Come as you Are: Plantain Series Book Two

by Amelia Oliver

  Me: Can’t wait.

  I put it away, and return my attention to my dinner companion. He’s washed his hands, and looks like he’s fixed his bun.

  “How is it being back so far?” he asks.

  “Good, kind of like I never left actually.”

  I smile because it’s true, it seems like my life in Lancaster was non-existent.

  “I feel like that too when I go out for work,” he comments.

  We sit in silence just looking at one another. It’s comfortable, but again the blurt-whatever-you’re-thinking part of my brain is urging me to tell him I’m pregnant, so instead I ask, “Did you grow up in that house?”

  “Not exactly, we moved there when I was a teenager.”

  “You and your family?”

  “No just me, my sister and my brother.”

  “Alexandra seemed nice,” I smile.

  “Yeah she’s okay. Sometimes she can be a little abrasive, but she doesn’t like to come to the house so. But I’m glad she met with you and showed you around, but she’s the one who listed it so I guess she should, right?” he smiles slightly, looking down at his hands.

  “You don’t want a tenant?” I ask, feeling like now maybe I’m intruding on his space.

  “No, it’s not that. I mean she doesn’t like the space being vacant, and I like knowing someone is there when I’m gone and whatever,” he shrugs a shoulder.

  I take a sip of my ice water.

  “And your brother? What’s he like?” I ask.

  I watch as his brows furrow, as his fingers twist the wrapper from his straw.

  “He was nice enough I guess,” he answers.

  Was? I’m about to ask that very thing aloud, when our waitress brings our food over and sets our orders in front of us. We both eat, and I occasionally steal fries from his plate when I think he’s not looking. It turns into a game, when I’m successful he growls low like he’s a dog protecting his food bowl. Then once, when I think he’s not looking, he grabs my wrist before I can pull away and brings the almost stolen fry to his mouth where he takes it from my fingers. We both laugh and I haven’t laughed this much maybe in my entire life. He’s playful, and it does all the right things to my insides. All I want to do is stay in this moment a little longer. After he pays, we still sit in the booth and I hope he won’t take me home just yet.

  “Do you have any shoes?” he asks.

  I give him a puzzled look

  “Not sandals.”

  “No, why?”

  “Come on,” he says standing, offering a hand to help me out of the booth.

  His hand holds onto mine, and I see our waitress staring at me through narrowed eyes. I smile to myself as we leave, and gear up to ride the bike. We drive down the opposite way, leading us away from home, but I can’t ask him anything that he would hear over the roar of the motorcycle. When we park at Target, I ‘m truly confused now, but he just smiles at me and offers me his hand again. I follow as he leads us inside and over to the female clothing area, stopping at rows of pants.

  “Pick out some jeans or something,” he waves his hand towards the racks.

  “I left my purse on your bike,” I state.

  “Get some pants.”

  I walk over to some black stretchy pants that look like jeans, and know these will be less snug on my waist. Grabbing a size larger than I normally wear, I move back towards him, he’s leaning against a rack of shirts watching me, before straightening at my approach. Again, he takes my hand.

  “Grab a jacket.”

  I see a black nylon light-weight fitted spring coat that ends at my waist. He nods as he watches me pick it. Even though I have no idea what I’m getting these for, I feel like he’s satisfied with my choices. Next we go to the shoes and he points at two pairs of boots.

  “Pick which ones you like.”

  Both black and have smallish heels, but one goes up to the calf and has a silver buckle on the side, and I find my size. We head to the register and I don’t listen to the total, not wanting to add to the amount I’ve already tallied on what I owe him for my car.

  “Go change in the bathroom, please.”

  I only bang my elbow and both my knees ten times as I change my pants, trying to keep my bare feet on my flip-flops and not on the dirty floor. When I emerge feeling sort of badass, Nathan sees me and I think he also thinks it too by the grin he shoots me. After tucking my shorts and sandals into the same compartment as my purse, Nathan gets back on the bike and grabs my helmet.

  “I feel really guilty you just bought me that stuff.”

  “Make me dinner.”

  “I already agreed to do that.”

  “Make me dinner twice.”

  I roll my eyes playfully as he adjusts my helmet, tucking my hair back before tapping gently, but still pretty hard, onto the top of my head.

  “Uh, ow,” I groan before smiling. “Are you gonna tell me why you got me all biker mama-ed out for or what?”

  “Nope.”

  With that he turns the engine and takes off towards the main road that I know leads to the highway. I feel a jolt of excitement when I realize we’re going on the highway, the speed increasing until we’re flying. There are few cars out here and the view is amazing, with the sun setting and casting the sky into orange and purples all along the mountain ranges, as shadows darken over the desert.

