Chapter 1 #7
He laughed softly. “In this economy, he’ll probably have to move back in with you in four years anyway.”
I laughed too, then groaned. “These poor kids.”
“Would you mind?” he asked over his shoulder. “If he did?”
I shook my head. “My door will always be open to him. Always.”
“That’s what I told Jeremiah too. That there would always be a safe place for him at our house, no matter what. And he’s taken advantage of it several times. So, while it is a massive change the first time they leave, it’s not goodbye. I promise.”
While he pulled out a 1000-piece puzzle of wolves howling at the moon, I said, “You’re very insightful too.”
He grinned at me, and his eyes, crinkling at the corners, sparkled in the lamplight. “It’s getting cold. Should I start a fire?” A brow ticked. “Warm things up?”
Images tumbled through my mind. Fingers sifting through my hair, grasping my knee, hiking my leg up… “That…would be good.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, and I was cellophane again, showing him everything. “Then I’ll get right on it.”
Peeling my gaze away from the gleam in his eyes, the smirk tugging at his lips, I pretended to read my book for the next few hours.
Hours I’d really spent watching him build a fire in the woodstove, pet his dog, drink his beer.
Hours he’d sat at the table, searching for puzzle pieces while I tried to ignore the champagne bubbles fizzing beneath my sternum when he sang along with the old country music playing from his Bluetooth speaker.
Hours I drank the wine he kept refilling my glass with and ate the snacks he kept bringing me: sliced apples, four squares of a chocolate bar, a bowl of the most delicious dark red cherries I’d ever tasted.
Hours where all I had to do was pet Joey when he eventually left his chair and hopped into my lap, listen to the rain fall, and finally, finally breathe.
But sitting and breathing was a skill, one I hadn’t honed. And as afternoon settled in, I did the opposite, shifting my position over and over until Joey jumped off my lap and I gave up.
“Antsy?” Darryn’s eyes were still trained on his puzzle, but I felt his attention on me like a spotlight in the dark, tracking my movements while I started pacing.
“I guess.” I reached my arms toward the ceiling, needing to stretch after sitting for so long. The motion pulled my hoodie up, exposing my belly to the warm air.
When I lowered my arms, turned his way, I found his gaze dragging slowly up from my stomach.
“It’s easy to get bored on days like this,” he said absently, lazily, his eyes finally meeting mine as his lips quirked. “Easy to get antsy.”
Under his stare, my clothes felt itchy, too tight. Tugging at my collar, I said, “I guess we’ll just need to find something to do.”
Turning back to his puzzle, he notched a piece into place and said, “We could mess around.”
I froze mid stride. It took three solid seconds for me to remember what words were. And no sooner had I found them when he raised his eyes back to mine and said, “I’d love to make you come again.”
My knees wobbled. My skin burned. I was pretty sure my core resembled the surface of the sun. The invitation, so open and clear, tempted me. And then it rattled me. And then it terrified me.
“I don’t think,” I said while he pushed up from the table, climbed up the stairs, and prowled toward me, “it’s a good idea”—he moved into my space, heat radiating from his bonfire of a body—“to turn this”— he cupped my cheek, making my heart stumble over its next beat as I whispered, “into a fuck cabin.”
His head cocked, and silence landed between us like a bowling ball, hurtling through the floorboards and sinking into the dirt, sucking even our breaths down with it. Until he burst into laughter.
“Did you just say, ‘fuck cabin’?”
“What?” Blood surged into my cheeks. “It’s a thing. Strangers in the woods, miles from civilization, nothing to do but—”
“And that would be a bad thing?” he asked while I pulled my hair up off my sweltering neck. “Letting me make you feel good?”
My fingers ached to grasp his hips and pull him flush against me, and why was it a bad thing? Why did I not want to let this man fuck me until I couldn’t move? Come on, brain. You have one job.
“I think…I’d like it too much,” I said, letting my hair back down.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe the heat from the fire.
Or maybe it was his solid, steady presence, but honesty poured out of me.
“I think I’d like you too much. And one great big goodbye was enough for me this week.
I don’t think I could handle another one.
I’m just too…vulnerable right now. Which I know is a ridiculous thing to say considering the way I threw myself at you less than twenty-four hours ago, but here we are. ”
“It’s okay.” He brushed my bangs back with a soft swipe of his fingers, then he gave my forehead the sweetest kiss any forehead had ever received in the entire history of human existence.
