by Abby Brooks
"Oh I see," says David, shaking his head. "The dinner, the flowers, the gift card, the wine, the wine glasses. You're fine to let me handle all that, but when it comes to an eighty-nine cent two liter, you're all over it." David grins at me and the little bubble of pride in my heart floats away like a child's balloon into the sky.
"I'm sorry..." I trail off, unsure how to continue through the huge swell of embarrassment rushing through me.
Leave it to David to read me like a book. He touches a finger to my chin, lifting my gaze to his. "Hey. You have nothing to be sorry about. My sense of humor can be jarring, but I never want it to hurt your feelings." He raises his eyebrows. "Never. Understand?"
I nod. "I shouldn't be so sensitive anyway."
David shrugs. "That's something we can talk about later. In the meantime, if my humor offends you, all you have to do is say something and I'll take it all back. For example—" He drops his chin and presses his hands together. “Please forgive me? That was unnecessarily harsh and not at all funny.”
He looks so genuine, so appalled by the misunderstanding. I should let him off the hook.
But I don’t. At least not right away. I step back and fold my arms across my chest, looking stern. I can’t pull off the deadpan delivery like him though, and I’m giggling within a matter of seconds.
David puts a reassuring arm around my shoulder and we stroll down the aisle towards the checkout lane, our carts bouncing against each other as we take up too much space. I half expect him to offer to pay for the ginger ale, but he doesn't and a tiny blip of the pride I felt earlier returns. It might only be eighty-nine cents, but just the fact that I have the money to spare is a big deal. Which should be sad, but I refuse to let it be anything but a reason to celebrate.
"When should I meet you?" I ask after we've paid and are strolling through the parking lot towards my car.
"Right now." David grabs my bag out of the cart after I pop the trunk. "You can follow me out there."
For a fraction of a second, I consider telling him no. Consider telling him I won't come to dinner. That I won't follow him to his beautiful farm where I'll share his wonderful company and hopefully (okay... probably) partake in more life-altering sex. But one look at his face and all those thoughts fly right out of my head.
The last week has been hard. My shoulders are so tense I wake up with headaches each and every morning. My breathing is so shallow I often have to remind myself to take a breath. I've caught myself clutching my own arms so tightly that my fingers ache from the tension.
And now? Standing next to David? All the things that seemed so big, like danger looming in every corner, they all fade away, muted by his strength and composure. I'm still not sure if someone like him deserves to pulled into a life as crazy as mine, but I haven't heard from Russell since last weekend and I'm really, really tired of doing everything based on what's right for everyone else. I am beyond ready to do something because it feels good. Because I want to. The last time I listened to that desire, David treated me to my first real orgasm and I haven't looked at my dilapidated back porch the same way since. I'd be a fool to walk away from this. From him. From us.
"You sure are bossy," I say to him after he closes the trunk of my car. "Come to my house. Have dinner with me. Tell me your favorite color." I deepen my voice in a cheap imitation of his.
"Careful, darlin'." David pulls me close. "You keep talking like that and you might inspire me to show you what bossy really looks like." He gives me a look that sends my adrenaline racing and my curiosity blazing, and then heads over to his truck—a vehicle that actually looks worthy of a farmer—and brings the thing to life. I follow him down familiar roads that twist and turn past landmarks I used to know so well, but which are now faded and dusty with time. Before long, we turn into a driveway marked by a proud white sign with the words Carmichael Farms scrolled across the clean paint. It's been so long since I was here, and while most of the memories of my time with Sarah have faded into idealized blurs of happiness and sunshine, everything about the place sparks memories. I park behind David's truck and climb out of the car.
"Wow," I say, taking in the grand old farmhouse, the freshly painted red barn standing out against the sky, and the rows and rows of green things stretching out beyond.
David slams his truck door and smiles as his dog comes bolting out of the barn, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his dog tags jingling. "Hey, buddy.” David crouches to greet the dog, laughing as he gets knocked to the ground.
