I knew I’d been living my own secret over the past month or so with Spencer. That was no way to begin the relationship with the man I’d loved for so long. There’d not been another option, not really, but I was ready to come out of the shadows.
Less than a day had passed since we’d told the kids, and in so doing, Spencer and I were free. We could be exactly who we were, no matter where we chose to go. I felt lighter than I had in a very long time. We ate out for lunch and dinner, first at Mabel’s and then at the upper-scale restaurant at the Blue Blossom Bed-and-Breakfast. Solely for the purpose of being out in public, holding hands, and shattering our secret into a million unrepairable pieces.
To my shame, I realized I hadn’t been as aware of myself as I’d believed. The relief I felt wasn’t based on a month of living in secret, at least not entirely. Maybe not even mostly. I felt lighter, younger, more hopeful. And not simply because Spencer was by my side, though I couldn’t imagine anything better. Outside of the protective time with my therapist, the past decade had been lived in secret, at least one aspect of it. I hadn’t realized the nagging guilt I’d carried around knowing that I was in love with my sister’s husband. I’d hidden it, never acted on it, never planned to. But as it turned out, holding on to that so tightly had been wearing me down, and I hadn’t even realized. I wondered if I should’ve confessed years ago. It might’ve been better for Erica, Spencer, and myself. Or maybe the story would’ve played out differently. Perhaps those years of darkness and secrets were the price I had to pay, the price Spencer and I both had to pay.
The shower turned off, and I slid my journal across the bed from me, closing its pages on the words and the melancholy that attempted to creep in on such a perfect day. Enough overthinking, enough introspection. There was life to live, finally.
After a few moments, Spencer walked into the bedroom, wearing his jersey shorts and a T-shirt. I’d never get tired of looking at him. Yes, there was most definitely life to live. Though, in this instance, I was a little disappointed. “You got dressed in the bathroom?”
“If I came out here naked, we both know what would happen. And we have plans. Big, big plans.” He winked and motioned to the door. “In fact, I’m not even going to come close to you, especially when you’re on the bed. I’ll go get everything ready. You need to shower?”
“Yes, I’m pretty sure I still smell like saltwater. We should’ve showered before dinner.”
“Nah, we were hungry. Go clean up. See you in a minute.” He left the bedroom.
My adrenaline kicked in just a touch. We did have plans. Like he’d said, big, big plans. I was going to make it a quick shower.
Spencer was waiting by the island in the kitchen, standing by a loaded tray.
“You look pretty proud of yourself.”
“Maybe I am.” Spencer grinned and pointed out different things on the tray. “We’ve got assorted meats, cheeses, popcorn, chocolate, cherries”—he tapped the bottle—“pink champagne.”
“Did you forget that we just had dinner?”
“We’re celebrating. We can have a second dinner. Besides, anything eaten with champagne doesn’t have calories.” He patted his flat stomach, making me think of the sculpted abs underneath his shirt. “And if I recall, you said I was sexy even with my dad belly. I’m thinking of bringing it back. The chest hair has made a reoccurrence. Maybe the belly should too.”
At that moment, I wanted to leave the tray of food out and let it go bad as I pulled him back into the bedroom. “And I meant it. I’ve never seen you not sexy. I’ll take you any way I can get you.”
He grimaced. “You’re a sick man. Sick, sick, sick. But no, the chest hair can stay, but the belly is staying gone. But for tonight, calories don’t matter.” He picked up the tray. “Would you get the champagne flutes?”
“You bet, but hold on.” I added a little black envelope onto the tray. “Final touch.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
I shrugged. “For later.”
“Is it one of those homemade coupons redeemable for sexual favors?”
“We both know you don’t need a coupon for that.” I retrieved the champagne flutes and followed him out the door. I paused for a second, a happy thrill shooting through me. “You already lit the candles.”
“Yep. I also fluffed the cushions, and I even gave a quick pass over to the lantern glass. I wanted to make sure we are well-lit for the neighbors.” Spencer walked the long distance to the swing and placed the tray on the nearby table.
