Chapter 28
Julia
“Idon’t need that much time,” I tease, sensing his disappointment. “We could have breakfast tomorrow, maybe? There’s a waffle place I’ve been craving.”
“Done. I’ll pick you up at nine.”
I think he means nine o’clock in the morning. You know, breakfast time. But later that night, while I’m doing the dinner dishes, there’s a knock at my door.
Exhausted after a full shift at the bookstore and an evening of chores, I shuffle to answer it.
And who do I spy through the peephole? A chipper-looking Ian in a tweed jacket and plaid scarf.
He has a single red rose, but he’s not just dropping it off.
Finally, he’s waiting on the porch for me to open the door.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I just turn the handle and stick my head out. “You’re a little early for our date, aren’t you?”
“Nope. It’s nine o’clock on the dot. You just didn’t specify which one.” His grin is so mischievous, I can’t help laughing with him. When I open the door all the way, he hands me the rose.
“It’s supposed to be a breakfast date,” I remind him as I smell the flower, not even bothering to pretend it’s not a damn date.
The sweet, spicy scent washes over me. It’s such a small gesture, a cliché for goodness’ sake, and it still feels romantic.
A little punctuation mark that says he thought of me, that he went out of his way to make this special.
“I’m taking you out for waffles at the end so it still counts.”
“I don’t know,” I hedge. My heart wants to spend time with him, but my body is tapped out after working all afternoon.
Dog-Eared Pages is running Black Friday deals all week, and the store has been overrun with customers.
I don’t think I sat down even once. “I’m really tired, Ian. And my feet hurt.”
“I’ll give you a foot rub, and then you can sleep. I’ll even read you a bedtime story.” He spreads his hands, beseeching. “Have you ever gotten better sleep than our nights together? Even pretzeled up on Conall’s couch, it was the best rest I’ve had in my life. Even though it gave me a dead arm.”
“Even with a kink in my neck,” I agree. “Okay. Why not.”
“Pack your PJs, pretty girl. I’ll be in the car.
” He practically skips off the porch, and I have to chuckle at his absolute audacity, picking me up twelve hours early so it’s a sleepover date and not just a breakfast date.
He knew exactly what he was doing when he set this up.
And I know exactly what I’m doing, agreeing to it.
I’m not going to have sex with him tonight. Really. Nothing like that can happen again until after I talk with Richard and we’re officially separated.
But just in case I’m tempted, I pack granny PJs with a high neck and granny panties with a high waist. I take off my makeup instead of putting more on.
And my outfit for tomorrow involves one of those SaveCo tunics, because there are only so many more days of autumn ahead and I don’t care if I look like a pumpkin.
I lock up on my way out, and a thrill runs through me. Why does this feel like I’m a teenager sneaking out of the house? Maybe it’s the chilly evening air, but suddenly, I’m not tired at all.
Ian hops out to open the car door for me, and I let him take my overnight bag. He stows it in the back before helping me into the passenger seat. “You want to go out tonight or stay in?”
“In,” I decide. “I want that foot rub.”
He chuckles as he backs his Jeep out of the driveway. We chat in the car about the cold snap and about the music on the radio, but the whole time I’m conscious of his hand resting on my leg in that safe space above my knee, right below the line where it feels truly intimate.
It’s weird how he knows exactly what I need right now, this comfort and affection with safe boundaries still in place.
But I can’t help feeling like I want a little bit less safety around Ian.
Not a lot less, but a little. The butterflies in my stomach are getting hungry, I guess.
And why should I be a martyr for my marriage when my soon-to-be ex spends more nights with his mistress than he does at home?
“Hey,” I say when we pull up to his house. “Before we get out…”
He tilts his head, waiting for me to continue.
I take a deep breath. “I’d like to kiss you tonight.” His ears perk up, and his tail starts to wag. I hold up my hand before he gets too hopeful. “But I don’t think I’m up for any more than that. If you were expecting to get naked—”
He cuts me off. “Nope. No expectations. None. I mean, I have hopes.”
I squirm in my seat, my pussy remembering what went down the last time I was here. She definitely has hopes, ones I’ll have to disappoint. Just to torture myself, I ask, “Like what?”
“I hope you’ll sleep in my bed with me,” he says earnestly. “That’s the main one. But you can put pillows between us if you want to make sure I don’t grab your butt in the night or something.”
I giggle. “Or to make sure I don’t grab yours.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t, either,” I confess. “I just need to set things straight with Richard before we…”
He nods, filling in the blank in his head. “Kissing is on the table, you say?”
“And foot rubs,” I remind him. “And bedtime stories.”
“You got it. How about…carrying you over the threshold?”
“What?!” I squeak, but he’s already out of the Jeep, circling around to open my door. He grabs my overnight bag and loops the strap over his arm before scooping me out of my seat. I cling to his neck for dear life.
“This okay?” he murmurs as he kicks the car door shut and starts toward the cabin. It’s actually quite a distance from the driveway to the porch, where a few brave moths are gathered around the light. I feel as fluttery and dizzy as their circles.
“I mean, I’m okay. You’re sure I’m not too heavy? You can put me down until we get there, if you need to.”