  The smile on my face is hurting my cheeks, but I can’t stop. I can’t explain the rush and the feeling that Nathan was doing something I asked for, just knowing it was something I wanted, and the urge to cry has me biting my lip. Fucking hormones. We ride for what feels like hours, the sun has set and stars shine bright in the barren land, before we head back in towards Plantain. I rest the side of my face on Nathan’s back, and unconsciously my fingers have found their way under his t-shirt to his bare flesh. When we stop at a light this time, he places both his hands over mine and I lean up closer to his ear.

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  13

  Two days after our ride in the desert have passed, and every morning and evening Nathan has taken me to and from work. We only went to dinner the one night, because the other two nights Nathan has had to go back to the club for meetings.

  “Take my truck if you need to go anywhere,” he tells me. “The keys are right by the side door,” he says as he starts his bike, and I stand at the foot of my stairs.

  I give him a wave before he pulls down the driveway, and I take him up on his offer. I need to run to Target again and pick up a few things. Prenatal vitamins are one, and I don’t want the local pharmacist Mr. Jenkins, to tell everyone my business, which he seems to do with every customer. I also pick up some new yoga pants and sporty tops. I want to start back at the yoga studio, which is my next stop on my way back home.

  I talk to a new owner, Patty, who assures me that she’s more than happy to have me rejoin the gym and start the classes that are mid-way through their enrollment, since I’m so advanced and assures me I can also pick up where I left off in my certification.

  Pulling up to the house I feel accomplished, having checked everything I wanted to do today off my list. Except for one, I’ve had practically no morning sickness but am craving ice cream bad. So, I decide to walk the three miles back into town to get some at the local Frosty Queen, figuring the walk will help me feel less guilty in indulging. I change into one of my new outfits and the pair of running shoes I bought before heading into town.

  It’s a lovely evening as I zip up the spring jacket Nathan bought me the night we went for our ride, putting my earbuds in and listening to “Something’s always Wrong” by Toad the Wet Sprocket as I head out. I get a soft serve vanilla and chocolate swirl, and on my way back decide to stop at one of the city park benches that faces a massive play structure, and has an incredible view of the mountains to watch the sunset. There are kids still playing and I rub my tummy with thoughts of one day watching my son or daughter playing here, t
he vision causes me to smile, but the fear of not having told Nathan yet is hindering my vibe from being completely pleasant.

  “Hey,” Nathan’s voice comes up beside me.

  I look up and smile as I lick my ice cream, he sits beside me, bringing an arm up to rest on the back. His eyes watch my tongue lap at my treat, before scanning the area and landing on the kids playing.

  “What are you up to?” I ask.

  “Just headed home.”

  “And you saw me sitting here?” I ask, raising a brow.

  He smiles and glances over at me.

  “I was over at Fresards,” he looks over his shoulder.

  My eyes follow directly across the street, seeing the huge ‘Fresards and Sons Hardware Shop’ sign glowing above the store.

  “Kind of hard to carry 2x4’s on your bike, isn’t it?” I tease.

  He leans over and puts his mouth over the top of my ice cream, nearly consuming half the damn thing. My mouth drops open in mock offense before I pull my treat away to the other side of my body, causing him to laugh around the mouthful.

  “I went back to the house and got the truck, I went up to see if you wanted to come with me,” he finally says after he swallows the ice cream.

  He then turns his attention back to the kids running around and hanging from the play structure like monkeys.

  “You’re really good with Maven’s boys,” I blurt out, mental palm-to-fore heading myself.

  He nods before looking down at his hands.

  “They’re great kids,” he simply says.

  “You want to have kids?” I ask and then bite my lip. Subtle Skye, real subtle.

  His eyes look to mine, and it’s almost like for a moment I feel like he knows, that he knows we’re having a baby.

  “Of course,” he finally says.

  A wave of relief washes over me, should I tell him now?

  “Do you?” he asks.

  “Yeah, someday,” I reply, looking away from him.

  We sit in silence as the sun sets, and I hand him my ice cream to finish, which he takes without question.

  “You ready?” he asks, standing.

  I take his hand and we walk across the street, long pieces of wood are sticking out from the back of the truck bed.

  “I don’t think I told you, but the house is amazing, you’ve done an awesome job.”

  “Thank you, Skye.”

  I look over at him as he smiles, looking in the rearview mirror to back out. We sit silently for the short drive, and when he parks I don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to leave him alone since he hasn’t been home all day and I’m sure has shit to do, but I also want to spend more time with him.

  “Did you eat?” he asks.

  I always feel like he’s asking me this and I laugh.

