Chapter 17 Phoebe
SEVENTEEN
Phoebe
Did the earth actually open up and swallow us?
I wasn’t sure.
All I know is that my world had been thoroughly rocked in the very best way possible.
Good enough that I didn’t mind the weight of him or the warm comfort of him wrapped around me. I toyed with our linked fingers as he kissed my shoulder.
“I have to move,” he rumbled into my ear.
“I know.”
“I’d stay in here for days if I could.” He nipped my earlobe then slid out of me and off the bed.
I rolled onto my back, my skin sweaty and my body sore in all the right spots. The energy that usually infused me was oddly missing. Instead, an undercurrent of calm flowed over me like water.
Was this contentment?
I could get used to this.
He came back a washcloth in his hand.
I slitted my eyes and watched his face as he gently smoothed the warm cloth over me, taking special care between my legs.
He pressed a kiss on my thigh. “You might have a few bruises.”
“Badges,” I corrected. “Worth it for the trip to orgasm town.”
He snorted and stretched out beside me, propping himself on his elbow. “I can go if you want.”
I turned to him, lightly tugging on his beard. “Do you need to work?”
“Better question is do you need to work?”
I drew spirals around the whorls under his beard along his neck and Adam’s apple, the rasp of his stubble buzzing along my fingertips. “Just my usual stuff. Nothing pressing this week.”
“I have to go into town tomorrow. I want to look up some things at the library that weren’t digitized.”
I danced my fingers along the back of his neck and drew him down to meet my lips. “Then stay.”
His stomach rumbled.
I laughed. “You probably worked up an appetite.”
“I did.”
I crawled over him, dragging my breasts along his chest. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
He groaned, draping his arm over his face.
I laughed and grabbed a pair of sleep pants and T-shirt on my way into the bathroom. I gasped at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a tangled mess and I had beard burn all over my neck, but my eyes were all soft and sappy.
I pointed at myself. “Don’t fall in love with him.”
I wasn’t entirely sure my heart was going to listen. With a sigh, I took care of business and tamed my hair into a pair of braids, and got dressed. When I returned, he was already in the kitchen talking to Mouse.
I quickly pulled the bed together, contemplating if I should change the sheets.
Figuring we’d just mess them up again, I tucked the lone condom in the drawer for safe keeping. I’d definitely have to pick up a box when I went into town.
I was on birth control, but I wasn’t a stupid woman. While I was enamored as hell with him, I really didn’t know Dutch all that well. Fun had its limits.
The scent of bacon hit me when I reached the end of the hall. Dutch was at the stove, a towel over his shoulder and my cast iron pan full of potatoes, onions, and the mouthwatering scent of garlic.
Leaving him to it, I put some music on and added some food to Mouse’s bowl along with fresh water.
We had an easy meal of fried eggs, bacon, and perfect home fries as Dutch practically interviewed me about the ins and outs of Haven.
I happily gave him some fun details about the town.
He seemed to be specifically interested in our summers. He was an intense listener which was new for me. Most men—especially my brothers—tended to zone out. He asked smart questions and filled my notebook with his odd shorthand.
It was sexy as hell to see him in work mode.
His sharp silvery eyes locked on mine as he seemed to watch me for more subtle details about Haven.
I cleaned up since he cooked, glancing over at him hunched over the notebook. When I was done, I demanded his attention by tossing my T-shirt at him.
He looked up, his eyes unfocused.
I grabbed a marker out of my basket and waved it at him.
“Want to play connect the freckles?”
He shut the notebook and chased me down the hall.
The last condom definitely got used.
When morning came, I was alone. He left a note on the pillow next to me.
If you’re awake, I’ll pick you up at ten.
Need to shower and get dressed.
A
I slipped the note into my drawer. Silly, but I wanted a little proof that whatever it was we were doing was real. That he wouldn’t just disappear one day. He didn’t come out and say he was only here for the book, but it was definitely implied.
It was already after nine so I hopped out of bed and took a quick shower and got dressed.
The house was quiet, telling me Mouse probably followed him over to his cottage. He’d crept in late in the night and slept at the bottom of the bed to be by both of us.
I found a thermos of coffee waiting for me on the kitchen island, my French press cleaned and in the drainer.
It was interesting to see a man so neat. He seemed very lonely and contained.
