28. Reed
reed
Anxiety coils through me like a rattlesnake as I climb the steps to Rose’s front porch.
I’ve been tied up in knots since last night and barely slept, tossing and turning like it was my penance.
Only the need to respect her wishes kept me from driving back over and begging forgiveness.
Not seeing her today was a misery, but now, I’m ready to properly apologize and tell her how sorry I am in person.
I’m ready to tell her more. I won’t wait any longer.
I’ve got a tote bag with a pie from Blackbird’s in one hand and a to-go bag from Luz Solar in the other. I ring her bell with my elbow, but she answers before it’s finished chiming.
My eyes and brain have Rose memorized, but my heart spasms in my chest like the sight of her is brand-new every time.
She’s wearing a white tank top and shorts, her dark hair tied up on her head.
Her eyes shine, her cheeks pink from the exertion of whatever she’s got going on in there.
She’s utterly gorgeous. Including the smears of pale blue paint on her forearms and along her jaw.
It’s a struggle not to fall to my knees right here on her porch and beg her to give me a chance.
She grins at me, the discomfort I put between us last night seemingly forgotten like morning mist. Too soon, as far as I’m concerned.
If she gave me the cold shoulder, I’d deserve it.
I’d be miserable, but I wouldn’t fault her.
But it doesn’t look like she’s going that route.
For a moment, she sways toward me as if she’s coming in for a hug, but her gaze lands on the bags I’m holding.
“Come on in.” She opens the door wider, moving aside to let me pass. “It’s kind of a mess in here.”
I trail behind her through the living room, stumbling over my feet at the change.
The decor is gone—not a single cowboy, donkey, or cowhide rug in sight.
The furniture’s moved away from the walls, plastic drop cloths laid out around the perimeter.
Half the side wall is now a soft blue, paint cans and rollers between the TV console and the wall.
“You’ve been busy,” I say, setting my bags on the table. The warm scent of cumin and grilled meat drifts up from the takeout bag, begging me to dig in. But I’ve got something more important to do first. “I like the color.”
“Yeah?” Her expression brightens even more, as if maybe she wasn’t sure. I hate that she’s been made to doubt her own opinions so much. Even by me.
“It fits you.” I step closer to her. “But are you sure this is what you want? I don’t want to push you into this.”
“Reed, you’re the only one who doesn’t push me.”
That emphasis has my chest constricting, my heart swelling with hope.
“I’m sorry for what I said last night. I made you feel like you and your choices aren’t enough, and that couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re everything, firefly.”
She dips her teeth against her lower lip. “You reminded me too much of how my parents talk to me, and I…didn’t like that similarity. But I could have told you then instead of walking away.”
“None of this is on you. You were right. I let my feelings about the shop get in the way of seeing how much you enjoy it. I shouldn’t have made you feel like less for that. I’m sorry, Rose.”
“I forgive you. Can we hug now?”
“Yes, please.”
She tucks herself against my chest, and I wrap my arms tightly around her.
The anxiety swirling through me settles as I breathe her in like she’s the only oxygen I need.
I run my hands over her back and shoulders, grounding myself.
She’s really here. I haven’t screwed everything up beyond repair.
I skim my cheek over the top of her head, pressing a kiss to her crown.
Her hands splay on my back, locking me against her.
I can’t get close enough to her. I want to tuck her inside my shirt and keep her with me always.
A normal and logical thing to want.
After long minutes stretch by, she finally releases me, tentatively drawing back. Pretty sure I could go on hugging her all night.
“Should we—”
“Rose.” I hate to interrupt her after saying the wrong things last night, but I need to get this out.
It will drive me crazy if I don’t. I’ve still got one hand on her hip, and bring the other up to cup her cheek, tracing the blue smudge on her jaw with my thumb.
“I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend. I never did.”
Her gaze darts between my eyes, and I can sense her shrinking from me even though she doesn’t move to slip away. “Oh.”
But I won’t have any more misunderstandings or missed opportunities between us. It’s time to lay it all out.
I lean down, holding her gaze as I touch my nose to hers. “I never wanted it to be fake.”
She pauses, and I hold my breath, waiting. Hoping like never before.
“Oh.” Her hands come back to my sides, fisting my shirt. “You don’t want to pretend anymore?”
I should have asked her out a long time ago.
Should have told her instead of chickening out with a “fake” relationship.
I never should have let it get to the point where we’re kissing and holding each other, being so close when she doesn’t have a clue how I really feel about her.
She deserves to never have to wonder. She should always know I’m one hundred percent gone for her.
I shake my head, slowly dragging the tip of my nose across hers. “No.”
“Neither do I.”
She leans up to press her mouth to mine.
A groan gusts out of me, relief, longing, and sheer desperation mixing together.
She’s all sweet softness, her lips brushing over mine in gentle kisses designed to unravel me piece by piece.
My fingers sift into her hair, my other hand flexing on her hip, drawing her closer until we’re flush against each other.
She slants her mouth over mine, opening up to me like a gift.
It’s been weeks since I kissed her, and I’m ready to make up for lost time.
I trace one hand down the slender column of her neck, my fingers lightly exploring.
The other slides up her back, memorizing the shape of her body.
She’s an undiscovered country to traverse, every touch revealing something new to wonder over.
Her satiny smooth skin. The softness of her hair I’m tempted to pull down from its confines and wrap around my fist. How the sound of her quick little breaths is like high-octane fuel in my veins. I want to learn every sound I can get her to make and then do it all over again.