He snorts, stopping short. “You have got to be kidding me. I’m not even breaking a sweat.” To demonstrate, he lifts me up and down a few times, like he’s doing bicep curls with my body. “See?”
“Okay, okay,” I giggle. “You’re very strong. I’m sorry I doubted you. Carry on.”
He snorts at the pun and makes his way to the front door, where he pauses and groans. “The key is in my front pocket. Can you reach it?”
I try and fail to contort enough to reach with my outside hand, so I’m forced to slide my inside hand down his body, wedging it between us to feel for the pocket’s opening.
I fish the keyring out, my fingers grazing something very firm along the way.
Neither he nor I mention the little dick detour, but I feel my whole body flush as I unlock the deadbolt and turn the handle so he can enter the house without putting me down.
It’s silly and vain, really, but I love how easily he whisks me inside, depositing me in the comfort of the soft couch cushions.
He kneels in front to remove my ankle boots.
Each knee gets a kiss before he releases my foot, and my pulse jumps every time his lips touch me.
He makes me feel so damn pretty. And so damn needy, too.
He drops a kiss on top of my head, too, before taking my shoes back to the entryway.
When he returns to the living room, he detours to the large, stone fireplace.
“Thought we might want a fire if we’re staying in,” he says over his shoulder, as he crouches to lay the wood and light the tinder.
When it’s crackling and popping to his satisfaction, casting a warm, flickering glow over the room, he stands, dusting his hands.
Before he rejoins me, he fetches us berry-flavored tea and some buttery little cookies with a dot of jam in the center of each from the kitchen.
“Did you make these?” I ask between melt-in-your-mouth bites. “They’re delicious.”
He shakes his head. “Mam did. She went a little crazy baking while Meg was in labor, so we all had to take some home. I’m more of a pie guy.”
“That pie you made was orgasmic,” I say without thinking.
“Why, thank you. I’d like to think many of my skills have those results.” He pats his lap and beckons to my feet. “Speaking of which, let me demonstrate one of them.”
He makes good on his word, giving me the most thorough, patient foot rub I’ve ever experienced as we relax on the sofa.
I’m not going to have an orgasm, but it definitely feels incredible.
While he turns me into a puddle by kneading my sore soles, he catches me up on how Meg and Conall and the new babies are doing, and I tell him about Trashleigh’s dedicated mission to snipe all my customers so I don’t get the commissions.
His ears go flat at that. “I’m not going to let her ring me up anymore when I come in.”
“It’s probably better to just get your books elsewhere, then. You know the only reason she hasn’t reported me for fraternizing with you is because she’s getting the sales bonuses.”
“Too many people are trying to keep us apart,” he growls under his breath.
Guilt twists in my chest. “I know I’ve been one of them.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” he says gruffly. “You’re the only one who has any say in it. You’re the only one whose opinion I care about, period. You like being here with me, right? You’re not just here because you feel obligated to spend time with me for the pups?”
I shake my head. I’m definitely here for me.
Even if the pups are getting the benefit of hearing Ian’s voice, I’m the only one getting my feet rubbed right now.
“I like spending time with you. It’s like my respite from everything else that’s an obligation.
Except my girls,” I add swiftly. “They’re not an obligation. I meant work and chores and…”
I let the sentence fall away without finishing it. I don’t want to talk about Richard. I don’t even want to think about him.
“Your husband,” Ian finishes. “But not for long.”
No. Not for long. Ian might not realize the extent of it, but Richard isn’t going to make this easy. Things are about to get a lot more complicated for me. I’ll just have to do my best not to let the stress affect the pregnancy.
“Let’s talk about something fun,” I suggest, casting for a new topic of conversation. “Tell me about your woodcutting business.”
He barks a laugh and nearly drops the foot he’s currently lavishing with attention. “That’s your idea of something fun?”
“Learning more about you is fun for me.”
“Well, when you put it like that...” His eyes twinkle.
“Not much to say, really. I’m a one-wulver show.
I have a permit to collect deadfall in the national forest. I haul out fallen logs and split them here at the house, then kiln-dry the results.
I’m not bragging when I say it’s the best firewood around. Burns clean and hot.”
“I have no doubt. Where do you sell it?”
“Main clients are all the hotels, resorts, and ski lodges around here that have big fireplaces or outdoor fire pits. Campgrounds in the summers. It’s a year-round business, and I always have higher demand than I can fill.” I can tell he’s proud of the business he’s built.
“That’s really cool. It’s making for a great fire tonight.” I nod at the fireplace, where the wood is burning merrily.
“Gods, you’re pretty in the firelight.” He’s staring at me, foot massage forgotten.
I withdraw my well-rubbed feet, hugging my knees to my chest. It feels so strange to be admired at my age, especially by someone as handsome as Ian.
I thought that was something that I wouldn’t experience again, so I don’t really know how to respond.
I’m out of practice receiving compliments. “So are you.”
He laughs again. “I’ve never been called pretty before.”
“Well, you are.”
“Ginger fur and all?”
“Now you’re just fishing.”
“I do love fishing.”
We grin at each other like fools.