Chapter 34
Devon
It’s your birthday!!! Relax, Dev! You deserve it!
-Notes left in Devon’s planner by her friends, September 20th
This might be the first time I’ve taken my birthday off from work. It’s always seemed unnecessary to me before, but Rhett suggested it and the idea of spending the whole day with him was too good to pass up.
He parks his truck in the driveway of his house, where almost all of the sheet rock is now up, only a few studs still visible. When we near the front door, I see he’s jammed tacky pink flamingos into the dirt on either side of it.
“Was this the design progress you wanted to show me?” I ask, tapping one with my sneaker.
“No,” he laughs. “I had to put them in before you had a chance to object to them.”
“I’m objecting now.”
He opens the newly installed front door. “Too late.”
“I heartily disagree,” I argue as I follow him down the hall towards his bedroom. “We could paint the front door pink, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Really?” he asks, looking over his shoulder as he enters his room. “You’d find a pink door less offensive than classic mid-century lawn decoration?”
When I follow him into the room, my concerns about the flamingos are forgotten. On the wall where I suggested the headboard goes, he’s created an intricate floor-to-ceiling white ash panel. It’s stunning. When I step closer, it’s evident he based it off of a geometric sketch from one of my notebooks. Running my fingers along the grooves and details, my eye catches on the next wall over.
It’s still too soon to paint or put up wallcoverings, but there is a large sample of a wallcovering I never suggested to him, knowing it wouldn’t suit his style, taped on the wall. It’s a textured mix of cream and white arches, interwoven to create a unique basketweave pattern. I glance back and forth between the sample and the wood panel. They coordinate beautifully.
On the ground, there is another sample, this one a hand-knotted rug I’ve admired for years. Also, something I never showed him. Next to the windows, a sample of fabric intended for drapery. Yet another favorite of mine, that he shouldn’t know about. I turn around to ask him about it, but I’m distracted by a couple of wide walnut armchairs that no one else but Rhett McCoy could have created. They’re upholstered in a boucle fabric I love so much I used it for some poufs in my office. In between them is a low table with drawers built underneath. I squat down low to pull one open and find not only the notebooks I left in the trailer, but a whole stack of brand-new ones with paper of varied thicknesses. Some lined, unlined, graph and dotted. In another drawer there are pencils, pens, erasers, everything I’d need to sketch either plans for work or pretty little things that make me smile.
When I look up, he’s standing a few feet from me, hands tucked into his pockets, with the closest thing to a shy smile Rhett McCoy could manage.
“Rhett, this is amazing.” I stand, eyes scanning the room again. “I adore it, but it’s not what you wanted.”
He tilts his head forward. “What I wanted was a place you would adore.”
“Oh.” Unsure what to do with that revelation, I lean back against one of the chairs.
“But this house is your dream. Why would you…” I let my words trail off.
His brow quirks. “The house was never my dream. A woman to love and a family we create together to live in the house, that’s the dream.”
He wants a family with me?Stunned, I can’t find words to respond.
He continues in earnest. “I’m building a home for both of us.”
My heart races as the realization finally settles in. I glance out the picture window at a view he wants to share with me. I could wake up and watch the sunrise with him in this room every day.
Rhett steps closer, taking my hands in his and lowering himself to my level. “Devon, from the moment you stepped foot on this plot of land, it was yours. And from the moment you locked eyes with me in a staring contest, I was yours.” He rubs his thumbs in slow circles across the back of my hands, watching me lovingly as I try to process what this all means.
“You’re mine?” I ask, loving the taste of the words.
“Completely.”
The right words don’t come fast enough, so I twine my fingers in his hair and pull him in for a long, sweet kiss, loading it with all the meaning I can manage.
When we finally pull back, he tucks my hair behind my ear, asking. “So how about it? Will you be mine?”
Resting my forehead against his, I whisper, “I already am.”
He comes up to stand and folds us both into the wide cushioned chair, with me sitting perpendicular across his lap.