I grab my single grocery bag out of the trunk and make my way over to him. "It might be even more beautiful here than I remember it."
David climbs to his feet and brushes off his jeans. "I should hope so. Lord knows I've put enough work into it over the years."
"Do you still live in the farmhouse?" I ask, suddenly very afraid that David still lives with his parents and all the wonderful things I imagined happening between us tonight will not be happening after all.
"Yep," he says. "I moved into a smaller house on the property for a while, but after Dad's stroke, we swapped." He places a hand on my low back and leads me up the steps to the wraparound porch and towards the front door. "Although, most days it seems like they haven't quite gotten the message."
I give him a funny look. "What do you mean?"
"You'll see." He pulls open the screen door and the hinges don't squeak, even though I expected them to. I can hear the creak of the door opening and the slam of it banging shut echoing through my memories so clearly that the silence unnerves me. Walking into the place is like the worst kind of déjà vu. Everything is so familiar and so different at the same time.
"Is that you, Davey?" A wonderfully round woman comes around the corner, wiping her hands on a dish towel tucked into the front pocket of her jeans.
David gives me a long look. "See what I mean?" he murmurs before turning back to his mom. "Hey, Momma. Look what I found out on the road." He gestures to me. "She looks hungry so I thought the least I could do is bring her home and feed her before setting her free.”
Annabelle Carmichael—her name comes echoing down to me through the decades—squints my way. "Is that...?" She takes a few steps closer. "Well, I'll be. That isn't Michelle Williams, is it? Sarah's old friend? My goodness, it is!" A grin lights up her pleasant face and she closes the distance between us and wraps her arms around me. "We're huggers," she says when I freeze. "You'll get used to it again."
"Hi, Mrs. Carmichael.” I wrap my arms around her and return the hug. "It's good to see you again."
"You just call me Annabelle." She gives me one last squeeze before letting me go and turning to David. "This is the woman Colton told us you were seeing? Sweet little Michelle Williams?" She turns back to me, her sharp eyes traveling across my features. "You sure did grow into yourself didn't you, dear?" She tries to covertly drop a wink David's way but fails miserably. I see the whole thing and suppress a giggle.
Next thing I know, I'm being pulled down the hallway into a kitchen that barely resembles the one in my memory, thanks to a set of brand new matching appliances and updated cabinets, and then I’m thrust in front of two men sitting at a worn table.
"Dean, Colton, you remember Michelle, don't you? Sarah's old friend?" Annabelle squeezes my shoulders and presents me like a prize. "This is the girl Colton told us about."
"Thanks, Colton." David's wry voice comes from somewhere behind me.
"You know you can always count on me, big brother," says the man at the table who looks nothing like the scrawny kid I remember. And then he smiles and I recognize him instantly. I would remember that shit-eating grin anywhere.
"So, anyway," says David, stepping forward and coming to my rescue. "I'm making dinner for Michelle tonight." He pauses while the Carmichaels stare first at me and then David, and then me again, smiling and looking expectant. "So obviously I'm going to need you to go to your own homes for the rest of the evening..." David trails off, waiting for his family to understand that he
wants them to leave.
The scraping of chairs and the clatter of utensils breaks an overly long silence as Annabelle, Dean, and Colton stand, muttering apologies on top of each other. Each of them gives me a big hug before they leave. I do my best to return the hugs with as much enthusiasm as they’re given.
"I'm sorry about that," David says once we're alone.
"Don't be." I laugh. "I can't believe your mom recognized me."
"She has the memory of an elephant, that one." He opens the fridge and puts my bag of groceries on the top shelf. "So, tell me. Are you hungry enough to start dinner now or do you have time to take a tour first?"
DAVID
Michelle turns to me with a smile and I can't remember the last time I've seen something as wonderful as this woman looking happy in my kitchen. "I'd love a tour," she says, gathering her hair over her shoulder.
