand of taking a meal one step forward as an excuse to finally do what I’ve wanted for a long time. To make her mine.
At my sister’s departure, not even giving me much more than a passing wave, I can’t miss the way Daliah snorts at the expression that must be on my face. Guess that’s what happens when she finally meets someone she’s willing to call a friend. I’ve been replaced.
To my surprise, Daliah’s already folding up her tablecloth, seemingly having packed up her belongings while Melanie talked her ear off. Maybe she is feeling a little desperation, too.
By the time I’m walking alongside her, helping her lug the crates of honey she hadn’t sold under the false pretense of returning the favor for her help this morning, my stomach is rumbling for a list of reasons—skipped breakfast, the physical work of moving around on my feet to keep those sample cups full, but mostly the nervous energy that’s been building since her offer.
She leads me to a tiny white four-door car that I can’t imagine trying to squeeze into. If we considered carpooling, I’d have to fold myself in half just to fit. But I’m thinking about it anyway. I’m thinking about her settling in my passenger seat instead.
That seat’s remained empty for far too long.
Not empty of people—Melanie’s sat there a thousand times, and occasionally a friend or a fellow vendor caught a ride.
But empty of her. Empty of someone who makes me want to reach over and rest my hand on their thigh while I drive.
Empty of golden hair catching the spring air through the open window, of her voice filling the cab, of the simple, devastating intimacy of sharing close quarters.
It’s another fantasy to add to the list—the list that’s grown impossibly long over these weeks of watching her from across the market. But standing here, watching her load her last crate into that tiny car, I don’t just want to tuck this thought away.
I want to make it a reality.
“If you want, you can ride with me.” I jerk my chin toward my truck, parked further down the lot. Her eyes follow the gesture, and I add, “I can drop you off after.”
Without hesitation. Without even pretending to think about it, she’s nodding. Accepting my offer, like she had no reason not to trust me.
God, it feels too easy. Something this good doesn’t normally come my way—not without a catch, not without the universe reminding me why I don’t get to have nice things. Something’s about to ruin this, isn’t it?
“Let’s do it.” She gives me a smile that could power the whole damn market, then takes her stuff from my hands. Her fingers graze mine, and the contact lingers longer than necessary. “I think I’m craving a burger. How about Skyline Sliders?”
And now she’s decided on a greasy burger joint. She’s feeling comfortable enough to indulge, comfortable enough to show me a side of her I’m sure many haven’t seen.
I think I’m in love with this woman.
No. That’s not right. I knew I was in love with her the first moment I laid eyes on her. I knew it in my bones, in that stupid, undeniable way that’s kept me showing up early ever since.
But now? Now she’s really got her fingers around my heart. Now she’s smiling at me like she’s been waiting for this too, like the thirty feet between us all these months has been its own kind of torture for her.
“Skyline Sliders,” I repeat it like I’m testing the words, like I’m making sure this is real. “Yeah. I could do that.”
I could do a lot more than that. I could sit across from her in a cramped booth and watch the way she eats, the way she talks with her hands, the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs.
I could find out everything about her—the things I’ve been starving to know since crossing her path last year.
I could let myself want her, openly, without the nagging feeling of doing something I shouldn’t.
But first, I have to get through a meal without doing something stupid. Like reaching across the table and touching her face. Like telling her I’ve thought about her every night for longer than I should admit. Like giving in to every fantasy that’s kept me awake in the dark.
I reach for another crate, this one heavier with beeswax, and my shoulder brushes her thigh. She doesn’t move away. Neither do I. Glancing up, we share a moment of just looking at each other that makes me want to read this as exactly what it feels like.
Without a doubt, I’m definitely going to do something stupid at this rate.
* * *
The burger joint is busy during its lunch hour. Of course it is. Thanks to the number of people waiting to place their order at the counter, Daliah has no choice but to almost step on my feet to avoid brushing up against anyone else.
When her back brushes up against my chest, I don’t dare breathe. When her hair tickles my nose, I risk the sneeze by filling my lungs with her.
Even in a greasy joint like this, all I can smell are flowers. All I want to do is wrap my arms around her to keep her body in place. Thankfully, I’ve got enough strength to keep my hands to myself, but that comes with the risk of hitting my limit.
Clueless as to what I’m feeling, Daliah takes a look around at all the occupied booths and tables. “Looks like we may have to find somewhere else to eat. Do you mind the detour?”
Turning her head, she looks up at me when my answer doesn’t come immediately. Even worse, I’m left looking at her mouth because of how close she is. Such pouty lips that look very kissable, even in a crowded place like this.
“I can find somewhere quiet.” Forcing the words out, my cock swells when she grins. “Somewhere without any people.”
Whatever it takes, I’ll find a spot where there’s nothing to get in between us. From her sudden wave of happiness, I’m willing to bet that she wants the very same thing.
Wanting to reach the front counter as quickly as possible—not because I’m hungry, but because I need to stop standing this close to her in a crowded space without touching her—I’m grateful when I see the restaurant handling the rush like a champ.
With every step forward and every brush against her, I’m left growing more antsy.
Then the person in front of Daliah shifts back suddenly, avoiding two kids rushing by to refill their drinks, and she stumbles out of instinct—backward, directly into me.
My hands find her sides before I can think. Before I can stop myself. They slide down to her hips, fingers curving around the curve of her, and I take hold of her body, keeping her in place. Keeping her against me. Her warmth soaks through my clothes, seeps into my skin, settles in my bones.
I lean down without meaning to, drawn by the flush creeping up her neck.
The tips of her ears are pink. Delightfully, devastatingly pink.
It’s cute—the kind of cute that makes something possessive curl in my chest, that makes me want to see exactly how far that flush can spread.
Down her throat. Across her collarbones.
Hell, even lower, where the neckline of her dress doesn’t cover.
“You okay?” The words come out rough, barely above a murmur, meant only for her.
I should release her. Should put distance between us before she feels how my body’s responding—the tension in my muscles, the way my breath has gone shallow, the evidence of exactly what holding her like this does to me.
But my fingers won’t uncurl. They’re locked in place, committed to the feel of her, the give of her hips beneath my palms, the way she fits against me as if she belongs there.
She nods, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans back into me. Just slightly. Just enough to make me dizzy.
“I’m good.” Her voice is soft, breathless.
Good. She’s good. I’m anything but. I’m burning up inside while wanting to act like a man shouldn’t in public.
Now I’m torn—wishing the line wouldn’t budge so I could keep her here, keep feeling her against me, keep pretending this is normal and not everything I desperately need. But the line moves, and I’m forced to let go. My hands drop, empty now, already missing the weight of her.
She asks what I want to order, glancing back at me over her shoulder, and I have to drag my brain back to the present. Food. Right. Nothing on this menu could possibly compare to her, but I manage a simple single-patty burger and fries.
When we reach the counter, I beat her to it.
Slide my card to the cashier before she can even pull out her wallet.
Her head whips toward me, mouth opening to protest, and I watch the way her lips form words she doesn’t get to say.
By the time the transaction’s done, she’s pouting— and it takes everything in me not to lean down and kiss that expression right off her face.
“I’ll buy next time.” The words are firm, almost defiant, like she’s daring me to argue. But all I hear is next time. She’s already planning the next time. Already assuming there will be one.
I nod and let her have this small victory. Let her think she’ll pay. What matters is that she wants there to be a next time at all.
We get our paper bag, greasy and warm, and I can’t help myself. My hand finds the middle of her back, and I guide her toward the doors. The contact is lighter than before, but it’s enough. Enough to feel her warmth again. Enough to know she’s not pulling away.
Enough to realize I’m never going to want to stop touching her now that I’ve started.