“I feel like I should apologize for just barging in here like that and manhandling you the way I did,” he said, his eyes finding mine as his thumb rubbed a soft path over my knuckles. “But the truth is I’m not sorry.”
“I’m not sorry either,” I told him.
“Another truth? I can’t stop thinking about you, Rosalie.” If I was sad that he’d used my full name instead of calling me Rosie like he’d done only a few minutes before, I tried not to let it show on my face. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“You mean a jobless thirty-two-year-old who’s living in her mother’s attic?” I didn’t know if it was because I’d spent the last several years being the recipient of backhanded compliments, but it was difficult for me to accept a real one—even when I knew it was genuine. My first instinct was always to wonder what the person wasn’t saying. I knew that Preston liked me, but sometimes I had a hard time understanding why. On paper, I wasn’t exactly a great catch.
“Don’t do that. You’re more than just your current circumstances.”
“But I’m not wrong, either,” I told him.
He pulled his hands away and crossed his arms over his chest. “So then do something about it.”
I felt a spike of anger heat my face as I mimicked his posture. “In case you haven’t noticed, Colebury isn’t exactly teeming with galleries I could run. And even if it were, who would hire me when the last one I was in charge of mysteriously burned to the ground?”
“You’re more than—Wait. What?”
I blew out a long breath and nodded. “That’s one of the reasons this is taking so long, apparently. Blake won’t sign the paperwork until the insurance payment comes in, and the insurance company won’t pay until they’re convinced there was no foul play involved.”
“But it’s been months,” he said, his confusion evident as his brow creased with concern. “How long should it take?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. I’ve never dealt with an arson investigation before.”
“Arson?” His voice rose in alarm.
Not that I could blame him. When Blake had told me about the investigation, I’d been shocked, too. In the days since, my lawyers had spoken with the insurance company and they’d assured me it was all standard procedure any time a fire broke out while two people were divorcing. They didn’t think I had any cause for concern, but I wouldn’t breathe easy until everything was wrapped up.
“It’s more common than you’d think. It turns out that a staggering number of wives torch their husband’s belongings when they find out he’s got a young mistress on the side. And since Blake had more than one … ” I trailed off, lifting my shoulder in a dispassionate shrug.
“But this is your gallery we’re talking about. Surely no one thinks you’d set fire to it to get back at him?”
I shrugged again. “If it makes you feel any better, my lawyers assured me the fact that the fire happened well before I walked in on him with what’s-her-name is a point in my favor.”
His jaw ticked. “None of this makes me feel better. How can you be so calm about this?”
“Trust me, I’m not calm. Not even a little bit. But what can I do?”
“You could have told me,” he answered, his voice betraying his frustration.
“Tell my fake boyfriend all about my very real problems?” I snorted, my own frustration rising to the fore.
“Or,” he proposed, scooting forward to take my hand in his again, “you could share your problems with your real boyfriend.” He stared at me, watching my face for a reaction.
“Preston,” I breathed. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” he asked, tugging me toward him and tucking me into his side, his arm wrapped around my shoulder to hold me close. I didn’t even try to put up a fight. I needed his embrace more than I cared to admit. He dropped a kiss down onto the top of my head. “I care about you, and I want to be with you.”
“But I’m a mess.”
“Then you’re my mess.”
“This is crazy,” I whispered, my eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I was pretty sure they were the happy kind.
“Crazier than pretending to be dating so your mom will stop trying to push us together? Face it, sweetheart. This was inevitable.”
I snuggled up against him. “When you say it like that, our plan does sound destined for failure.”
“Or success,” he said, his voice rumbling against my cheek. “I was hoping our fake relationship might actually lead to something real.”
I flicked surprised eyes up to his. “You were?”
He nodded. “I’ve wanted you for weeks, but I wasn’t sure how you felt about me. I mean, I know you think I’m sexy—” we both chuckled “—but I was worried it was too soon. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m not a stupid man, Rosalie. I know you’re still technically a married woman, and until your divorce is final, things might not always be smooth sailing. But I’m willing to try if you are.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. My life was in shambles, but I was so damn lucky, too. Preston was the type of man every woman dreamed about finding. Strong, supportive, and yes, so damn sexy. All I’d had to do to find him was completely implode the life I’d lived for the past decade.
“I’ve wanted you, too,” I admitted. “I just didn’t think I could ever have you.”
“You can have all of me,” he said, lifting me into his lap.
My knees came down on either side of his thighs, and he banded one of those strong arms I loved so much around my waist. Preston’s free hand rose and gently tangled in the hair at my nape as he guided my face forward. With a happy sigh, I opened to him, and his tongue met mine. For several long minutes, we kissed unhurriedly, simply savoring the tender moment.
Eventually, our kisses grew more frenzied and my hips began to rock against the hard bulge cradled between my thighs. His hands fell to my ass, and he guided me over his erection, his hips lifting to meet mine with each pass. He kissed a path from my mouth, down to my jaw, and to my neck while he took me higher and higher.
“Do you have a condom?” I asked, my head falling back with a groan.