We find a slow rhythm that’s an intoxicating taste of things to come. This isn’t just a kiss—it’s a beginning. I feel it in the steady beat of my heart against my ribcage. The flutter of her pulse beneath my fingers. The way her hands slide over my back like she’s not in control of them anymore.
Yeah. We should have done this for real a long time ago.
She finally pulls back enough to draw in a full breath. She doesn’t open her eyes right away, like she’s basking in the afterglow of the kiss and needs a minute. My heart aches for this woman even when she’s right here in my arms.
I run my thumb over her jaw, the blue paint pilling beneath my touch as I brush it away. “You’ve got some paint right here.”
“Mmm?” She opens her eyes, blinking heavily. My smile is probably smug, but I’m not sure she even sees it, she looks so dazed. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never painted walls before.”
“I have. Let’s get you fed, and then we’ll tackle the walls.”
She makes a sound like a frustrated bear cub. “Fine. But we’re doing more of that later.”
She won’t have to drag me kicking and screaming. “Whatever you want, firefly.”
We share the meal sitting close together at the table before diving in on the paint job.
I assess the materials she’s gathered, but she’s collected a good assortment of paintbrushes, spare rollers, and latex gloves to protect her hands.
“For never doing interior painting before, you got everything you need.”
“I watched a lot of videos before I bought all this stuff.”
“When was that?”
“January. It was my New Year’s resolution.” She purses her lips, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Of last year.”
I hate that she felt she couldn’t take control of her own surroundings for so long. The urge to let her go paint-crazy in Perk Me Up is a powerful one. “You’re doing what you want now, and that’s what counts.”
I grab a step stool and cut in along the ceiling while she uses the roller on the walls.
She gains more confidence with every pass, covering space more efficiently every time she reloads the roller.
We make good time, transforming the walls from pure white to a pale blue that brings the room to life.
My cabin proves I don’t know much about interior decorating, but I’ve helped my family paint their houses enough to see the difference a new color can make.
The sun sets, deepening the tone of the walls. The room feels calm and cozy, like a gentle breeze could blow through here any minute. It’s perfect for her.
“Do you have more paint plans after you’re done with this room?” I ask.
She runs the back of her hand across her chin, transferring a fresh smudge of paint from her latex glove. “I found a rich plum for the powder room down here and a gothic floral wallpaper I want to use for the trim.”
“A gothic bathroom, huh?”
Her dimple pops out as she grins up at me. If we hadn’t just painted all the walls in here, I’d have her pushed up against one of them already, showing her how much I adore that tempting divot.
“I also found a warm blush shade for my bedroom. It will be cozy and comforting and a little sexy.”
I’m on board for the repainted bedroom.
“And for the bathroom down the hall…” She frowns at the spot on the wall she’s running the roller over. “Except, that’s silly, right? It’s my house. Maybe it’s time I switch bedrooms, too.”
I’m stupidly proud of her.
When the walls are finished and we’ve walked around the room for a spot-check, we reward ourselves with pie. She brushes wisps of hair out of her face as she peeks into the tote bag I brought.
“What’s this?” She pulls out something wrapped in green crepe paper, then tries to hand it to me. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snooped.”
“It’s fine.” I wave her on. “It’s for you.”
Paper crinkles as she unwraps the handmade blue mug carved with bold, colorful flowers.
“You mentioned regretting not buying it.” I run a hand over the back of my neck, awkward as hell.
I just told her I want to be with her—why am I being so weird about giving her something she likes?
I want to give her all the things she likes, but pottery’s where I get strange, apparently.
“When I saw it in the window at The Painted Daisy, I couldn’t resist.”
She clutches it to her chest, gazing at me as if I made it for her myself. “I love it. Thank you.”
I slice up the pie, and we each take a piece to the living room where we collapse on the couch. It’s newly free of the uncomfortable throw blanket, and we sit next to each other in the middle, holding our plates in our laps.
She moans over a forkful of pie, her eyes closed, her pink tongue darting out to find the last traces of filling. When she opens her eyes again, she darts a glance my way. I aim my best scowl at her.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Maybe.” She leans against me, tilting her face up for a kiss.
“You’re naughty,” I say low, hovering my mouth over hers.
She clears the last of the distance, pressing a quick peck on my lips. “Maybe.”
Don’t ever change, firefly.
She sinks back against the cushion, such as it is. “It looks so good in here now. Like it’s becoming a real home. I wish I’d done this sooner.”
“I heard this Hindi proverb once. That whenever you wake up, it’s always morning.” I gaze down at her. “Whenever you’re ready to make a change, that’s the right time.”
She beams. “I love that.”
The cat jumps onto the couch, and Rose freezes, plate and fork paused in the air. “Hi, Stormy,” she says gently.
He blinks at each of us, then steps closer to smell the pie on Rose’s plate. His nose comes away with a tiny red spot of strawberry-rhubarb filling on it. He swipes it with his tongue but doesn’t seem interested in going back for more.
We watch the cat like two kidnapping victims forced to endure an interpretive dance put on by their captor.
He rests a tentative paw on her bare leg, testing the waters.
When she doesn’t do anything, he adds another, finally standing awkwardly on her legs.
Rose wears a look of pure concentration, like someone going through a laser beam tripwire maze in a spy movie. The wrong move could spell disaster.
The cat lies down, resting his head on his paws. He stares straight ahead for a minute as if he’s trying to decide if he actually enjoys this. Finally, he closes his eyes.
Rose looks over at me, grinning as if her heart’s gone supernova and she can’t contain it. “Best day ever.”
I have to agree.