Chapter 17 Violet
Violet
The house is quiet except for the soft hum of my heater and the audiobook playing through the living room speakers. The narrator’s cadence drapes over everything like a lullaby, smooth and calm, soothing me.
I’m curled up on the couch, cradling a mug of chamomile and honey tea, my nightly settle-in drink. The steam curls up toward my face, sweet and floral, and I inhale deeply.
My favorite cashmere throw is draped over my legs.
It was a gift from Meemaw for my birthday.
It’s buttery soft and lightweight. Not as soft as Dog-Jason’s fur, of course.
Nothing is. But he likes it, because it smells like me and because half of it always ends up bunched under his massive body like it was purchased exclusively for him.
My fingers drift through his fur. I obviously hit that spot you do with dogs because his leg starts jumping like he’s trying to kickstart a Harley.
A soft giggle springs free. “Sorry, boy. Or not sorry. I never know if dogs actually like that.”
He huffs as he adjusts his head on my thigh in a manner that says, yes, human, continue.
“You’re heavy,” I murmur, sipping my tea.
He responds with a smug breath through his nose as if to say, and yet you don’t move me.
I snort. “You’re insufferable.”
He shifts just enough to press more weight onto my thigh. Pure defiance. God, I love him.
Not in the big, dramatic, world-ending way the character in the book keeps moaning about, but in a soft way that makes the world seem less sharp.
Contentment rolls over me, softer than the blanket, sweeter than the tea, settling into all the little cracks I didn’t even know were there.
For the first time in I don’t know how long, everything feels right.
Easy.
Still.
A perfect night.
Jason was gone when I woke up this morning, but he sent me a text apologizing because he had to go to work. Happy sigh! Double happy sigh!
Tonight’s chapter turns into one of the steamy ones, all low moans and breathless confessions, and I didn’t even hear the buildup to it.
My thoughts have been straying to my own steamy chapter.
I’ve listened to a lot of steamy romance, and not one came even close to my own version.
God, the dirty talk. The control—not in the way Meemaw tries to micromanage me these days, but in the “Listen, and I’ll give you pleasure beyond your imagination” kind of way.
The narrator talks about being a “good girl”. Hell, I never understood the appeal of all that until Human-Jason praised me. Now I’d walk over broken glass barefoot to hear him say it again.
Next, the narrator goes on about how he grabs her hand and places it on his hard cock. The narrator moans, and Jason shifts, restless.
Great. Perfect. Totally normal ambiance for a cozy night in with my dog.
Jason’s ears twitch. His tail flicks. His breathing changes—too alert, too aware. And every time the narrator groans or whispers something sinfully suggestive, Jason lets out a tiny sigh.
I pause the story mid-moan.
His head snaps up like I’ve finally regained my senses.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, covering my face. “Are you judging my choice of audiobook right now?”
He answers with a dramatic exhale through his nose.
I push a hand through his fur. “It’s fiction. Adults read romance. Nothing illegal is happening here.”
Another huff.
“You know what? You’re being very judgy for someone who licks his own—okay, stopping there.”
He shifts restlessly, as if he can feel the tension in the room and he strongly disapproves of it.
I roll my eyes, smiling despite myself. “Fine. I’ll skip ahead to a non-steamy chapter. Happy?”
He thumps his tail once. Smugly.
I fast-forward until the narrator’s tone calms down and the scandalous breathing stops echoing through the speakers.
“There,” I sigh, taking another sip of tea. “Wholesome. Innocent. PG-13.”
Jason settles again, chin returning to my thigh like order has been restored.
I stroke his back, feeling warmth spread through me that has nothing to do with tea or blankets or heaters.
“God, I love you,” I murmur.
He huffs, but it’s softer this time, and almost pleased.
Just as the tension finally melts out of the room, he sits up abruptly, whining low and urgently.
“Bathroom break?” I guess.
Another whine.
“All right, all right.” I laugh. “Let’s get you outside before you implode.”