I peek out the window to be sure my family is truly on their way to their respective homes. I wouldn't put it past them to be hanging around outside, Momma's ear pressed to the door as she whispers a play-by-play to Dad and Colton. "Perfect," I say when I'm sure they're gone. "What do you want to see first?"
"All of it," she replies with a wry twist of her lips and a sexy gleam in her eyes.
"All of it?" I get the feeling that she's not talking about the farm.
"Yep." Michelle steps into my space and grips my arms. "All of it." I stare into her eyes as the glimmer of confidence bleeds away until uncertainty replaces it completely. She bites her lip and drops her gaze. "I'd love to see how much of this place I remember," she offers almost apologetically, and then clears her throat.
If that was what I think it was—if that was the tiniest hint of her acting on her own impulse and desire, rather than on what she thinks I want from her, then damn it, I will do everything I can to breathe life into that spark. "Why don't we start upstairs?" I ask, before surprising her by flinging her over my shoulder. Michelle squeals and laughs as I head up the stairs, one hand sliding up the back of her thigh and gripping her ass, so she understands what I have planned for her.
"David!" she cries out, laughing as I stride into my room, kick the door shut behind me, and deposit her on my bed. She sits back on her hands, her knees bent and her lips parted as she stares up at me.
I tear my shirt over my head and abandon it on the floor, undo my pants and step out of them before I crawl onto the bed, positioning myself between her legs, and supporting myself with my hands on either side of her head. "You still want all of it?" I ask and then take her bottom lip between my teeth.
"Yes."
"Good, because that's what I'm going to give you. All of it." I press my lips to hers, and in a flurry of movement and heavy breath, her clothes join mine on the floor. I pin her wrists over her head and trail kisses down her throat to her tits as she arches and writhes beneath me. Desire devours me and my need to be inside her overtakes rational thought. I wrap my fingers around my dick and press it against her center, sliding my bare cock just barely past her slick folds.
She hisses in pleasure and it takes an act of sheer will not to plunge myself up to the hilt and pound away until I find my own release. Gathering all my strength, I pull back and rub the tip of my cock over her clit instead of fucking her senseless, watching as she rolls her hips and spreads her legs even further. Hot damn, Michelle is hiding a sex kitten buried underneath her mannered exterior and I promise, I'm going to liberate her.
I kiss my way up to her ear. "Get on your knees, darlin'."
She lifts her head to meet my gaze, her eyes wide and questioning.
"You're hungry for my cock, I can tell." I help her off her back and guide her to the floor before standing in front of her, one hand buried in her hair. She looks up at me as she glides her tongue around me and then, eyes still trained on mine, slips my dick into her mouth and sucks, one hand wrapping around the base of my shaft and stroking it into her mouth. I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling as my balls clench and my hips thrust towards her lips. I drag my attention back to her face.
"Fuck. I knew I'd like what you could do with that mouth." I could watch her down there all night, but I'm on edge as it is and I refuse to lose control before she gets to come. Using my hand in her hair, I pull her off my dick. "But I need you to get on the bed and let me fuck you. Now."
Michelle smiles up at me. "I thought you'd never ask." She slides onto the bed and opens her knees.
I grab a condom out of the bedside drawer and tear open the foil packet. "Believe me, darlin'. I'm not asking."
I collapse in a heap beside Michelle and she climbs up to snuggle her cheek against my chest. "Thank you," she says, sighing. "I'm sorry."
I smooth her black hair off her sweaty forehead. "Why do you apologize after sex?"
She buries her face into my shoulder. "I don't know." Her voice is muffled. "I just feel bad for..." She trails off. "I don't know."
I slide out from underneath her and prop myself up on an elbow. "You feel bad?"
"For... I don't know. Losing control." She blushes. "You feel so good and all I can think about is..." She shakes her head. "That's the thing. I can't even think. I don't worry about you at all and just lose myself to how good you make me feel. You make me selfish."
"And you think you need to apologize for that?" I smile down at her. "The thought that I drive you that crazy is more erotic than anything I've ever experienced. Watching you unravel around me? That shit's gold. Honestly, I should be the one thanking you."