He shook his head against my skin. “Not on me.”
“Damn,” I moaned when he clamped his teeth onto my nipple, the cotton of my shirt dampening some of the sensation. Emboldened by all that we’d shared so far, I said, “I want you inside of me.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world for that,” he said, sliding his hand into my leggings, his thick fingers finding me wet and ready for him. He slid two of them inside of me and hooked them upward, fluttering them against what I could only imagine was my g-spot. I sucked in a startled breath as I saw literal stars. I’d tried to find this spot myself with a special toy I’d ordered off the internet, but so far it had eluded me. As my body literally shook, I finally understood what all the fuss was about.
“That’s it, baby,” he said, working his fingers in and out of me with expert care. “Fuck my hand.”
All at once, I was overcome by the most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced. I collapsed forward, biting into Preston’s shoulder. My body convulsed as shockwave after shockwave roared through me. I was only dimly aware of him whispering terms of endearment the entire time he guided me through it, his words muffled by the ringing in my ears.
When I’d finally come back to myself, he gently eased his fingers from my body, lifting them to his mouth and licking them clean with a devilish gleam in his eyes.
I opened my mouth to tell him … I didn’t even know what. For the first time in my life, I’d been rendered speechless. But it didn’t matter anyway because at that exact moment, a car door slammed outside. My eyes flew wide and I vaulted off Preston’s lap, landing halfway across the room. My mom really had to stop showing up like this.
He pushed to his feet and rearranged himself as best he could under the very hard circumstances. “Meet me outside at seven?”
“Huh?” I as
ked, barely capable of forming words.
“I promised you a date, remember?”
I nodded dumbly as he moved toward the front door.
“Oh, and dress warm,” he said, stepping through it with a wink.
22
Rosalie
Later that night, I pulled open the door and stepped out onto the small side porch off the kitchen, a hot thermos in one hand and a thick, colorful quilt in the other. As I dashed down the steps and out into the wide yard that separated my house from Preston’s, my stomach danced with butterflies.
This was the first real date I’d gone on since I was a young, naive twenty-something with stars in her eyes. I’d been nervous back then, too, but these were good nerves. Happy nerves.
I had no idea what Preston had planned for us; all I knew was that I couldn’t stop smiling since he’d left several hours earlier. Now, I bounded over to him like an overeager puppy.
“Hey, you.” I stopped a few feet away and found myself giddily bouncing on my toes.
Wordlessly, he strode forward and pulled me in for a kiss that went from sweet to incendiary in no time flat. Unfortunately, I forgot all about the thermos the second his lips touched mine. When I lifted my arms to wrap them around his neck, I accidentally clocked him with it.
I jumped back, inadvertently tossing the container off to the side. “I’m so sorry.” I covered my mouth with my hands.
Preston rubbed the spot where the metal had connected with his head. “I’m fine,” he said, crouching down to retrieve the thermos. Checking the seal and finding it still secure, he looped his finger through the handle and reached out to me with his free hand. It was only thirty or so feet to his truck, but there was no way I was passing up an opportunity to hold hands with this man.
I loved holding hands.
Squeezing my hand, he led me to the passenger side door of his truck. After he helped me up into the cab, he jogged around the truck’s front to climb behind the wheel on the driver’s side. Turning on the ignition and pulling away from the house, he glanced my way as the truck lumbered down the long driveway toward the street. “How do you feel about stargazing?”
I smiled at him. I couldn’t seem to make myself stop smiling. “I feel very good about it.”
“Fantastic,” he said, sounding relieved. “It’s supposed to be a nice night, too.”
“I came prepared.” I rubbed my hands briskly over my thighs. After much hemming and hawing, I’d donned a pair of the sherpa-lined joggers I’d bought in anticipation of winter. It had been years since I’d been here at this time of year, but a girl never forgot that kind of cold no matter how long she’d lived in California. Up top, I had on a long-sleeved base layer I used to wear skiing under a thick, hand-knitted wool sweater I’d picked up at a stall at the farmer’s market a few weeks back. I’d topped it all off with a shin-length black puffy coat that made me look like I was wrapped head to toe in a Hefty bag. When I’d found it shoved in the back of the hall closet, my mom had said I was more than welcome to it, since she hadn’t worn it in years. Not the sexiest outfit for a first date, but I’d taken Preston’s warning to dress warmly to heart as I’d had a feeling we might be spending time outdoors.
He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s some coat.”
“I think it doubles as a sleeping bag.” Briefly, I imagined climbing into one together—naked. After today, I was more than confident we’d find a way to keep each other warm.
Google Maps directed us further and further away from Colebury, until we eventually pulled into a wide field and parked next to a handful of other cars. Up ahead, a group of twenty or so people were huddled around a large telescope. Preston killed the engine and then came around to my side of the truck and helped me down.
I tried to zip up my ridiculous jacket, but there was so much padding that I couldn’t reach the zipper.
“Here, let me,” he said, dropping into a crouch to help me. When he’d gotten it all the way up to my chin, he smiled fondly down at me. “You look ridiculous.”
