16. Paige
Paige
Aiden arrives with one overnight bag, one cooler, and a six-year-old wearing a purple backpack large enough to support a three-week expedition.
Josie jumps out of his truck and runs toward the porch, Sprinkle the stuffed horse tucked beneath one arm and two books clutched under the other.
“I brought pajamas, a toothbrush, and my own pillow because Daddy said some people are particular about pillows.”
Aiden comes around the hood carrying the cooler. “I said I’m particular about pillows.”
“You complained about Uncle Axel’s guest room for three days.”
“The pillow was decorative.”
I lean against the porch rail. “I’m glad we clarified who the difficult guest is.”
His mouth curves as he reaches me. He sets the cooler down, cups the back of my neck, and kisses me while Josie attempts to open my front door with her elbow.
“What’s first?” Aiden asks.
I look at the supplies he has brought, then at the man waiting for an itinerary. “Nothing.”
His eyebrows lift.
“That is the first part of Friday. We sit on the porch and make no demands of one another.”
Josie stops wrestling with the door. “Can I read?”
“Reading is the preferred form of nothing.”
She accepts this without question and chooses the cushioned chair. I stretch out in the hammock with my book. Aiden settles on the porch step, opening the paperback I gave him last week. He lasts four pages before his attention slides above the cover.
“Do you need help with a difficult word?” I ask.
“I’m considering whether this man has ever completed a day’s work.”
“He inherited money. Work would interfere with his availability for morally questionable activities.”
“Convenient.”
Josie looks up from her book. “What are morally questionful activities?”
Aiden lowers his paperback. “Things you can ask Paige about when you’re thirty.”
“Questionable,” I correct.
“I stand by my answer.”
Josie shrugs and returns to her book.
A comfortable quiet falls over the porch. Pages turn. Wind moves through the pines. Aiden’s boot rests close enough to the hammock that I can nudge his knee whenever he gives my book another judgmental look.
I spend my week being available. Every child needs help, every parent wants an answer, and every task waits for my attention. By Friday, solitude usually feels like shutting a door on the noise.
Today, no one asks me to entertain them.
After a chapter, I close my book around the bookmark. “Trail?”
Josie is out of the chair before Aiden can answer.
The easy loop slopes through the pines toward the lake. Josie walks between us, narrating every unusual pinecone, then darts ahead just far enough to feel independent while Aiden keeps her in sight.
He matches my pace without trying to lead. When the trail splits, he waits for me to point left.
“You’re being remarkably obedient,” I tell him.
“I was given clear instructions.”
“No, you were told there would be a trail.”
“And unlimited books.”
Josie turns around while walking backward. “He likes rules. You have to be specific.”
“Face forward,” Aiden says.
She spins around. “See?”
I laugh, and his arm curves around my hip. He draws me close enough to kiss my temple before letting me go.
At the lake, Josie removes her shoes and socks and wades in until the water reaches her ankles. Aiden rolls his jeans and follows after applying enough sunscreen to protect her through winter.
“Daddy thinks the sun is dangerous,” she tells me.
“The sun is dangerous.”
“So are horses, but you bought me riding boots.”
I sit on a flat rock and watch Aiden search for an answer that will satisfy both logic and his daughter. He looks at me for assistance.
“I’m staying out of this. I support sunscreen and riding boots.”
“Traitor,” he says.
We take turns skipping stones. Aiden manages four. Mine sinks. Josie’s splashes once, which she counts as two because it touched the water before going under.
On the walk back, her hand slips into mine. She keeps talking about rocks and bunnies, asking whether fish get cold, while Aiden walks on my other side, his fingers brushing mine whenever the trail widens.
By the time the cabin appears through the trees, I expect to crave ten quiet minutes alone. I search for the familiar depletion and find warm skin, tired legs, and the surprising urge to keep both of them exactly where they are.
Josie swings our joined hands. “Can this be a Friday thing?”
By nine, Josie is asleep in the spare room with Sprinkle tucked beneath her chin and one hand resting on the book Aiden read to her.
He eases the door closed and joins me in the kitchen. “She made it three pages.”
