26. Summer
Summer
September 22nd, The Autumnal Equinox
I t had been a long four weeks of recuperation after my release. Labor Day cookouts and boating trips were replaced by a quiet affair in Van’s backyard. My nose was still tender, but the bruising had healed from two black eyes and a purple nose to an unsightly chartreuse.
The criminal justice system ran slow, and Cory was out on bail until his hearing. I was able to get a protection order in place, keeping him away from me. Still, Van insisted I shouldn’t be alone.
It was too soon to move in together, but with his home being far bigger than my little apartment and much more comfortable, I ended up staying there most nights.
When Autumn suggested we all get together for the equinox, her idea was to perform what she called a release ritual. She wanted to do a four-mile sunset hike up to the top of a nearby peak.
I vetoed that idea, and instead, we met at a beach, where we wrote out our regrets and burned them as we gave thanks for the blessings we had.
A few months before, I would have scoffed, but falling in love with Van had softened me.
I was thankful for my love for him.
He had been nothing more than accommodating, helping me with things that would send other men to the hills.
When I tried to tell him I didn’t want him to see me in such a state, he reminded me he had seen me throw up on at least two occasions and still thought I was the most beautiful woman in the world.
He stayed with me as I gave my statement to the police, where I outlined every moment of the attack. It was hard for him to hear, but he didn’t make a sound, holding my hand as I spoke.
I admitted to the catfishing account but left out the email hacking and other illegal portions.
The police didn’t seem too interested in Cory’s claims that I ruined his life, particularly because the IRS had opened up their case against him.
As I stood on the beach, flames licked my paper, and my words charred into nothing along with my doubts and fears.
After the equinox ritual, Autumn drove me to the bar to meet up with Van and his coworkers for a special Sunday trivia night.
As I sat beside him, Van laced an arm around my waist, pulling me close, and dragged the glass of my favorite cider over to me.
The host, Dr. Factoid, in a neon yellow bowler cap, got up to the microphone, carrying a stack of cards. “Alright, beardos and weirdos, we have another round of trivia, starting with this first question. For five points, what is the least popular flavor of Laffy Taffy?”
I smirked at Van as I wrote the answer.
By the time I had returned to his house, the ten sticks of banana taffy were gone. He told me later that he stress-ate them over a single day.
“What is the longest-running Aaron Sorkin show?” Dr. Factoid asked.
Putting down my cider, I glanced at Van. “This game is too easy, right?”
He laughed, penciling in the answer.
The host flipped another card. “In knitting, what does PSSO mean?”
I almost laughed.
Around us, people furrowed their brows, whispering to one another, while I wrote my anser.
“Hood Canal is not a true canal but a what?”
I had always been good at trivia, but it was as if these questions were made for me.
When we got the last question about the penalties of illegal trespassing, I glanced over at Van. “Did you do something?”
He frowned, but the casual expression couldn’t hide the humor in his eyes.
“Me?”
“Seriously?” I nudged him. “I can’t believe you fixed the questions for bar trivia.”
“How would I do that, Sunshine? Who would spend hours researching to come up with questions that are perfectly in tuned to our interests and relationship and then track the host down at his day job, in Illahee where he works in IT, and pay him a few hundred bucks to switch the questions?”
Heat flooded my cheeks, and I couldn’t bite back the smile blooming over my face.
Leaning forward, I rested a hand on his cheek.
Since I got out, he’d been so gentle with me. While there have been a lot of little pecks and hand-holding, his touch has been tender, tentative, even. Enough of that.
I kissed him in the middle of that dingy dive bar, with its peeling marbled contact-papered tabletop.
He held my cheek delicately as if I were a bubble about to burst, but I didn’t allow it.
I deepened our kiss, my tongue tracing the seam of his lips.
It had been a long month without this. The need pulsed between us as he matched my kisses with his own.
His shouting coworkers, announcing we had won with a perfect score, interrupted us.
No surprise there.
Beside us, Eldon leaned forward, his arm around Savvy’s shoulder. “You two should go grab the prize. You answered all the questions, anyway.”