“These chairs are nice and wide,” I say, noticing how well we fit into it together.
“That was intentional.” He smirks.
“How did you know?” I ask, pointing around to the samples.
“Bea helped me with a lot of the choices. And the upholstery too.”
No wonder the upholsterer mentioned a rush job when we were on the phone the other day.
The look on Rhett’s face is one I’ve only started to see recently. His lips are pulled into a smile that seems involuntary, and his lips are soft with a mix of awe and desire, almost like he’s reveling in the view of someone he—“You love me,” I gasp out.
His brows rise in surprise as his shoulders shake with quiet laughter. “You’re supposed to let me tell you that.”
I wince, feeling like a ruined a special moment for him. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”
“Devon Blake, I love you.” The second the words are out of his mouth he’s laughing. “Fuck, that felt good. I love you.” He kisses me then repeats the sentiment again and again until finally cocking his head and saying, “You love me, don’t you?” And I no longer feel bad for ruining his special moment.
I nod. “I love you, Rhett McCoy.”
“Wait till I show you what else I made these chairs wide enough for,” his smile turns salacious, and then his hands are flying, peeling off my clothes and his, keeping our faces together in wild kisses as much as possible. Every piece is thrown on the construction-dust covered floor until we land with us both naked, and me straddling him.
His hands run up and down my thighs, where they just barely touch the arms of the chair. “See? Perfect fit.”
“Did you measure?” I ask, trying to check if the chair is a standard width or if-
“Is that really what you want to think about right now?” he asks, pulling me closer, and bringing his lips to my collarbone. His hands shape my ass cheeks and my low back, pressing me tightly into him.
“No,” I admit, bracing one hand on his shoulder and the other around his neck.
He continues licking and nibbling along my collarbone, moving down to pull one of my nipples between his teeth, sending a quiver between my legs.
All thoughts of the chair’s design are forgotten.I reach down, lining his hardness up with my center, and sinking down on top of him. He releases my nipple, throwing his head back and looking up at me. “You really are a goddess,” he says, rocking his hips up in a quick thrust that has me gasping, arching my back and then starting up a rhythm, riding him as he holds me steady with a hand on my waist. Reaching between us, he circles my clit with his thumb, adding to the sensation as my pleasure ratchets higher and higher.
“And I thought you looked pretty choking on my dick,” he says, in a breathless laugh. “This might be better.”
I squeeze down around him hard and keep up my pace as I glide my body along the length of his cock. His responding moan bolsters me as shocks of pleasure begin to weaken my legs.
Maintaining the motion at my clit, he lifts his hips, matching my rhythm and urging me on. Together we work each other to gasping releases, one after another.
When I collapse against his chest, he whispers, “I love you.” Into my ear, and I whisper it back, giddy at how delicious it feels to be loved by him.
Once we’ve gotten back into our dusty clothes with the promise of another joint shower, Rhett has one more thing to show me. He holds my hand as we walk down the hall, through the kitchen and garage and then out opposite side of the house. We walk for a few minutes, until we come to the base of the hill that backs up his house and round the corner, revealing a freshly poured concrete slab.
Squeezing his hand, I look up to him expectantly. “Is this what I think it is?”
He nods, “My woodshop. I’m going to give McCoy’s Chairs another try.”
There is no stopping the laugh that sputters up to ruin the moment. “We absolutely must come up with a different name for your company. Your work deserves something more creative.”
He leads me forward to the edge of the slab. “What about Trailer Daddy’s Chairs?”
“Oh my god,” my mouth drops open. “You cannot be serious.”
“I’m not, but your face is priceless.” He points down toward the edge of the slab. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
While the concrete was wet, he scraped out RM + DB inside a heart.
“The slab to the house was poured before I ever met you,” he explains, “So this was the next best thing.”
Staring at the spot in the concrete, I say, “But you didn’t know until today that I would…”
“I knew,” he says, kissing the top of my head.