Chapter 19 #3
“Don’t push yourself.” His voice was low, cut with concern.
She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’ll need a ride, though, since my car is still in the parking lot.”
“I got you,” he said, again without hesitation.
Lilian nodded, her body relaxing as they returned to the normal cadence of their conversation. Work, faire, business. No trauma here.
She took a bite of the sandwich, not expecting to be hungry. But the second the cheese and tomatoes hit her tongue, she craved food. And the comfort it brought. A moan escaped her as she took another bite, and then another. “Who taught you how to make sandwiches? They shouldn’t taste this good.”
“It’s all about the bread,” Hawk said, nonplussed. But he was staring at her as she briefly shifted into a werewolf. “There’s a sandwich shop down the street where I buy their day-old loaves cheap.”
“Oh, a sandwich shop.” She drew out the word in a single syllable of longing. “I miss places like sandwich shops, donut shops... and restaurants.”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean miss?”
“Please, you’ve seen Tenison. There isn’t anything like that there. The only thing we have is the gas station and a diner that's about forty years old.”
“Why do you stay there, then?” he asked.
She leaned back in her chair, considering how much to tell him. He already knew about her mom, about the bookstore. Before she knew it, he was peeling back her life, revealing the most vulnerable parts. The question now was whether she was ready to let him see it all.
“You know about my mom. Right now, they need my help. With her treatment and with the store. It makes sense that I be there.”
His brows narrowed. “Yeah, but you’re not going to be there forever. Right?”
It felt like he was asking something more. Something she wasn’t quite ready to talk about, not yet. She did what any other sane person would do, change the subject.
“Do you need to go back to work?”
He was staring at her. Those deep chocolate eyes searching for… something. She saw the muscles of his throat tighten. “I’ll stay with you.”
She didn’t know relief could feel so overwhelming. But her damn Midwestern politeness reared its ugly head again. “No. I don’t want to put you out. You’re needed at the faire.”
“You need me.” It wasn’t a question.
And she didn’t argue the sentiment because she did need him.
“What will you tell your parents?”
He paused at that, as if he hadn’t considered it. “They’ll understand.”
“Really?”
“Well, my mom will. My dad…”
Your dad what? Lilian waited for him to finish the sentence, but he trailed off, leaving her imagination to fill in the blanks. She chewed on her sandwich, contemplating what she knew.
Marcus Carlisle was a jerk. She’d made the same judgment about Hawk at first as well, but that turned out to be incorrect. But something about the way Hawk talked about his dad, or… didn’t talk about him made her suspect that the man was everything she thought.
“I don’t think your dad likes me very much,” she said.
“What makes you think that?”
“He practically told me so.”
“When?”
“The first week of the faire.” She took another bite, trying to remember the exact words. “Maybe said is the wrong word. It was his attitude toward the shop.”
Hawk gave a small nod. “My dad believes the faire should feel and look a certain way. Before he ran this place, he was a history professor here at K-State. Before that, he was getting his PhD in England. That’s where he met my mom.”
“Whoa.” She never would have guessed. The framing of that story sounded so utterly romantic. A couple obsessed with history, falling in love in the UK, and starting their own faire together.
“He loves history and believes the faire should be as authentic as possible. If he had his way, the faire would be mostly historical reenactments, lectures, and death by ye olde English monologues.”
Lilian smothered a giggle. “That sounds like the complete opposite of what makes the Ren Faire fun.”
“Exactly. Luckily, my mom understands that. She loves the more… fantastical elements. She balances him out.”
Lilian bit back a smile at the way he said the word fantastical, like it was a childish thing that had no place. But even with the disparaging of fantasy, it was clear he adored his mother.
“I wouldn’t take it personally. My father disapproves of some of our more recent selections in vendors and acts.”
“What do you think?”
He shook his head. “You know what I think about the faire.”
“Yeah, but do you hate the direction your mom recommends?”
“No,” he said honestly, “I think it's smart. I might not be a fan of that stuff, but I know it’s where the money is. Financially it's a sound decision to cater to fans of fantasy as well as history.”
Without even realizing it, she relaxed. The chaos and horror of the earlier events forgotten.
She touched his arm and twined their fingers together. The heat of his skin against hers felt good. Comforting. Everyone had been so careful with her before, respecting her space, not touching her. But this was exactly what she needed.
Him.
“What do you want to do tonight?” he asked carefully.
She knew he was giving her the lead. Letting her set the pace. “Right now? I just want to spend time with you.”
They both settled on his couch, their knees leaning against each other, a pillow in her lap and his arms spread along the top.
The Lions’ Den wasn’t on, but the Kansas football game was.
Even though she really didn’t care much about the sport, she let the channel play.
It was her own little way of thanking Hawk for staying with her.
She rested her head against his shoulder and let her attention fall back to the television.
It was enough for her. Snuggling against the warmth he radiated.
Hearing his muttered curses when a play went bad.
She didn’t enjoy football, but there was something comforting about watching it with Hawk, who muttered under his breath and squeezed her knee when a play went right.
Instinctively, she looped her arm through his and pulled them closer. “Hawk?”
“Hmmm?” His eyes cut away from the television, giving her his full attention.
“I’m glad you were there.”
His face shuddered for a second as an emotion flashed too fast for her to place. He buried it quickly behind a mask. “Me, too.”