Van and I grinned at each other. With my thumb, I wiped the spot of pink lipstick lingering on his mouth. “As sweet as that is, I think we’ve both won, don’t you?”
Van’s smile widened.
“Absolutely.” Clapping Eldon on the shoulder, he shook his head. “You two take it. We have other plans.”
We walked through the house and straight out the back door into the garden.
In the middle of the lawn, Van had set a large picnic blanket, with a bottle of my favorite rosé on ice and little cakes. On the edge of the fabric were trios of battery-operated tea lights.
I covered my mouth at the sight. “Van, I—”
Taking my hand, he helped me sit before lowering himself beside me. He poured the rosé into one of the teacups from the cabinet.
He had insisted I use them as often as possible, even making a stray comment about them belonging to me.
I popped one of the little cakes in my mouth, the taste exploding across my taste buds. “I didn’t know the bakery made mini lemon rose cakes.”
He grinned at me. “They don’t, normally. I put in a special request for them.”
A swelling sensation filled my chest at the words. All these little gestures, the care, and details he created for me. My eyes prickled with tears. That was a new thing from the attack. I was rawer at first, crying over music lyrics and sad books.
But then, being in the safety of Van’s arms, with the help of my friends and family, fulfilling it all made it easier to be vulnerable with him.
For the first time in my adult life, I could be soft. Before, I existed behind a shield, never showing my tenderness. But with Van, I grew stronger. And, in that strength, I could move on. Never forgiving, I wasn’t a completely different woman. But I could let go, and eventually, I knew that bad day would be a passing memory I could easily forget.
I still considered myself a badass and went back to work with the same attention to detail and management style. If I felt someone needed to be called out, I was more than willing to do it. But in the confines of my relationship with Van, I could let go of that. He had seen me at my worst: the petty, the sick, and the mean.
And he loved me.
After setting down my finished glass of rosé, I got on my hands and knees to climb on his lap.
As nice as the kiss we had in the bar was. I could tell he was holding back with me. I would need to set the tone for the night.
My sundress rode up my thighs as I straddled him, nothing but my thin underwear and his shorts dividing us.
This kiss was hard, demanding, even, as my tongue delved into his mouth.
I rubbed my center along his ridge.
He pulled back, lust but also a hesitancy clouding his eyes. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”
I softened, laying a hand on his cheek. “You could never hurt me. Donovan Logan, you healed me.”
The softness of love in his eyes hardened to steely desire.
“Truly.”
“Truly.”
And with that, we kissed, his hands under my dress and pulling my panties to the side.
I slipped my fingers between us, unbuttoning him and pulling his cock free. I stroked down his length once, twice, and he gasped against my lips.
He put me on my back, the soft scratch of the blanket under my bare shoulders.
My underwear and his shirt was flung to some far reach of the garden and then my dress was over my head.
In the silver moonlight, Van braced himself over me, the hard muscles of his arms holding me in his grip.
His mouth left mine, kissing my jaw, before his tongue slid to my breasts.
A pulse thrummed inside me, demanding more.
“No more,” I gasped out as his teeth scrape against my nipple. “I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”
It had been weeks of chaste kisses and lingering glances. The mere brush of his hand against my clit was sending me close.
He didn’t need any more encouragement. His cock sank into me, and I cried out.
The pace was frenzied. We had been apart for far too long to take our time.
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I brought him deeper and then crashed, stars filling my eyes as he exploded inside me.
The neighbors might’ve heard—hell, even the whole neighborhood—but as he thrust inside me, I couldn’t care.
Together, we came down, limbs heavy and heated.
Still inside me, he kissed my neck, careful not to press on the bruises.
My fingers danced over the muscles of his back as we caught our breath.
Content with the moment, we lay there for what could have been an hour or five minutes.
As if it were heavy, he picked his head up from my chest and looked up at me. Brushing the hair from my face, he cupped my cheek before giving me a languid kiss.
“That wasn’t part of my plan. Give me about two minutes, and we’re going to make love.”
My eyes drifted shut at the remark, a smile playing on my lips as we sank into the soft grass, the scent of midnight roses in the air.