22. Paige
Paige
On Wednesday afternoon, my phone vibrates inside the children’s desk drawer while I am helping a seven-year-old locate a book about sharks.
“Scary sharks or educational sharks?” I ask.
He considers the distinction. “Both.”
“Excellent answer.”
I lead him toward the animal shelves, find a book with enough teeth on the cover to satisfy him, and return to the desk after he races back to his mother.
My phone vibrates again.
A photograph from Aiden fills the screen.
The worn paperback I loaned him on Monday is open across his denim-covered thigh, one dusty hand holding down the pages I marked.
The picture cuts him off at the waist, but I recognize the faded jeans, the scrape across his knuckle, and the casual strength in the hand holding that book.
Aiden: Your hotel owner quit too soon.
I glance toward the children’s section. Three parents are reading, one toddler is attempting to fit an entire board book beneath her shirt, and my coworker is handling the checkout line.
I take my phone into the workroom.
Me: Smart man. He knew when to quit.
His response arrives before I reach the supply table.
Aiden: He stopped after one orgasm.
Me: Blame the publisher.
Aiden: I don’t.
The memory of Aiden in my reading chair sends a hot pulse through me. His hands stayed where I put them until I asked for more. Then he held me with all that strength and let me keep control of every movement.
Me: I remember you losing control exactly when I told you to.
Aiden: You were sitting on my cock.
Me: A detail the book handled with greater restraint.
Aiden: The book was wrong.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at my screen like a woman who has forgotten she is at work.
Me: You’re very judgmental for a man reading romance in the middle of a ranch day.
Aiden: I’m taking a break.
I look at the dust on his hand and the strip of unfinished wood beneath his boot. Aiden does not take breaks with a novel unless he wants me to notice.
Me: Did you stage this photograph?
Aiden: I chose the angle carefully.
Me: Of course you did.
Aiden: It worked.
My nipples tighten beneath my blouse, making his confidence irritatingly justified.
I rest one hip against the supply table and type with both thumbs.
Me: Tonight, you’re going to put both hands on the kitchen counter while I undo your belt. If you follow instructions, I’ll decide what you earn next.
The typing bubble appears, vanishes, then returns.
Aiden: What time do you finish?
Me: Five.
Aiden: Come to the ranch after work.
The command sends heat pulling low in my stomach, and I let him wait a few seconds before typing my response.
Me: Try that again.
This pause lasts longer.
Aiden: Will you come to the ranch after work?
Me: Better.
Aiden: Josie is with Mom and Dad until dinner.
Me: Convenient.
Aiden: I thought so.
The workroom door opens, and my coworker leans inside. “The shark expert is asking whether we have anything with blood.”
“Tell him I’ll be right there.”
She smiles. “You look busy.”
“I’m resolving a dispute over fictional standards.”
“Of course you are.”
I wait until she leaves before checking the screen again.
Aiden: I also want to show you something.
Me: That sentence requires clarification after the photograph you sent.
Aiden: I’ve made progress on a project.
Me: That is suspiciously vague.
Aiden: Come see it.
I can almost hear the quiet confidence behind the words. He never asks me to inspect his ranch projects. This one feels personal before I know why.
Me: Will there be dust?
Aiden: Yes.
Me: Then project clothing and counter clothing may be incompatible.
Aiden: Wear something I can lift you onto a counter in.
Me: You were told where your hands belong.
Aiden: Then come remind me.
I smile and type my answer.
Me: I’ll be there after five.
At five thirty-eight, Aiden opens the old ranch office, his gaze fixed on my face, his attention too sharp for a man pretending this is a practical repair.
The swollen door swings open without sticking.
The air smells of fresh wood and sawdust, not dust, and the floor is smooth beneath my boots.
New outlets interrupt the bare walls. He’s cleaned the cloudy glass in both windows, and the mountain view is suddenly sharp enough to make the room feel twice as large.
Along the far wall, a framework of unfinished pine stretches almost to the ceiling.
I turn to him. “You built shelves.”