“You’re ridiculous. But I always suspected you’d be a romantic.”
Instead of responding, Spencer took a seat in the corner of the swing, rested one arm over the back, and patted the empty spot next to him. “Join me on the veranda, my man.”
It was silly how overwhelmed I felt. I’d sat on my swing a million times and watched the sunset, read by the light of the gas lanterns, and felt at peace after a long day of work. But with Spencer there, knowing that it didn’t matter what people walking by might see, it felt like my beautiful little safe space had been recreated or transformed into something truly magical. No, not magical. Just real.
I settled in beside him, leaning back into the crook of his body, then reached up and pulled his arm around me. And sighed.
Spencer ran his jaw over my ear, his day’s worth of stubble scratching loudly. His voice was low, warm. “I never dreamed I’d be this happy. To think I fought so long and hard so that I wouldn’t have this.”
I squeezed his hand, not trusting myself to respond. The veranda was beautiful. Completely aglow in the soft evening light. The lanterns flickered across the glossy sheen of the wood planks and the candles offered a more subtle hue over the cascade of plants nearby. The gingerbread lattice overhead and the wide railing below served to create our own cozy, protected space, while still revealing us to the rest of the world. Or at least to the rest of Lavender Shores.
No more secrets. I pulled Spencer’s arm a little tighter around me one more time and let out a shaky breath. No more secrets.
We didn’t speak for a long time. Just sat, gently rocking back and forth. Spencer’s arm slung around my right shoulder, our left hands intertwined in my lap, just listening to the night sounds, the hum of people nearby, the buzz of passing cars. I knew not every night would end like this. Most of them wouldn’t. There would be other dramas, other struggles, other hurts. But through them all, we would sprinkle nights like this, moments similar to these, and we would walk through whatever lay ahead hand in hand out in the open.
Several people passed by, but none looked our way, each busy walking their dog or talking to whomever they were with. After a while, I wondered if Spencer and I could’ve been more open when we were in Lavender Shores, when we were sitting together on the veranda. It had felt as if the whole world was staring at my front porch. Now, here we were, no longer keeping our feelings hidden, and no one even noticed. Not that it mattered. The point shouldn’t be others noticing, but Spencer and I no longer having to hide.
A shrill yapping drew my attention toward the sidewalk once more as Lucy and Jack Rivera strolled by with their unhinged Pomeranian. Lucy glanced our way, continued walking, then paused. A delicious thrill washed over me, and I whispered nearly soundlessly to Spencer, “Get ready.”
Okay, maybe I really did want others to notice.
Sure enough, Lucy looked back over, and though I couldn’t see her expression, there was a visible flinch. I lifted my hand and waved. Beside me, Spencer did the same, then lowered his hand again, making sure to wrap his arm back around my chest.
“Good evening, Lucy! Jack!”
“Ah… good evening, Donovan! How… how are you, dear?”
I waited a hairsbreadth before responding, making sure I wasn’t going to laugh. I suddenly felt a bit giddy. “Never better. Never, ever better.”
It looked like she started to turn back around, but she paused again. “Is that… Spencer Epstein there with you?
”
Spencer called out, but he wasn’t as successful in keeping the humor from his tone. “Sure is, Mrs. Rivera. Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it… it sure is.” Mr. Rivera had already walked on, taking the Pomeranian with him. She glanced after him and then back at us, then gave a final wave. “Well, you boys… have fun.”
We managed to wait until she was out of sight before giving in to a case of the giggles. Finally, I caught my breath and pulled out of Spencer’s embrace, enough to grin over at him. “Oh my God, that could not have gone better. Lucy Rivera, of all people. Founding family and maybe the queen of gossip to boot. Our foray into public life as a couple is official.”
“I’d say you’re right.” Spencer chuckled and patted my knee. “I’d also say you have a little bit more founding family in you than you let on sometimes. You enjoyed that nearly as much as Erica would’ve.”
