Chapter 12 Lainey
Lainey
Ican’t believe I just said that, but it was the truth.
Remington should have kissed me. I wanted him to kiss me.
At least we are on the same page. Now I know for sure that I am not alone in my feelings, and I am not crazy thinking I am being burned alive by our chemistry with no way to control it.
We are both being consumed just as quickly by whatever is happening between us.
I love the flexibility of working from home.
Thankfully, this afternoon is a conference call that I have to phone in for, no video.
I can listen to it while I bake. It is only a monthly meeting that I don’t contribute much to.
Lots of listening, and “uh-huhs,” “I understands,” and “yes, sir, I will get that going,” followed by more listening.
Very boring, very time consuming, and my least favorite meeting of the month.
So having this distraction to keep me busy will help pass the time.
I usually try a new cookie recipe or make myself my perfected apple pie.
When I first moved in here and tried to make a pie, I burned it to an inedible crisp and I cried.
Me a few years ago would have just given up and never baked anything ever again, but my therapist encouraged me to keep going until I mastered at least one recipe.
One thing that was hard for me that I was not allowed to try making with my mom growing up, that I would have loved to have done, was pie.
So I tried again, and again, and again. I feel bad for all the apples, sugar, and crust that I sacrificed in the process of my healing.
However, in the end it was worth it, because now I can confidently say I make an amazing apple pie that I am proud of.
And I happen to know a man who loves apples.
Remington is working today, a twenty-four-hour shift, but I would really like to see him again.
The fire station has long, demanding hours, and I know that Remington doesn’t just cover fires.
He is fully qualified as an EMT as well.
They get called out to all types of accidents and emergencies.
He works really hard, gives so much of himself to everyone.
That makes me think of a plan to surprise him after I am done with my work.
I had exactly enough time to run to the grocery store to get my weekly shopping done and the pie ingredients I needed before I got back to my apartment for the afternoon meeting.
Plus, I really hope that it will make Remington smile.
He went out of his way to make our date special and thoughtful.
He also puts so much effort into his flowers for me, and don’t even get me started on the journal.
My phone dings as I am pulling into the Fox Hollow apartment complex. I look down and smile to see the man that consumes my thoughts has finally responded to my last text about kissing me. I was really starting to worry I had been too forward.
Remington: I promise, Lainey, I won’t be making that same mistake twice.
Remington: I have been beating myself up for not kissing you from the minute I walked away.
I feel my cheeks heat, and those wild butterflies come back in full force. I am not sure if I want to laugh with giddy excitement or sob with relief.
Lainey: Please don’t hurt that handsome face. I don’t want our first kiss to be me kissing it better.
Remington: I will try and stay injury-free until I see you again.
Only punching the heavy bag today.
Lainey: Promise?
Remington: Pinky
Lainey: Are you allowed to have visitors at the fire station?
Remington: Yeah, we have family and friends pop in all the time when we are on shift.
Lainey: Would it be okay if I came up to see you after I get done with work?
Lainey: I have something I want to drop off for you.
Lainey: I promise I won’t stay long.
Remington: Nothing would make me happier than seeing you today. All you need to bring me is your smile, and you definitely don’t need to rush off.
Lainey: Okay.
Remington: Shoot me a text when you leave so I know when you’re on your way.
Lainey:
Thumbs-up?! I was too frazzled and nervous to think of what else to say.
The meeting seems extra boring and extra long, but I know that it is simply because I am clock-watching.
I can’t wait for the workday to be done.
Good thing I am not so distracted that I ruin my perfect pie by swapping salt and sugar like I did for pie number eleven.
It was so awful I took one bite and spit it out, ran to the sink, and had to rinse my mouth out.
Unfortunately, I also had to do that for pies three, seventeen, and twenty-six, but for reasons other than salt.
That was one problem with buying bulk and not being as organized as I should have been.
I shudder thinking of the dark days of my pie mishaps. I’ve come a long way.
My boss finally wraps up the meeting just as I slide the pie into the oven and set the timer.
This gives me enough time to complete my notes and work for the day, organize what I need to have set up for tomorrow, and shut down my laptop for the night.
I pull the pie out to cool, make my way into my bedroom, and freeze.
Oh my lord. Lainey, you are a one-woman tornado sometimes.
My room is still experiencing my pre-date outfit disaster.
I was so blissed out from a wonderful date, but also spiraling about the non-kiss, that I went to bed with tunnel vision and didn’t even register this mess.
I start to clean up as quickly as I can, not wanting to come back later to yesterday’s problems.
My hair still looks amazing from Kendra, so I go to my bathroom and carefully fluff it a bit and add some hair spray.
I brush my teeth, touch up my make-up, and smile at my reflection.
It falters for a minute, thinking about previous men in my life and how much they would hate my new look.
I briefly worry about Remington and what he will think.
I know he liked my long hair. My stomach does an uneasy twist. Taking three full, deep breaths I think back to this morning and what I told my best friend—that I did this for myself.
If Remington doesn’t like it, well that will be red flag number one.
This is the first time I have felt this confident in a long time, maybe ever.
I don’t want this feeling to go away by letting that negative voice crawl back in and ruin my day.
Clicking off all the lights, I carefully grab the pie, my bag, keys, phone and head out the door.
Once I am in my car, I send a quick text to let Remington know I am on my way to the fire station.
When I pull up to the visitor lot, Remington is standing outside waiting for me.
I nearly swallow my tongue at the sight of him.