“They aren’t finished.”
“That doesn’t make them less shelf-shaped.”
Aiden closes the door behind us. His gray T-shirt only emphasizes what ranch work has done to his shoulders. A streak of sawdust runs along one forearm.
His gaze drifts toward the shelves. “They could hold records.”
“Do ranch records require floor-to-ceiling storage?”
“We keep thorough records.”
I walk to the mountain-facing window. The old latch opens without a fight. I look down at the floorboards, solid and new, then at the clean line of new wiring along the wall. “You didn’t just fix the door.”
“It was all overdue.” He gestures toward the shelves. “Dangerous wiring, rotten floor. The place needed a use.”
“For ranch records?” I run my fingers over the sanded edge of the built-in desk he’s refinished, stripping away years of damage to find the dark grain beneath.
“You’ve done all this since we came in here?”
“I had help with the floor and electrical work.”
I turn toward the empty corner. A new outlet sits low on the wall beside it.
“For a lamp?”
“You said the reading chair should go there.”
My gaze returns to him. “I said that once.”
“You were specific.”
“I was joking about hiding in here with books and snacks.”
“You weren’t joking about the books.”
No, I wasn’t. I described the room I would make if someone handed me four walls, a door, and permission to disappear. Aiden listened closely enough to remember where I put the chair.
My throat tightens around a smile. He took a detail I’d forgotten saying and built from it like a set of measurements worth keeping.
“Why?” My voice is quieter than I intended.
His gaze moves over my face. “The building needed a use.”
“That explains the repair. It doesn’t explain why you remembered every part of my imaginary library.”
“You like books.”
“Excellent work, Detective Slade.”
He steps closer. “And quiet. Mountain views. A door you can close when you’re tired of people.”
“Specific people?”
“Civilization, apparently.”
“And you?”
“I’ll knock.”
The answer lands differently, bypassing the defenses his certainty usually raises. I catch the front of his shirt and pull him down.
His mouth meets mine hard enough to steal the next smart remark. One hand closes around my hip while the other braces against the unfinished shelves behind me. He draws the kiss out until I open for him, his tongue stroking mine as his grip on my hip tightens.
My shoulders touch smooth pine. Aiden immediately slides his palm behind my back, protecting me from the rougher frame as he presses his body along mine. His thigh settles between my legs, and the pressure makes my fingers tighten in his shirt.
“You listen too well,” I murmur against his mouth.
His voice is rough against my ear. “I’ll keep doing it.”
“Dangerous promise.”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, then drags his lips along my jaw. “You like danger when it follows instructions.”
“Your hands were assigned to a kitchen counter.”
His hand flexes on my hip. “We haven’t reached the kitchen.”
“Convenient interpretation.”
“You were the one who kissed me.”
“I have a weakness for electrical safety.”
Aiden laughs against my throat. The sound vibrates over my skin, warm and rough, before his teeth graze the sensitive place beneath my ear. Heat pulls low and sharp, and I tilt my head to give him more access.
He takes it, then stops before I forget that dinner and a six-year-old exist beyond this room.
His thumb brushes my swollen lower lip. “Come on. I told Josie we’d make dinner.”
“A bold follow-up to attempted seduction beside unsecured shelving.”
“The shelves are secured.”
“Good. I’d hate for your ranch records to be endangered.”
He looks at the empty frames, then back at me. “You’ll look good surrounded by your books in here.”
You’ll.
The future tense slips beneath the teasing. Aiden reaches for my hand with no sign he said anything unusual, and I let him lead me toward the house.
The room he built makes me want to kiss him, but the certainty in his single word follows us out the door.
The kitchen counter is the first thing I look at when we enter the foreman’s house.
Aiden catches me assessing it. “Will it work?”
“It’s disappointingly practical.”
“It’s a counter.”
“It lacks atmosphere.”
“You were specific about what you wanted me to do against it. Atmosphere wasn’t mentioned.”
Heat climbs my neck as I set my bag on a chair. “You remember an alarming amount when sex is involved.”