For a second I wondered if I needed to be insulted. I decided not, and shrugged. “What can I say, it’s nice to live out in the open. And if I get to show you off in the process? Win-win!”
He laughed again. “And you said I’m ridiculous.” He leaned forward, reaching for the champagne. “Now that we’ve made a spectacle of ourselves, may I open this?”
“Yes, please do. And then you can have your surprise.” I was suddenly a little nervous about the gift.
“That’ll make me speedy.” With deft hands, he opened the champagne bottle with a loud pop and poured us two overly full glasses. He lifted his flute between us. “What do we toast too?”
I didn’t even have to think. “To love out in the open.”
“See, I’m not the only romantic.” He clinked his glass with mine. “To love out in the open.”
We each took a sip, and I lifted the envelope off the tray and handed it to him. “Here you go.”
He set his champagne flute down and rubbed his hands together like a greedy child, clearly making a show of it for me, and then snatched the envelope away. He ripped it open, pulled out the pages, and narrowed his eyes. After a second he angled them toward one of the gas lanterns and rifled through the pages, then looked back at me.
“As much as I hate to admit this, I think I need to go get my reading glasses, and it appears you gave me what equates to a small novel. But I’m pretty sure I see the logo for Cats. But maybe that’s just a shadow, because surely I know you better than that.”
“Yes, there’s a few different things in there.” I laughed, still a little nervous. “The second weekend in October we have two nights at the Palace. I’ll meet you after work on Friday, and we have tickets—” I gave an exaggerated sigh. “—to see Cats.” I lifted my finger. “But I need to point out that it is only showing at a dinner theater, which proves exactly what kind of venue that show deserves. Luckily, we have tickets to see Into the Woods the next night. You know, so I can show you what a good musical sounds like, at a place where you don’t spill premade dinner on your tie.”
I’d expected him to laugh, to make fun of me, especially for the dinner theater comment. But instead, he cleared his throat, and gave a small shake of his head. When he spoke, his emotions were at the surface. “The wolf and the cat, huh?”
I nodded. “Yeah. In San Francisco no less. I figured we’d come full circle. But no sex party. You’re all mine.”
“Yes, I am. I’m all yours.” He cleared his throat and set the papers aside. He leaned over and kissed me, lifting his hand to my cheek in the way that I loved so much. Then he pulled back slightly. “Thank you. No one’s ever done anything so nice for me.”
The emotion in his voice hurt but left no doubt to its authenticity. That tickets to the shows and a hotel was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him was horrible. He deserved so much more than that. I looked forward to remedying that situation. Often.
I was still trying to figure out what to say when Spencer spoke again, this time his voice filled with fire. “How about we pause on our veranda display? Stuff the tray of food in the fridge and have it after.”
“After?”
“Yeah, after.” He kissed me again, with a different emotion that time. “After I have you inside me.”
Twenty
Spencer
“Are you okay?”
“What?”
Donovan tilted his head, his smile questioning. “Exactly. I think you kinda checked out. We don’t have to do this right now. There really is no pressure.”
I swallowed, then took a second to breathe, or at least try to. I seemed a little short of breath. He was right. I’d told myself I was ready, that I was excited about finally doing this, but I’d slipped into panic mode, my body going into automatic drive while my brain jumped a billion different places. I couldn’t even remember the two of us getting naked, at least not clearly. I felt the pleasant burn from Donovan’s scruff, where we’d been kissing, but even that hadn’t been truly noticed. I took a step back, observing him in the candlelight.
What was wrong with me? I’d wanted this for so long. I wanted to do this now, at least I thought I did. I couldn’t ask for more; he was stunning. Though, that wasn’t new. Donovan was always completely sexy. But there was a different flavor as I looked at him. The wide breadth of his muscles seemed more pronounced. The trimmed dark hair traveling over his chest, down his abs, guiding my gaze a clear reminder of who I was about to have sex with. We’d had sex so many times by this point that in many ways it had already become second nature.