“I’m a little vulnerable too.” A one-shouldered shrug.
“But I always am. Haven’t learned how to keep my heart off my sleeve yet. ”
Backing away, taking about five degrees of warmth with him, he blew out a sharp breath and said, “I’m antsy too, though. I need to move.” His wry smile returned. “Any chance you like to jog?”
An hour later, we stumbled back to the cabin, panting and worked and completely soaked.
My running shoes were covered in mud, my shirt plastered to my skin, and fuck it felt good.
Endorphins raced through my bloodstream as we laughed at each other on the porch, at our drenched clothes and wet hair and our gasping, misty breaths.
After we dried off, and I cleaned myself as best I could with the wipes Steph had thrown into my bag, Darryn made us pasta with peas and prosciutto for dinner. And then we ate. We drank. We worked on his puzzle. We talked.
We talked about our jobs while we clicked pieces into place.
He told me about his tours in Afghanistan, his difficulty assimilating when he got back home, how the people who helped him inspired him to help other vets.
I told him about my divorce, the cheating, the long road I’d travelled back to trusting my instincts again.
We found out that we shared the same comfort movie: Uncle Buck.
That we both loved thunderstorms and hated blue cheese.
That we both voted democrat and donated to NPR every year.
We learned that while neither of us were religious, we both found something sacred in swimming in oceans and hiking mountains and staring at the stars.
But when we started yawning, when the puzzle pieces started to blur in my tired vision, we said goodnight, and I went to my room while he went to his.
Proud of my own restraint—even if I did need to masturbate silently under the covers—I smiled into my pillow and fell into the deepest sleep I’d had in years.
Until his voice woke me up.
When I swiped my phone from my nightstand, 3:23am glowed back at me.
“No.” A deep, broken groan. “Don’t.”
“Darryn?” I turned on my phone’s flashlight and called out, “Are you okay?”
When I opened my door, Joey was sitting outside, waiting for me. He whined, turned around to trot back to Darryn’s room, and I followed.
His door was open, and when I shined the flashlight inside, I could see him, asleep on his belly with one knee bent.
“No,” he groaned again while his foot twitched under the covers.
I walked around the bed to turn on his lamp, then I sank to my knees beside him. His brows were pulled tight, his eyes flicking beneath his closed lids. Just like William’s used to do when he’d had night terrors.
“Darryn.” I placed my hand on his shoulder blade and gave him a gentle shake. “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
His eyes opened with a flash, and once he saw me, they closed again as he sucked in a lungful of air. “Shit,” he said. “Did I wake you?”
“Are you okay?”
“Bad dream.” He rolled onto his side, rubbed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been out, I still get them sometimes. But I’m fine. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said softly. “Can I do anything for you? Get you some water or—”
“I’m okay.” He gave me a smile I could tell he was hoping would reassure me. “I’ll be fine.”
Reaching out, I brushed his hair out of his eyes. Before I could pull away, he trapped my hand with his, bringing my knuckles to his lips.
“Maybe there is something you can do for me,” he said against my skin, kissing one knuckle at a time.
“Darryn,” I said, clinging to caution by my fingernails. “We shouldn’t—”
“Not that, Hannah. Sleep with me. Just sleep.” He pressed my palm over his heart. Its steady beat echoed through my bones. “It helps.”
How could I say no? With his sleepy eyes and beating heart and vulnerable…
everything. So I nodded, turned off the lamp, and climbed into his bed while Joey curled up at his feet.
When I slid in behind him, he reached back for my hand and pulled my arm over his side.
And we fell asleep like that, nestled together with our fingers intertwined.
He didn’t dream again that night.
But I did.
I dreamt of big hands moving me, positioning me, putting me where they wanted me. I dreamt of sparkling blue eyes hovering over me. Of hips nestled firmly between mine, lips on my skin, a tongue licking, teeth grazing. I dreamt of something hard and thick pressing into me.
No, that wasn’t a dream. That was him. That was real.
“Morning,” he mumbled sleepily into my ear.
Somehow, during the night, we’d switched places. I was the small spoon now, and he was everywhere. Legs, arms, chest, cock, warm, strong, hard. Everywhere.
Fuck, I wanted him. And maybe the voice inside me that overthought everything and filled every silent moment with words and questions and doubts wasn’t awake yet, because I reached back, slid my hand over his thigh, and squeezed.