“I remember everything you tell me.”
After the room he built for me, that answer lands differently.
I move to the refrigerator before he can see my face. “What are we making?”
“Quesadillas. Josie requested them.”
Aiden washes the sawdust from his arms while I pull cheese and vegetables from the refrigerator. He takes the knife from me without comment and starts slicing peppers. I find the grater in the second drawer because I have opened enough of his cabinets to know where things belong.
Knowing where he keeps the grater should feel like a small fact. It feels like evidence of a life being built around me.
I grate cheese while he heats a skillet, and we move around each other without discussing who should do what. Aiden slides the cutting board toward me when I need it. I move the oil before his hand reaches for the bottle. Dinner comes together like we’ve done this more than once.
I like it.
I’m still deciding how I feel about liking it when Aiden switches off the burner and turns toward me.
“Josie won’t be back for another twenty minutes.”
“That sounds like another assumption.”
“Dad is never early.”
“Your confidence has caused problems before.”
He steps between me and the counter. “You promised me something.”
“I promised to decide what you earned.”
“What have I earned?”
I glance toward the clean window, the quiet yard beyond it, then hook two fingers in his belt loop. “Lift me.”
Aiden’s gaze darkens. He grips my hips and sets me on the counter in one smooth motion. My knees fall open around him, and he shifts between them.
“Hands down,” I say, my voice low.
His palms flatten against the counter on either side of me.
“Good.”
I kiss him slowly, letting my tongue brush his before I catch his lower lip between my teeth. His fingers flex against the laminate, but he keeps them where I put them.
The obedience is almost hotter than the control.
I trail my mouth along his jaw. “You were very pleased with yourself in that photograph.”
“I knew what it would do to you.”
“Smug.”
“Justified.”
I reach between us and pull his belt free of the buckle. His breath changes against my cheek.
“What happens after you undo it?” he asks.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Take your time.”
His voice is steady, though the hard line of his body beneath his jeans argues with the performance.
I pop the button open. “You’re doing well.”
“Paige.”
The warning in my name sends a sharp pulse between my thighs. I slide the zipper down one tooth.
A car door slams outside.
We both freeze.
A second door closes, and Josie’s voice carries across the yard. “I can get it!”
I look at Aiden. He looks down at his open belt, then back at me.
“Your father is early.”
“First time in thirty-five years.”
A laugh escapes me as I pull his zipper up and shove the button through the hole. Aiden steps back so I can hop down, then catches my waist when one boot skids against the cabinet.
“Careful.”
“You’re the one who left me in a compromised position.”
“You chose the counter.”
“And you created the conditions for a poor choice.”
“You liked the counter.”
The back door handle rattles.
Aiden fastens his belt while I smooth my blouse, and we manage to put several respectable inches between us before Josie bursts into the kitchen carrying a paper bag.
“Grandma sent peaches.” She looks from Aiden to me, then at the ingredients spread across the counter. “Did you start without me?”
Aiden nudges the cutting board. “Only the cutting.”
“Can I put the cheese in?”
“You sure can.”
Josie sets the bag on the table and drags her step stool toward the counter. Aiden steadies it with one foot while she climbs up. His face shows no frustration, no impatience over the interruption. He kisses the top of her head and hands her the bowl.
Thirty seconds ago, my hand was headed inside this man’s jeans. Now I am standing beside his six-year-old and supervising cheese distribution.
Josie drops half of it in one spot.
“Excellent coverage,” I tell her.
“It needs more.”
Aiden leans against the counter. “She gets that from me.”
Josie wrinkles her nose. “You always say there’s too much cheese.”
Aiden looks at me. “She keeps the story honest.”
I laugh, and his hand settles briefly at my lower back as he reaches past me for the tortillas.
His touch is easy and familiar. I chose to be here. I am less certain what 'here' means to him.
I agreed to dinner. Standing between Aiden and Josie, I feel the shape of a life forming around me—warm and solid and utterly unasked for.