Michelle runs her hands up into her hair, staring dreamily up at the ceiling. "I just never knew it could feel that good." She turns to me. "You have a gift. And..." She trails off, looking uncertain. "I don't think I've ever had an orgasm before you."
My first reaction is to call her out on such a sweet lie, but looking at her face, I don't doubt she's telling the truth. "As tragic as that is, I'm honored. And I promise that we will make up for lost time over and over and over again." I drop a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Also, I think the gift is the two of us together. We've got something special growing here," I say as I slide out of bed and gather my clothes.
She sits up, clutching my sheet to her chest. "It does feel special, doesn't it?" She smiles and takes a deep breath, holding it a few seconds before letting it out slowly.
"You want to see the rest of the farm now?" I hold out a hand to her.
"I'd love that." She slides out of bed, letting the sheet fall away and I take the chance to appreciate her beauty as she gets dressed and fiddles with her hair. "I think my hair is ruined," she says, scrunching up her nose as she tries to smooth it back into place.
I shake my head. "Not at all. Just been fucked looks hella good on you."
MICHELLE
I wasn't lying when I said Carmichael Farms is more beautiful than I remember it. We step out onto the wraparound porch of the main house—David's house now—and I lean over the railing, staring out at the rolling hills and waving grass. At the chickens scratching and pecking off in the distance. At the rich, red barn seemingly lit on fire by the setting sun.
"Come on," he says, taking my hand. "I want to show you Mouse first. She's grown so much."
David leads me across the gravel driveway towards the barn as the fresh air and post-sex afterglow melt away the stress that lives inside me on any given day. I forgot how easy life is when you're anxiety free, and I make a promise to myself not to think about anything but the two of us together while I'm here. For however long I'm at David's side, I'm going to live in the moment. I owe myself that, at least. The past is over and the future hasn't happened yet. Right now, I'm happy and that's all that matters.
The moment we step into the barn, a small herd of cats come running from the corners, their tails sticking straight up in the air and shaking happily. David crouches down to greet them, rubbing their heads and laughing as they bump against his hands and legs. "There she is," he says, pointing out a beautiful tabby making her way to him.
"Tha
t's Mouse?" I ask, incredulously. She's not a tiny kitten anymore. She's long and lean, her sinuous movements calculated and precise. She looks just like the accomplished hunter Claire wanted her to be.
"Sure is." He straightens and shoves his hands into his back pockets, staring down at the cats at his feet. "She's loving it out here."
"I can see why," I say, staring at David. "The fresh air, the exercise. You."
David smiles at me, his eyes warm and gentle. "I know I promised you a tour, but my stomach keeps reminding me that I skimped on lunch. How do you feel about skipping the tour for now in favor of getting right to dinner?" My stomach rumbles noisily and David's eyes go wide.
"Does that answer your question?" I ask.
"Without a doubt." David wraps an arm around my shoulders and leads me out of the barn. "Let's get some food in you before that thing does anything serious," he says, looking down at my stomach.
It turns out that David is the reason behind all the renovations in the kitchen. He loves to cook almost as much as he loves modern technology, and the outdated stuff I remember from when I was young wasn't cutting it for him. He updated things a couple years ago, doing most of the work himself. As David pulls tons of fresh veggies out of the large refrigerator, I imagine him shirtless and sweaty. A hammer in one hand and drill in the other, striding around the space like a Viking on a power trip.
"What?" he asks, catching me staring with what must be a dreamy smile smeared across my face.
"I like you," I reply, taking a head of lettuce and a gigantic tomato out of his hands.
"Good. I like you, too." He pulls the two liter of ginger ale out of the fridge. "Kind of a lot."
I beam. "Definitely kind of a lot," I say, bobbing my head in agreement.
"You ready to try a Jack and Ginger?" David brandishes the soda my way, a question on his face.
"Yep." I flare my hands. "What can I do to help?"
