Chapter 21
twenty-one
WILL
The market picks up from there, and there’s almost always a cluster of visitors around our table.
Lydia’s blind date books are a big hit, and we get a lot of folks asking questions about the renovation plans.
Whenever someone picks up a brochure, Lydia’s careful to busy herself with the books, not wanting to appear too interested in any of the questions they ask me.
And, for my part, I’m careful not to say anything too concrete about timelines.
I’m still trying to figure out the best time and way to tell Lydia that the board approved my finalized blueprints, and that time is most definitely not in front of a bunch of people at the Hawthorne Bay fall market.
I’m going to have to tell her soon, though.
I’m starting to feel downright dishonest.
As the sun sets and the chill of the evening starts to creep in, the groups of people milling around thin out.
We’ve sold most of the books Lydia wrapped, and although they haven’t counted the donations yet, quite a few people have been giving more than the suggested five dollars. That’s a good sign.
Nancy glances at her watch, then nudges Lydia. “Hey. I told you we’d go ’til seven. If you want to head out, I can take it from here. There’s not much to pack up.”
“Really?” Lydia looks dubious.
Nancy waves a hand. “Yes, yes, yes. Plenty of people around to help me load up the table and chairs. Books will be a cinch.”
“Okay…”
“You too, Will,” Nancy says. She flicks her hand at me, beaming. “Enjoy the evening.”
Lydia gives Nancy’s arm a little squeeze, then grabs her purse and gives us a wave. Almost before I even realize it, she’s taking off down the sidewalk, and I have to mutter a quick goodbye to Nancy so I can catch up.
As I fall into step beside her, Lydia turns to glance at me. I’m still worried she’s pissed at me about Dylan, but right now she just looks resigned. “What?”
“I need to talk to you about something. Can I walk with you?”
Lydia sniffs. “Looks like you already are.”
“Are you pissed about Dylan? He deserved it, you know.”
“He did.” The corners of Lydia’s mouth quiver, and I can tell she’s holding back a smile. That, at least, is a relief. “Is that what you jogged over here to say?”
“No.” I take a deep breath, then just come out with it. “The finalized plans are approved.”
“I know,” Lydia says. She doesn’t look my way.
“You do? Nancy told you?”
“What are you talking about? I was there at the stakeholder meeting.”
I shake my head. “No, I mean… approved approved. Like, done. We’ve started the bidding.”
Lydia stops walking. The wind has blown her long hair across her face, and she shoves it aside. “Wait—so that’s it? There’s nothing you can do to stop it now?”
Well, this is awkward.
“I mean… I could, I guess, in theory… but no. It’s progressing.”
Lydia goes completely stone-faced. I can almost feel the adrenaline rush through her body as she processes the news and what it means for any hope she might’ve had left.
Although surely by now she must know I’m not going to magically give up a career-changing project, nor is the board going to magically change its mind about the renovation. They voted on it, for Christ’s sake.
If Lydia was going to say something, she’s thought better of it. She starts walking again, faster now, and I can’t tell if she’s about to burst into tears and wants to make it home before that, or if she’s trying to outpace me, leaving me behind in a flurry of fallen leaves.
“Lydia.”
I’m jogging to keep up with her, but she doesn’t answer.
She just rounds the corner, looks both ways, and crosses to the other side of the street.
I realize I have no idea where she’s going, but I follow her anyway, coming to a stop behind her as she pulls up onto the front stoop of a cute little house a few blocks away.
She glares back over her shoulder as she unlocks the door. “Why are you still here?”
“You’re pissed, and I don’t like it.”
Lydia snorts. “Ha. You don’t like it.”
“That’s right. I don’t like it when someone who doesn’t deserve to be hurt gets hurt. And don’t even try to tell me you’re not—it’s written all over you. I think we… got caught up in stuff. I just wanted to sort it out with you, make sure everyone’s on the same page.”
Lydia throws her hands in the air helplessly. She pushes the door open and steps inside, not bothering to close it, which I take to mean she’s okay with me following her. Or at least not going to, like, pull a knife on me.
As I close the front door softly behind me, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s the second time in the last ten minutes, but whoever it is can wait. This conversation is important, and I need to stay focused, present.
Lydia’s already made her way through the entryway to the kitchen and is filling up a glass of water from the fridge. Her house is simple, one of those minimalist motifs, with tiny pops of color here and there. It’s really homey, which is honestly no surprise. It fits her somehow.