He prances toward the door, nails ticking on the floor. I push open the back door, and the cool air washes over my ankles as he trots out quickly and disappears into the night.
Two minutes pass.
Five.
Eight.
I frown. “Where’d you go, troublemaker?”
He never takes this long, unless he’s found a squirrel uprising to dismantle. Just as I’m about to go call him, my phone rings.
“Human-Jason,” the robotic voice says.
My heart lurches, flips, and probably does a cartwheel as I fumble to accept the call.
“Hello,” I say a little breathlessly.
“Hey,” Jason says.
Just hearing him makes my spine straighten. There’s something different in his voice tonight, something warm and purposeful, like melted chocolate. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to skip over the sex scene.
“I—hi,” I croak.
Smooth. Really smooth, Violet.
“I was wondering,” he says, “if you’d like to go out with me.”
Cartwheels it is. “Like… a date?” I whisper.
“A proper one,” he confirms. “I want to cook for you. Something nice. And, if you’re comfortable… I’d like to walk with you. There’s a trail not far from your house. A quiet place overlooking the sanctuary’s fields. I thought we could have a picnic.”
My stomach flutters so intensely, and I swear my kidneys join in.
“That sounds lovely,” I say, trying to slow my voice so I don’t sound like I’m hyperventilating into a paper bag.
“And,” he adds, amusement threaded through his tone, “since we’ve been working Dog-Jason hard lately with all the trips to the grocery store, I thought he deserved the night off. I put together a gift basket for him.”
That makes me laugh, the sound bubbling out before I can stop it. “You made my dog a gift basket?”
“I did,” he says proudly. “With treats. And one of those ridiculous squeaky chickens. And a bandanna.”
“You’ll spoil him.”
“I spoil whoever I like,” he replies softly.
Oh.
Okay.
Deep breaths. Don’t swoon. Don’t puddle. Don’t melt directly into the floor tiling.
But then nerves take over. “Uh…I have a confession.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m nervous about leaving Dog-Jason. Silly, right? Since I’ve only had him a few weeks.”
“Not silly at all. But I will be your eyes for the night, and I promise you, I will not let anything happen to you.”
I feel everything he’s saying. I know in my bones he means what he says. I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“So,” I say, twisting the hem of my shirt absentmindedly, “when did you want to do this date?”
“Whenever you want,” he answers immediately.
The confidence is intoxicating.
I swallow. “What about… right now?”
There’s a beat of silence, then a knock at my front door.
My breath escapes in an embarrassing, starstruck rush. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he replies, the smile audible.
I hang up and somehow manage not to sprint to the door like a deranged penguin. My hand finds the knob, twists, and his scent washes over me. I swear it hits me in the knees first. Cedar, spice, and something else I can’t put my finger on.
“You’re ridiculous,” I say, grinning despite myself. “What would you have done if I’d said next Wednesday?”
“Figured something out,” he says lightly. “Maybe hidden under your porch. Climbed a tree. Hung from your gutter. I’m committed.”
A laugh bursts out of me, bright and loud, and he laughs with me. Our sounds blend and fill the doorway with something warm and new. Something that feels suspiciously like hope.
“Hi,” he murmurs.
“Hi,” I echo, my smile stretching so wide it almost hurts.
He steps in, close but not touching, then leans forward, slow enough for me to sense it before it happens, and brushes his lips against my cheek. Just the lightest graze. Barely there. But it lights my skin like someone flipped a switch.
“Oh,” I breathe.
His voice drops lower. “If you want to get ready, I can start prepping downstairs. Take your time.”
Suddenly, I’m flustered and warm and jittery and excited and terrified all at once.
“Yes,” I manage. “Okay. I’ll… shower. And stuff.”
“Perfect,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right here.”
I step back, placing my hand on the wall to orient myself, then head upstairs.
Clothes hit the floor. Water roars to life.
Steam envelops me. I scrub too fast. Rinse too fast. Everything feels like it’s happening in double-time but also slow enough to make me aware of every heartbeat.