“I think what you mean is that I look warm,” I said, patting his chest with my mittened hand.
He chuckled, taking hold of it and raising my wool-clad knuckles to his lips. “Warm and ridiculous then,” he said, leading me across the field to join the rest of the would-be stargazers.
We arrived just as the man in charge was getting started. “All right. That looks like everyone, then. Thank you all for joining me tonight. You might be wondering why anyone in their right mind would schedule a stargazing event at the precipice of winter,” he continued. “Mostly, we just like to see you shiver.” He guffawed at his joke while a few of the participants tittered nervously. “But seriously, cold weather is perfect for taking in the grandeur of the night sky, and this far north, we’re doubly lucky since we have relatively low levels of light pollution.”
For the next fifteen minutes, he talked about stargazing as a hobby, describing how the astronomy club worked if any of us were interested in getting involved, and then wrapped up his lecture by pointing out a few constellations we should be aware of.
“Find a spot,” he said, passing Preston a pair of binoculars, “and I’ll come around to answer any questions you might have.”
When he moved on, we linked our arms and carefully picked our way through the field, trying to find a spot separate from the larger groups that’d shown up. We’d moved near a copse of trees only to stumble—literally—on two teenagers dry humping each other in the grass.
“Oh! Sorry,” I stammered when the girl sat up and shot us a dirty look.
“Shhh,” she hissed. “They’ll hear you.”
“Too late,” Preston said when a woman’s irritated voice rang out. “Ashley, so help me god, if you snuck off with Chase again …”
With a curse, the teens disentangled themselves and stood, brushing dead grass and twigs from their clothes. “Thanks a lot,” the boy who I assumed was Chase mumbled as they ambled past. “We’re over here,” he called out, dropping Ashley’s hand. She crossed her arms sullenly over her chest as they made their way toward their respective groups.
“They’re so busted,” I said with a chuckle, imagining how mortified they must be right now.
In the distance, the sound of children bickering reached our ears. Little Susie wasn’t happy that her brother got to use the binoculars before she did, and her dad wasn’t exactly quiet when he told her to stop her whining.
“I, uh, didn’t realize this was a family event,” Preston apologized when another kid shrieked and then started loudly crying.
I glanced around the field, suddenly realizing we were the only adults here sans children. “What time do kids go to bed these days anyway?” I asked. Growing up, I’d had to be in bed by nine o’clock. Given we’d left at seven and the drive out here had taken close to thirty minutes, it had to be nearing that.
“I have no clue,” he mumbled, looking for all the world like someone who had even less experience with children than me.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing hold of his hands. “Let’s blow this taco stand.”
“Are you sure?” He scratched at his beard, a gesture I was coming to learn meant he felt uncertain about something.
I nodded. “The stargazing will be just as good in the back field at home.”
When Vernon had lived with us, he’d had the most amazing organic garden, growing all different types of heirloom fruits and vegetables. We’d also had a chicken coop with a small brood of hens and a pair of elderly rescue sheep. When he and my mom broke up, he’d taken his livestock with him, but my mom still had a small garden back there. Beyond it, the field stretched out for several acres. It had been cleared of grass and brush in the early autumn by a herd of goats her friends the Ryes had brought over. I hadn’t been back there lately, but I didn’t imagine it looking much different than this field did.
“You’re not disappointed?” he asked, sounding worried.
I bumped my shoulder against his. “No,
it was a great night.”
Preston laughed, a rumbling sound that came from deep within his broad chest. “Now I know you’re lying. This was terrible.”
“It was educational?” I offered, my voice tipped up in question.
“If by that you mean I learned that I never want kids, then yeah, it was educational.” He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes going wide as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. With a muttered curse, he scrubbed his palm over his beard again. “Shit. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
I gave myself a brief moment to absorb his words and decide how they made me feel. Lately, I’d been asking myself a lot whether or not I wanted kids. Obviously, as a woman of child-bearing age, people automatically assumed that I did. But the more I’d thought about it, the less I saw that as a path I wanted to walk. Having examined that secret place inside my heart where I kept all of my hopes and dreams locked up safe and sound, I didn’t find any deep yearning for children. When I’d pictured my future, they’d never been a part of it, and in the here and now, I could honestly say nothing about that had changed.
“It’s okay,” I told him, resuming our journey back to his truck. “I don’t think I want them either.”
“You don’t?” he asked, striding forward to catch up with me.
I shrugged. “If I’m being honest, I’ve never really seen myself as a mom. If it happened, I wouldn’t throw myself off a cliff or anything, but I’m not rushing out to buy folic acid or whatever anytime soon.”
“Folic acid?”
“I’m thirty-two. My Facebook feed is filled with one of two things: ads for dieting products or posts on how to boost my fertility. Folic acid comes up a lot.”
“That’s … gross.”
“Welcome to being a woman.”
The rest of our walk was made in silence. When we reached his truck, he caged me in against the cold metal door. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I kind of just dumped a huge bomb on you with zero warning.”
Homecoming (Speakeasy) Page 15
