Chapter 18 #2
“Oh,” she says.
“Good oh or bad oh?” I ask curiously.
She lifts her head just enough to look at me, her hair wild, face soft. “Good oh. I thought I was just dreaming. It turns out you’re real.”
Relief floods me. I want to bring up what she said last night. I want to ask her if she wants to be real with me. I want to so badly. But something in me says not to push it.
She smiles again. “I slept really, really good.”
“Me, too.”
“No, you don’t understand. Something about you is just so calming to me,” she explains.
I understand this completely.
We don’t rush to get up, and we linger, me tracing her shoulder, her holding me, not addressing the elephant in the room, which is my hard, throbbing cock that I’m desperately trying not to think about.
Eventually, she groans. “If we don’t get up now, we’ll miss the sunrise.” She sits up and then says, “Want to help me out of my dress? This time, you don’t have to rip it.”
I laugh and help her unzip her dress.
She turns and grabs clothes. “I’ll be ready in ten! We have to hurry!”
And right then, I realize I don’t ever want to miss a sunrise or sunset with Silvie. I want them all with her.
I’m getting too permanently invested in something that’s supposed to be temporary. If I feel like this the first day in, how will I feel in another month or two?
We’re at the beach twenty minutes later with coffee mugs in our hands, and our other fingers linked together.
The sun starts to rise, seagulls squawking and the waves crashing in front of us.
“This is my favorite part of my day,” she says softly.
I glance at her and think she’s never looked more beautiful. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun and her face is makeup-free. The smile she wears is content as she sips her coffee.
“This is magical,” she murmurs. “The best.”
We listen to the waves crashing, side by side, and watch the horizon, her leaning into me. I’m sneaking glances her way. She’s happy, her eyes bright. She traces a heart in the sand and picks up a shell, tucking it into her pocket.
I realize that I can’t stop watching her. She’s magical to me. Not the damn sunrise.
On the way back to the house, she’s quiet. We walk leisurely, waving to people, her hand in mine as if it’s already a habit. I squeeze hers, and she squeezes back. Silvie is just as affectionate as I am.
We rinse our feet in the outdoor shower in the back and towel off. We move around the kitchen together, bumping into each other as she pours us juice and I crack eggs into a cast-iron pan. Music hums low from the old radio under the counter, there for decades.
I grin at her and lift her easily onto the counter so I can get a bowl behind her, leaning in between her legs. She squeals and laughs.
“Manhandling me already?” she teases.
“I think touching you is my love language,” I say.
She watches me, amused. “I appreciate your love language.”
“You’re so fucking sexy,” I counter.
Her eyes drop to my mouth, and I take it as permission and lean in to kiss her. There’s no one watching. No one to put on a show for. And yet, this is natural and feels really, really good.
The phone rings, interrupting us. I silently curse whoever is calling right now.
She reaches over and glances at the screen. Her shoulders tense and her smile disappears. “It’s my dad.” She hesitates, then presses accept. “Hello.”
I can hear him from next to her. He’s loud and sounds furious.
“This is not funny, Silverlyn,” he shouts. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Silvie stiffens. “And just what have I done, Dad?”
“You married a goddamn bartender! You know what you did! Why would you do that?” he shouts.
She glances at me, embarrassment flashing across her face.
“I’ve got lawyers calling me,” he snaps. “Board members asking questions. They’re investigating this. You think you can just run off and get married without consequence?”
“Actually, yeah. I do,” she says, voice tight but controlled.
“This is not a joke!” he roars.
“I didn’t say it was,” she argues. “And I didn’t run off. I’ve been here for weeks, Dad.”
He sounds even angrier, which I’m not sure how is possible. “You always make things harder. You could have done things differently!”
I step closer, without thinking, resting my hand on her back.
“You know what, I gotta go, Dad. I’ll call you later when you’ve calmed down.” She ends the call, and lowers the phone.
“So,” she says with a nervous laugh. “That’s my dad.”
I exhale slowly. “He sounds intense.”
“Yep. I’ll give him this one pass. But the next time I talk to him, he’d better have it together, or I’m putting him in his place.”
Holy shit.
I try to be positive. “He’ll come around.”
“You don’t know my dad.”
I shrug. “People do eventually.”
She studies my face like she’s trying to figure me out. “Are you always so positive?”
I smile. “Sometimes.”
She shakes her head, half laughing. “Weirdo.”
“You married me,” I pointed out.
She laughs more softly this time. “Yeah. I did.”
We finish breakfast quietly, and somehow, we always find excuses to touch. My hand rests on her knee. Her fingers brush the tattoos on my forearms, which I’ve noticed she’s been obsessed with tracing. We stand close when we wash the dishes. God, I can’t get enough of her.
She wanders off to shower, and I start a load of laundry. I see her journal laid out on the coffee table next to her bag, a pen resting on top. I don’t mean to pry, but I see my name and can’t help it.
At the top, it reads:
New Things for Me to Note
1. Never trust a man with a trust fund
2. Don’t let Birdie and the Bee’s drink too much sangria and wander off again.
3. Cal’s arms = illegal. Investigate those sexy tattoos further.
I laugh and set the pen back down.
Then I look further down and see my name underlined twice. And the words safe and happy next to it.
My heart warms at the thought that she feels safe with me. That’s all I want for her.