“She had a demanding day. There were rocks to inspect.”
“And a fish she needed to lecture about personal boundaries.”
“It followed her.”
“It was hoping she’d drop food.”
“That is an assumption. Maybe she has a magnetic personality.”
Aiden takes the dish towel from the counter while I turn on the faucet. “She does.”
The quiet confidence in his voice catches me off guard. He says it while looking down at the plate in his hands, with the matter-of-fact confidence he uses for anything obvious.
We clean without assigning jobs. I wash. He dries. Our shoulders brush whenever he reaches past me, and once he guides me two inches by the hips rather than asking.
“Bossy,” I say.
“Efficient.”
“You could say excuse me.”
“I could.”
He does it again with the next plate.
He sets the dish in the cabinet and pulls out his phone. A soft melody drifts into the kitchen, quiet enough that it will not carry down the hall.
“Did you make a cleanup playlist?”
“I came prepared.”
“Of course you did.”
He sets the phone beside the sink, takes the plate from my hand, and places it in the drying rack. Then his fingers close around mine.
“What are you doing?”
“Improving your Friday.”
“My Friday was doing fine.”
“It can do better.”
He draws me away from the sink and slides his other hand around my waist. Three feet of open floor between the island and my couch hardly qualifies as a dance floor, but I rest my palm against his shoulder and let him guide me into an easy sway.
“You planned this,” I say.
“The song?”
“The entire evening.”
“I brought food and pajamas for my child. You chose everything else.”
“And yet there’s slow dancing.”
His mouth curves. “I’m adaptable.”
I laugh softly, mindful of the sleeping six-year-old down the hall. Aiden’s hand spreads against my lower back. He moves with the same quiet confidence he applies to ranch work, making dancing in my kitchen feel perfectly ordinary.
My cheek settles against his chest. His heartbeat is a steady, unhurried rhythm against my ear.
“Josie was serious earlier,” he says.
“About the fish?”
“About making this a Friday thing.”
I lift my head. “She asked. She didn’t demand a binding contract.”
“She saves those for bedtime.”
“Smart. People are weaker when they’re tired.”
His thumb moves along my spine. “Would it bother you?”
The question is careful. Not an assumption. Not a plan he’s already made on my behalf.
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Fair.”
“You’re supposed to argue.”
“Would it help?”
“No.”
“Then I’m learning.”
I study his face. “Fridays used to be the night I recovered from everyone needing something from me.”
His hand stills. “And now?”
“Now you show up with an overpacked cooler, and Josie reorganizes my porch chairs according to her current reading preferences.”
“We can give you more space.”
The offer comes without disappointment sharpened into guilt. That makes honesty far more dangerous.
“I don’t want more space.” I slide my fingers into the hair at his nape. “You and Josie have become my favorite interruption.”
Aiden stops moving.
The admission hangs in the air, surprising me as much as him. “Interruption to my routine. That’s what I meant.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “Too late, lady.”
“Aiden.”
He cups my jaw and kisses me.
There is no teasing in it. His mouth moves over mine with a slow, deep intensity that pulls my fingers tight in his hair. I rise against him and kiss him back, opening when his tongue strokes across mine.
The music plays on. The sink is still running. Aiden reaches past me and shuts off the faucet, never lifting his mouth from mine.
“Finally,” I whisper.
“You distracted me.”
“You abandoned a running sink.”
“I made a choice.”
His hand slides beneath my shirt, and the slow stroke of his palm erases my next argument. I press closer as his mouth moves down my neck.
The music continues behind us. Aiden kisses the sensitive place beneath my ear, then glances toward the hall.
Josie’s door remains closed.
“She’s asleep,” I say.
“I know.”
“I appreciate responsible parenting, but if you leave me standing here much longer, I may become unreasonable.”
His eyes return to mine. “Tell me what unreasonable looks like.”
I take his hand and lead him toward my bedroom.
“Something like that.”
He follows without trying to pass me. At the bed, I pull his shirt over his head and run my palms across his chest.
Aiden catches the hem of my shirt. “Arms up.”
I obey because I want to, and because the approval in his eyes when he bares me makes the simple instruction feel filthy.