By the time I’m dressed in a pretty blouse, fitted jeans, and a dab of perfume along my throat, I hear Dog-Jason’s heavy paws padding toward my room.
“There you are,” I whisper, bending to stroke his ears. “I was worried.”
He noses my palm, warm and reassuring.
“You get the night off,” I tell him, smiling. “Jason said so. I guess… he’s my eyes tonight.”
He presses his forehead to my thigh, and it feels like he’s giving me his blessing.
“Wish me luck,” I whisper.
He noses my wrist with gentle encouragement.
I take a deep breath to center myself, then I head downstairs, cane tapping softly against the floor. “Jason?” I call into the living room.
No answer.
But when I reach the front door again, drawn by something fluttery and electric in my ribs, I hear it a wicker scrape, the whisper of woven reeds shifting against wood. A basket being moved.
My hand stills on the doorknob. The sound is gentle, careful, almost… worshipful. Like someone trying not to disturb the moment. Or me.
My pulse lifts, feather-light and breathless.
Then his voice, caught between awe and something deeper.
“You look…”
A breath.
“…stunning.”
Heat surges through me so fiercely I’m surprised my hair doesn’t ignite. “You smell good too,” I mumble.
He laughs, and the vibration of it seems to settle in my ribs.
“Shall we go?” He steps closer, and I feel his presence fill the space in front of me. When he raises his hand, the air shifts. He waits, always waits, until I reach out first.
I slide my fingers into his. His hand is warm and large, with just the right amount of calluses that I appreciated last night.
“Ready?” he asks softly.
I open my mouth to say yes. But moving forward means stepping closer to him.
And when I do, when my foot brushes his shoe, when my balance tilts infinitesimally toward him, my free hand lands against his chest.
Everything stops.
His chest is solid heat beneath my palm, rising and falling like he’s suddenly forgotten how to breathe properly too. His grip tightens around my fingers.
“Sorry,” I whisper, my breath catching. “I didn’t mean—”
“You can touch me whenever you want,” he says, voice darkening just a little. “I won’t mind.”
My stomach flips so violently, I’m surprised it doesn’t backflip out of my body.
His thumb strokes once across the back of my hand, slow and deliberate, and the sound that escapes me is something between a sigh and a quiet, startled oh.
His breath brushes my cheek. Close. Too close. Not close enough.
“I’m glad you said yes tonight,” he murmurs.
“I—me too,” I whisper, helpless.
My cane hand trembles, and I’m sure he notices, because he notices everything. I hear him step even closer, and the heat near my waist tells me his hand is close by like he’s asking permission.
My pulse stutters, and I nod.
His fingers settle lightly on the curve of my waist, and the sensation nearly knocks me off my feet. I lean in, just a fraction, and feel him exhale sharply against my temple.
“Violet,” he says, voice low and strained.
“Yes?” My voice is embarrassingly soft.
He swallows. I hear it. Feel it.
“If you keep looking and smelling and being like this…” His breath shivers. “I’m not going to make it to dinner.”
Oh.
Oh.
I’ve been saying and thinking ‘oh’ a lot lately. My breath tangles in my throat.
“Is that a bad thing?” I whisper.
He huffs a quiet, shaky laugh. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated good or complicated bad?”
He leans closer, forehead nearly touching mine. “Good,” he says, voice ragged. “Really fucking good.”
My knees threaten mutiny.
His thumb strokes my waist again, and the world narrows so sharply that I feel weightless.
“I’m not fragile,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
“I know,” he says hoarsely. “God, Violet, I know.”
I inhale shakily, and he steps back half an inch, but the absence knocks into me like a cool gust of air, and the tension between us vibrates like a bowstring pulled too tight.
He squeezes my hand. “Ready?”
I steady my breath, raise my chin, and choose bravery. “Lead the way.”
He does, but not before guiding my hand back to his chest for one more heartbeat. One more shared breath. One more promise in the dark.
The kind that feels like the beginning of something neither of us is ready for…
But both of us want it anyway.