But this? This was different. His thick erection seemed longer, wider. Even the muscles on his thighs appeared larger and more pronounced. How was I supposed to get him inside of me? How was I supposed to take the force of his thrusts, the power of his body into me?
Stupid thoughts, stupid concerns. I wasn’t smaller than him or weaker.
But he was about to be inside of me. This man was going to be inside of me, fuck me.
Donovan motioned toward the bed. “Why don’t we sit down? You don’t look so good.”
I did. Then Donovan sat beside me.
He put his hand on my thigh and paused, probably expecting me to jerk away, then began to stroke lightly. “Spencer, like I said, I love both positions. I’ll be more than happy to always be the bottom. If it’s not something you think you want to do, it really is okay.”
I glanced at his eyes, so kind, so patient. So Donovan. Then I looked down, his cock, though still erect, was softening. I felt disappointed at the sight. Though a little relieved as well. “I’m sorry. I did want this. I do want this.” I gave a little shake of my head, trying to clear my thoughts. It didn’t work. “I think I want this.”
“Like I said, we don’t have to do it now, or ever. It’s important that we wait until you’re ready. And if you’re not ever ready… that’s totally fine.”
I thought I detected a slight wince, but it was gone before I could be sure.
Shame washed over me at that thought. Of never being able to take him into me. To please him in the same way he pleased me.
I laughed. I hadn’t meant to, but the sound was dark. I shook my head again.
Donovan gave a little squeeze on my thigh, then left his hand there. “What’d you just think?”
“No. I refuse to have you play therapist before we have sex.”
His fingers twitched, but that was his only physical reaction. “Here’s the deal, Spencer. We’re in a relationship. I love you. You love me. When things come up, and they will, different things throughout our entire lives, I have no doubt, we have to talk about them without you thinking I’m playing therapist instead of playing your boyfriend or partner or whatever the hell we want to call each other.”
There was that laugh again. Shoving out of me like a traitor to my soul.
“Come on, just say what you’re thinking. Whatever it is, get it out. It’s nothing we can’t handle.”
I couldn’t meet his eyes, so I focused on his hand on my thigh. It was large. Long thick fingers, squared at the tips. Wide nails
. Light dusting of dark hair over tan skin. Strong hands. Callused from rock climbing and so many hours outside. Hands of a man.
I wanted them all over me. Scraping over my skin, digging into my muscles, pulling at my chest hair that wasn’t quite long enough to pull yet, sliding into me as they readied me for him. The same way my fingers had done for him so many times already.
So very male, so very manly.
“I don’t think there’s any way to say what I’m thinking without sounding like I need a therapist’s couch. And not the fantasy kind like in my office.”
He glazed over my attempt at humor. “Who cares, Spencer? It’s just you and me here.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t believe I was going to admit this. Especially not right then. “I’m thinking about my past. Right now, as we’re getting ready to have sex, all I can hear is my father’s voice. It’s almost like he’s in the room.” I glanced at Donovan, and while there was a slight twinge, there was no judgment. Of course.
He thought for several seconds before he spoke. “Do you think you know why?”
“Yeah, I’m not that out of touch with my psyche.” I scoffed. “Father tells his son he’s not masculine enough his entire childhood. The child practices to be the perfect male specimen, gets as close as he possibly can. He’s finally moments away from getting what he always wanted, the man he’s desired for so long, and all he can do is feel like that sissy little boy, hearing his father’s voice about being too feminine, an embarrassment, a sinner.”
Another squeeze on my thigh. “Yeah, I’d say you’re in touch with your psyche.”
I waited for him to say more, but he was silent. I looked up at him again. “Nothing else to say?”
Donovan laughed that time, and even in the dim candlelight, I could see embarrassment cross his features. “Honestly, I’m trying to figure out what to say so I sound like a boyfriend and not like a therapist. This part is a little new to me too.”
The Veranda (Lavender Shores Book 3) Page 19