He removes my bra with deliberate care, his gaze following every inch he bares.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“I am.”
“You’ve seen me naked.”
“I’ve never seen you exactly like this.”
His answer deepens the desire already moving through me. He draws one nipple between his lips while his hand cups the other breast, and my back arches.
“Aiden.”
“I like hearing my name when you stop trying to be clever.”
“I’m still clever.”
He looks up at me. “Of course you are.”
I thread my fingers through his hair and guide him to my other breast. “Then keep earning the distraction.”
I open his jeans while he kisses down my stomach. He strips them off, and I slide my underwear down my legs without waiting for help.
The open desire in his gaze erases every self-conscious impulse.
“What do you want tonight?” he asks.
The question used to feel like a test I should already know how to pass. Now it feels like permission.
“Slow.” I step close and wrap my arms around his neck. “I want to see you.”
His expression shifts, the sharp edge of desire softening into something warmer.
“You will.”
He lowers us onto the bed facing each other, his mouth close to mine. His palm follows the curve of my waist and hip, then slides between my thighs.
I open for him.
His fingers move through my wetness and circle my clit with unhurried pressure.
“This what you need?”
“For now.”
“For now,” he repeats, his lips curving.
I close my hand around his cock, and his breath catches.
“There’s the unsteady voice,” I whisper.
“Keep touching me and you’ll hear more of it.”
I stroke him while his fingers work over me. We kiss between murmured instructions, soft curses, and a laugh when our knees knock together.
When the ache inside me sharpens, I reach into the nightstand and hand him a condom.
Aiden rolls it on, draws my top leg over his hip, and settles between my thighs.
I wrap my hand around him and guide the head of his cock to my entrance.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He presses inside me slowly.
The stretch pulls a long breath from me. His hand tightens around my thigh as he sinks deeper, giving my body time to adjust.
My eyes close.
“Look at me, Paige.”
I open them.
His face is inches from mine. Strain tightens his jaw, and he lets me see the care in his eyes.
“There you are,” he says.
I rock my hips and take him the rest of the way.
Aiden groans against my mouth. His arm tightens around my back as he withdraws and pushes inside again.
“Deeper,” I say, my voice low. “Keep it slow.”
He lifts my thigh higher and gives me exactly what I asked for.
The new angle sends a fresh wave of pleasure through me with every measured thrust. I hold his gaze while our bodies move together without teasing or urgency. He kisses me between breaths, his hand roaming my back.
“You feel so good,” he says. “So fucking good wrapped around me.”
I slide my hand between our bodies.
His gaze drops as my fingers find my clit.
“Show me,” he says.
I circle myself while he keeps the same deep rhythm. I know what I need, and I trust him enough to take it while he watches.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice thick. “You know your body now.”
“You helped.”
“You paid attention.”
“So did you.”
He meets my eyes. “I pay attention to everything about you.”
The honesty in his voice closes the last inch of distance between us.
I pull him closer until his forehead rests against mine. “Stay right here.”
“I’m here.”
His thrusts deepen. My fingers move faster, and my breath starts to hitch.
“Aiden.”
“I feel it.” His arm locks around me. “Let go.”
The orgasm builds slowly, then shatters through me. I cry out against his mouth as my body clenches around him.
Aiden holds my gaze through it.
I grip the back of his neck. “Come with me.”
His control breaks.
He drives into me once more and comes with my name on his lips, holding me close when neither of us is ready to move.
Aiden kisses my forehead and cheek, disposes of the condom, and returns before the room can cool my skin.
I curl against his chest. His arm circles my waist, and his hand rests over my stomach.
“Did I improve your Friday?” he asks.
“Marginally.”
“Liar.”
I smile against his skin. “You can do this again next week.”
His arm tightens.
The music has stopped. The cabin is quiet except for Aiden’s breathing and the faint creak of the house settling around us. Josie sleeps safely down the hall. My cabin has always been where I return to myself, and curled against Aiden, I still feel completely like me.
I refuse to call this forever.
In the quiet moment before sleep takes me, I cannot deny the man holding me may already feel like home.