He has on navy-blue tactical pants, black boots, and a tight navy T-shirt with the Fox Grove fire department emblem in red on his chest. As hot as his uniform is, it’s the full sleeve of dark tattoos on his left arm, disappearing under the cuff of his T-shirt, that makes me feel like I am going to pass out.
I had no clue Remington had any ink, and honestly this whole picture right now is too much for me to handle.
I am not sure if I should take a picture so I can remember this moment forever or jump out of my car and embarrass myself by trying to Velcro myself to him like a human koala.
My lady parts are definitely screaming their vote for the latter.
I get out of the car, smoothing my blue, paisley-covered maxi dress so I have something to do with my nervous hands. Was I a bit overdressed for a pie delivery? Sure, but I wanted to look as good on the outside as my new hair was making me feel on the inside.
Remington starts to walk toward me, but then his eyes slightly widen, and he falters for just a moment. My heart starts to sink.
“Holy fuck,” I hear him murmur.
“Hi,” I say, giving a small wave as he stops right in front of me, his eyes devouring my face and his tongue licking his full bottom lip.
“You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen,” Remington says, nearly breathless.
“W-what?” I stammer in disbelief.
“You look incredible. Did you do this today? With your friend?” he wonders, looking at my hair.
“Yeah, it’s something I always wanted to try and never had the guts to do it,” I admit, casting my eyes to the ground.
A warm, rough hand tips my chin back up, and his golden eyes are locked in on me.
Remington’s attention does not make me feel uneasy like every other man I have been with.
It makes me feel a comfortable warmth that starts wherever he’s touching me, whether it’s his stare or his hands, and pools out, running along some kind of invisible plane of existence that he’s charging.
That warmth burns deep in a place that hasn’t existed before him.
It’s safe and sacred, and I’m trying to not be afraid of its power.
“I really want to touch it, run my hands through it. But I know from my mom and sister women have hair rules, especially when they just got it done all fancy.” Remington smirks at me.
Laughing, not able to hold back my own smile, I tell him, “I don’t have any hair rules, you can do whatever you want to it, Remington.”
His eyes go to a molten smolder as he laces one hand around my hip.
Nearly growling, he pulls me close, and says, “Good, because I wanna fucking ruin it.” He slips his other hand into my hair, and he bends his massive frame over me.
His mouth finally doing what I wanted it to last night, he devours me in a kiss.
His lips are soft but commanding, and I melt into his embrace.
I moan as his hot tongue sweeps across the seam of my lips, and I let him in, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
Never in my life has a man kissed me like this.
I never want another man to kiss me like this.
I go up on my toes so I can hold on tighter, and he tugs the hair at the nape of my neck. I let out a tiny yelp of surprise, and Remington immediately pulls back. A cold rush of air running where his heated body was just pressed against mine makes me shiver.
Worry creases his brow. “Sorry, too much?” he asks, sounding a little embarrassed.
“More” is all I can manage to say and pull him back to me, his smiling mouth consuming me all over again.
Slowly we pull out of our smoldering kiss and stand with our foreheads connected, breaths heavy, lust thrumming thick in the air. If we were not standing in the FGFD parking lot, who knows if we would have been able to stop.
“Hi,” I whisper again.
Remington looks down at me seriously, and says, “Hi. Can you forgive me for not kissing you last night?”
Beaming up at him, probably looking like a total fool, I say, “As long as you keep kissing me like that, yeah, all is forgiven.”
Remington pulls me into a tight hug and kisses the top of my head. “Deal, beautiful. Can I give you the grand tour of the fire station now?”
“I’d love one! But I have something for you, remember?” I unfortunately have to leave his warm embrace to go back to my car and get his pie. Handing it to him he looks so surprised, like it’s the first pie he’s ever seen.
“Did you make this?” His voice is warm and reverent.
“Yes, it’s my special apple pie. I spent well over a year experimenting and perfecting it,” I tell him, suddenly feeling worried again. “I thought you might enjoy it because you told me apples are your favorite.”
“Hell, yes! Thank you. This is amazing, and so kind. Nobody has ever made a pie just for me before.” His smile is so bright and happy, it could power our small town.
“You are actually the first person I’ve ever made it for.” My hands feel the need to fidget again with my admission, so I fiddle with the strap of my bag that I grabbed off the passenger seat.
Remington surprises me again with a sweet, quick kiss on my lips. “Nothing will taste as amazing as your kisses, but I am willing to try anything you make.”
Blushing, I start to laugh uncontrollably, tears stream, and a side stitch forms. Remington patiently stands there, grinning and waiting to be let in on my inside joke. “What is so funny about that?”
“Trust me, you didn’t want to try all my practice pies before I perfected this recipe, Remington.”
“Sure I would have!” he defends himself.
“No, really. They were so awful most ended up in the trash. Working on this pie was part of my therapy. Allowing myself to experiment and learn and grow in the kitchen . . . in a way that I wasn’t able to when I was growing up.
” I sigh, swallowing a lump of emotions, hating to bring down the moment.
Remington, still happy and smiling, says, “I think that’s great! And I pinky promise that if you want to experiment with any new recipe in the future, I will try them all, even the trash batches.” Grinning still, he takes my hand, kisses the back of it, and leads me toward the station doors.
“Who even are you?” I ask in disbelief.
“Your man.” He states it so effortlessly, like it was meant to be, and I think maybe he’s right . . . because there is nothing that would make me happier than having him claim me.