Lydia leans back against the counter, dark eyes glaring at me as she sips her water.
Her hair is tangled from the wind, but it’s as beautiful as it’s ever been, and I’m trying really fucking hard not to think about pulling it.
Or what we were doing while I pulled it the other night. Or where my dick was.
Fuck.
Focus, Will.
I pull out a barstool at the counter and sink down onto it. Lydia just eyes me, but she doesn’t tell me to get up. I clear my throat.
“So you only just found out the plans are approved?” Lydia’s eyes are boring holes into my skull.
“I’ve known since Monday,” I admit. I don’t like where this is going.
“You’ve known since Monday,” Lydia repeats. She’s got the snide look of someone who’s predicted something terrible would happen and has just been proven right. “So, you’re saying you knew about this the other night? The other night when—when we…”
Well, shit. I’ve got only myself to blame here. I should have expected this.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
Lydia scoffs, holding my gaze. As she moseys across the kitchen to me, coming to stand in front of where I’m sitting, I realize my heart is racing. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a ghost who looks as goddamn scary as Lydia does at this moment.
“Okay. Let me put this another way. You had this knowledge when you decided it would be a good idea to fuck me? Next to the fucking beach?”
Shit. This is not good.
I chew my lip for a moment, thinking of how the hell I’m going to get out of this one. But hearing Lydia talk about last night, hearing her say aloud that I fucked her, is hot as hell. And my cock is not getting the message that this moment is not a good one to get hard. Down, boy. Down.
“Yes,” I mutter. I break eye contact, trying to concentrate on anything but Lydia’s full lips. My dick’s still stiffening in my jeans, and I shift slightly on the stool to try to make it less noticeable.
But it doesn’t work. Lydia’s eyes flash to my junk. She sniffs, eyes narrowing.
“Are you kidding me, Will? Are you seriously getting hard while we’re having this conversation?”
“Yes. No. I mean, I can’t help it. Ignore it.”
Good god. What the fuck was I thinking, coming here? This was not a good plan.
“Ignore it?! Have you ever tried to have a serious conversation with someone who’s got a fucking zucchini pressed up against their pant leg?”
I can’t help but chuckle at that, and I’m relieved when the corners of her lips pull up, too.
“Can’t say that I have,” I concede. “I imagine it must be terribly distracting.”
“It is,” she says.
Her eyes trace the outline of my cock, which gives an involuntary twitch as I realize what it is she’s looking at.
I close my eyes. My heart’s starting to race again, but I did not come here to fuck things up further.
I came here to set things straight, to get us out of this mess we somehow got ourselves into.
I have one job only, and that job is to—
Oh, fuck.
When I open my eyes, Lydia’s moved closer. She’s standing between my legs, and her fingers are already moving toward the button of my jeans.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I murmur. I need to get her attention before she starts something in motion that we’re both going to regret. As though that’s even an option anymore. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“We are so far past good ideas, Will. We both know this is a terrible idea, but we both know we don’t care.”
I swallow hard as Lydia unzips me. “Don’t we?”
“Stop talking,” Lydia says. “If you want to do something for me, just stop talking.”
That shuts me up. How could it not? She’s down on her knees now, tugging my jeans and boxers down, letting my cock spring up between us, and there’s no way I’m going to stop her.
For what? So I can make some lame little speech about how we need to stop whatever this is because it’s only going to end badly?
I don’t want to stop whatever this is. Not when she’s got her fingers wrapped around my shaft. What, so I’m not going to say no to a blow job or whatever it is she’s planning to do here? Sue me. We’ll figure it out later.
Lydia presses her lips to the tip of my cock, and I hiss involuntarily. She looks up at me from under dark, fringing lashes, and she’s so fucking pretty I think I might melt. “Can I?”
I nod. She’s got to be crazy if she thinks I’m going to tell her no.
“Good.”
Lydia bends her head again and starts licking down the side of my cock.
It’s been a while since anyone’s sucked me off, and the warmth and wetness of her mouth on my skin is enough to make me shudder.
If Lydia notices, she doesn’t show it, just keeps on with her tongue, licking and sucking around my shaft.
It already feels so fucking good, and I’m barely even in her mouth yet.
Lydia runs her cheek against the length of my cock. “You’re so smooth.”