The notebook was gone and I made a mental note to add a few to my next stationary order. Reminded of his journal, I grabbed my phone and found a few grid notebooks with slightly fancier paper and a fountain pen from my favorite shop.
I was adding chalk pens and sticks as I closed the front door behind me.
The day was sunny and the drip of snow melting off my copper awning made me think of spring. A seasoned Havenite, I had a few layers on. It was brisk, but the sun would heat the day up soon enough. Dutch’s truck rumbled down the winding lane, Mouse’s head already out the window.
He was already sunk when it came to the dog.
Our dog.
My palm itched at the thought. Something forward thinking already was probably dangerous, but with all that joy in his face I couldn’t let it darken this day.
I met them at the bottom of my driveway and ruffled Mouse’s ears. “Hey, bud. Shove over.” I hopped in and grinned at Dutch. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.”
I shook the thermos at him. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Your stash is definitely better than mine.”
I laughed. “Jenna orders it from her distributer. Only way I can get this stuff from Salem.”
“Well, count me in on the order.”
“Noted.”
“So, will this librarian be helpful for researching about the kids?”
“Actually, yes. Edie Green is her name. She’s our historian and would probably know more than I do. And she’ll probably eat you up with a spoon.”
“Thanks. I think.”
I reached over and squeezed his thigh. “Tall, handsome—an author. Might as well put a little catnip in your beard.”
“Stop.”
I laughed. “She’ll definitely like the beard and ’70s hair you have going on. It’s her favorite era.”
He slumped down in his seat. “I probably should get all this cut off.”
“Don’t have to do it on my account.”
He arched a brow at me. “Is that so?”
“I always wanted to have my way with a musician or a poet. Author is definitely in the right wheelhouse.”
He laughed. “I’m definitely going to the barber.”
“Too late, Dutch. I already had my way with you.”
A smile tilted at the corners of his lips as he drove, and I considered it a win.
I gave him directions. The library, town hall, and courthouse were all situated in a cul-de-sac with a large garden in the center with bronze statues of the kids who’d gone missing. Now they were playing in perpetuity.
Dutch hopped out of the truck and instead of going to the library, he and Mouse crossed to the park. A large plaque gave the names of the five children along with a newer addition to the display where other missing children had been added over the years.
“Twenty-seven,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t realize there were so many.” I leaned against him as we both read the limited information we had about the original five.
Dutch smoothed his hand over the embossed letters. I covered his hand and felt the sadness under the fascination. He was locked down for the most part and the vibes I sometimes picked up on people rarely happened around him.
“Why do you write horror?” He glanced over at me. He was about to answer when I curled my fingers around the widest part of his hand. “The real reason.”
“Fear brings out the truest emotions. And the fine line between monsters and people make for a story I can’t resist telling.”
If that was so, why was he having such a hard time writing?
I wasn’t sure if I had the right to ask him quite yet.
We were in such a tenuous space between stranger and lover.
I knew his body so well already, but I really didn’t know the man.
And I wasn’t sure if the one he was showing me was the real Dutch or the one dealing with whatever anger and grief he’d packed and come to Haven with.
“Ready to meet Edie?”
“I’m not really sure.”
“Probably the correct answer.” I hooked my arm around his. “C’mon Mouse. Let’s introduce you to Miss Edie. She’s going to love you. And if you behave like a gentleman, I bet she’ll have treats for you.”
“Do you really think he understands you?”
I shrugged. “Fun to wonder.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met another woman like you, Phoebe.”
“Good.” I darted ahead and turned around, walking backward. “How boring would it be if everyone was the same?”
“Fair point.” He took the stairs two at a time, catching up with me.
Mouse sniffed the entire flower bed that was still full of ice and winter detritus.
Dutch whistled and Mouse hurried after us and through the doors.
The Haven Public Library looked like a simple brick building on the outside, but inside was a beautiful bit of architectural trickery.
The ceiling was vaulted with a bevel of skylights that lit the entire space in natural light instead of eye searing fluorescent bulbs.
In the center was a lovely stained glass panel in white, purple, and green geometric shapes.
Directly under it was the help desk where Edie was organizing a stack of return books, movies, and periodicals.
“That dog best be no trouble, Phoebe Jean.”
Dutch arched a brow. “Jean?”
“Be quiet,” I said out of the corner of my mouth. “Hi Edie. Mouse is a perfect gentleman and would never hurt anything in here.”
“It’ll come out of your pocket if he does.”