Chapter 34 Rowe
Rowe
Over the next weeks, Pane and I make love on every possible surface—beds, tables, dressers, couches, chairs, kitchen counters.
Don’t worry, he turns all the roosters around so they don’t see.
We even sneak away from the guys working on the house, locking ourselves in the laundry room, frantically yanking aside panties and underwear to fill the need that’s overtaken both of us.
It’s a need like nothing I’ve ever known. It’s like I spent a lifetime on a deserted island, my only food being coconuts, and now I’ve been rescued and have a feast before me.
I can’t get enough of him, and he can’t seem to get enough of me, either.
There are only a few days left before the opening, the foreclosure, and the judging. It’s all happening on the same day, and the hope is that the judging comes first, valuating the business higher than Stone’s venture. If so, Pane will make sure I can keep the property.
But I don’t know exactly how that’s going to happen.
Yet if there’s one thing I’ve learned during this time, it’s to trust Pane Maddox.
And trust him, I do.
The man has even learned how to make biscuits.
“You got the coffee ready?” I ask, sliding into the kitchen.
He glances up from the stove, where he’s frying eggs in a pan, and scoffs. “Do I have coffee made? I’ve run five miles and made breakfast. Do you think I have coffee made?”
I laugh and slip into his arms, kissing those luscious lips. “I think you’ve done everything. Oh! I have to feed the pigs.”
I start to pull away, but Pane pulls me back to him, kissing me again. “Already done.”
I gasp. “No!”
“See for yourself.”
I pull away and spot the piggies’ bowls by the door. They’re filled with something small that’s been chopped up. “Is that . . . Are those hot dogs?”
Pane winks. “Breakfast of champions.”
“But that’s—”
He tuts. “It’s not cannibalism. They’re all-beef, remember?”
He has a point, and before there’s a chance to rib him for breaking one of his rules, the feeding-the-animals one—a stampede of piggies spills into the kitchen as they tumble over one another and rump-skate to their bowls.
I chuckle. “They must’ve heard me mention them.”
Pane slides the fried eggs onto a plate and smiles warmly. “They must’ve. Ready to eat?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
I spend most of the day grinning—at Pane, to myself, at Pane.
There’s a lot of smiling that goes on between us, and brushing of hands, and general excuses to spend two minutes in each other’s presence.
I’m not running anymore, and I don’t want to.
I’m drowning in Pane Maddox, and it’s the best feeling ever.
After dinner, and after we’ve cleaned up the kitchen, Pane nuzzles his mouth to my ear. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Intrigued, I murmur, “Show me?”
“Outside.”
“What could this be?”
He swipes a thumb over the top of my lips. “Come find out.”
I follow him outside, where he points to the land. A breeze flutters over the grass, causing a low hum of light to breathe to life. It unfolds from the meadow, ending in a trail that leads all the way to the house.
Shock rocks me. I bring my hands to my face. “What is this?”
Pane casually leans against the balustrade, eyeing me with a look that I can’t place. “You remember what I said to Luke?”
“About not calling the police?”
He scowls. “No. About you being connected to this land.”
I do remember it. Those words crashed into my heart at a gazillion miles per hour, gutting me. “Yes,” I whisper.
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Then he nods toward the land. “When I first arrived, the glow stopped at the meadow. Now it comes all the way to the house.”
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
Pane tugs me down the steps. He doesn’t have to tug hard, because I eagerly follow him. We walk to just shy of the meadow, where the magic is now bleeding into the bare earth, where the grass doesn’t grow because the ground is blocked from the sun by the trees closest to the house.
“Close your eyes.”
I reel back. “What?”
“Just do it, Sunbeam.”
At the sound of my nickname on his lips, a sizzle spirals down my spine. I do as he says, and the next thing I know, he’s holding my hand and touching my waist. Then he sways me side to side in a dance.
Just when I’m wondering what this has to do with anything, warmth starts at my feet and works its way up my legs to my torso. It spreads through my chest, bleeding out into my limbs.
Pane presses his body to mine, still swaying gently. “You can open your eyes now.”
I do as he says and gasp. Underneath us, a thick patch of grass has sprouted from the earth, winding its way past my feet and reaching for my ankles.
There’s never been grass in this spot—ever.
Not just that, but it’s pulsing with light that’s coming from deep in the ground.
Drifting up from it are small glowing globes that uncurl into white butterflies that slowly flap their wings as they surround us and lift off, disappearing into the night sky.
As I watch, hundreds of globes transform before flying up, up, up, and the grass continues to spread.
The shrubs that frame the old farmhouse, scraggly and sad, have new life breathed into them.
Thick waxy leaves sprout from the branches, and bright-white gardenias blossom, filling the night with their sweet scent.
I reach for a blossom and run my fingers over its soft petals. “For years these bushes have barely blossomed.”
“And now they’re in full bloom,” he says.
I turn back to him, searching for answers. “Pane.”
A gentle smile spreads across his face. “It’s not me. This is all you. This earth is connected to you. I saw it that first night. You seemed to glow when you looked out over the meadow.”
I blink, slowly beginning to understand what he’s saying. This land, maybe because I’ve lived here all my life, is tied to me, and because my heart was broken for so long, the land was broken, too.
Sure, vines could wind their way inside the house and fetch me my dad’s boots, but for years, the house has been surrounded by a patch of dirt as if . . . as if the magic was broken.
But now it’s healing in the same way I am.
Tears choke up my throat. “Pane.” I throw my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in the softness of his corded, sturdy neck. “Thank you.”
As he holds me tightly, I inhale his scent, letting the smell of him—the sandalwood and dry gin—fill my senses until I’m practically drunk.
“No,” he argues. “Thank you. For everything.”
We hold each other for several long seconds, and I swipe away the tears that spring from my eyes. If only my dad could see this, he would be so proud. He died when I was going through everything with Luke, but now I’m healing. I am healed.
All thanks to Pane Maddox.
I slip from his arms and glance up in wonder as light butterflies dance around his head. I extend a finger and one alights on the tip, slowly opening and closing its wings. Its energy is a low hum against my skin, a familiar and comforting feeling that fills my heart with joy.
I don’t want this feeling to stop. Ever. But part of me knows that all good things must come to an end.