  “What?” his eyes narrow.

  “You’re always asking me about food.”

  He shrugs a shoulder and looks away a little sheepishly, I hope he doesn’t think I mind.

  “No, I just had ice cream, but I’m okay,” I wave a hand.

  As I answer he heads to the side door and says over his shoulder, “Chicken or hot dogs?”

  “Um, hot dogs.”

  I follow him as we enter the house and he flips on lights as we go, the inside of the house is similar to the barn, with mismatched furniture. The kitchen is also the same just larger, and I sit myself up onto the countertop as Nathan opens the fridge and retrieves a package of hot dogs.

  “You want me to cook them on the grill or do you care?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I reply, dangling my feet, my heels gently knocking into the cabinets beneath.

  He places four on a plate and starts the microwave as I glance around. Nathan leans his back against the counter beside me, crossing his arms. We’re the same height like this, and for whatever reason I can’t fight the urge to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear. My hand resting on his shoulder as he looks down at my legs before connecting with my eyes. My breathing has picked up and my spring jacket feels like a damn winter parka as a flush of heat engulfs me. I watch mesmerized, as he turns, moving in between my legs. Both hands run over my hair before he rests his forehead against mine.

  “I’m waiting for you to make the move, Skye.”

  And I know he means more than just this moment, I pull back and look into his eyes.

  “You told me before you left that you needed time to get yourself together. I don’t want to assume that just because you’re back, that you’re ready to start something with me. But I want you to know that everything I said before you went back to Lancaster still stands. I’d also be lying if I didn’t say that the two times we were together and you leaving right after didn’t hurt, but I’m willing to have whatever I can of you.”

  I bite my lip as my eyes water, a million things rushing through my head that my mouth wants to blurt out. I want to tell him about Tyler, but I don’t want to talk about that shit. I don’t want to bring him back into my life, especially when I haven’t thought about him in days. I want to tell him that I have nightmares, that I’m fucked up, that we’re pregnant.

  “I like what we’re doing now.”

  It’s true, the gradually getting comfortable, flirting, laughing and enjoying one another’s company.

  “Me too, trust me it’s been hard knowing what you feel like,” he whispers running his nose along mine, “knowing what you smell like,” another touch of his nose, “knowing what you taste like.”

  My eyes close and I want to kiss him, I want him to kiss me but I know that’s something we can’t rush into. My hormones are shooting off like sparks, my body shifting to get closer. I ball my fists on the counter, trying to resist touching him.

  “But I will let you make that call, okay?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  The microwave goes off and Nathan kisses my forehead with a gentle press of his lips, before retrieving our food. I can’t stop smiling, an unknown weight has been lifted, I guess in not knowing what Nathan’s expectations were or what he wanted from me, was something that unknowingly troubled me. But to have it put out there, and knowing where we both stand on things, makes me feel like we’re both fighting for the same thing, no matter how long it might take us to get there.

  14

  It’s Sunday, and Nathan and I are at the used car lot, he drove me since my freaking car is still dismantled at the auto shop. The lot is closed, and I’m sitting at one of the desks near the back of the huge area where the salesmen sit. A music app is playing music on my phone. Currently “Alive” by Pearl Jam is playing as I quietly sing along. Nathan’s sitting at the seat across from me, leaned back and tossing a baseball that had been perched on one of the desks, up into the air and catching it repeatedly.

  I told him he could drop me off and I’d ask Missy to pick me up on her way to Maven’s for Sunday dinner, but he just shook his head and ignored me, following me inside the building. The work isn’t hard or much different than the work I do at the shop, there’s just a lot of it, and the organization is for shit here.

  “Do you like that car?” he asks as the sound of the ball hits his palm.

  “Hmm?” I ask, lifting my head.

  He’s not looking, keeping his eye on the ball as he tosses it into the air, while his free hand is outstretched and pointing at a red Mustang inside the building.

  “No, cars like that isn’t really my style,” I shrug, returning back to my papers.

  “I got that from a dude in Vegas, won it in a bet, brand new then realized he couldn’t drive a stick…idiot.”

  “What do you mean, you got that?”

  He stops throwing the ball and looks over at me.

  “That’s what I do, when I go out of town I’m finding cars for the lot.” He looks at me like I should know this.

  “Oh, I thought,” I stop, “actually, I’m not sure what I thought you did.”

  He smiles, showing one dimpl
e.

  “Probably thought I was running drugs or something,” as he begins with the ball again.

  I was never sure what the club did, but I know they did something illegal for the fact that Dornan and Maven went on the run for six years, and innocent people don’t usually do that.

  “I did,” he admits. “Not drugs, but guns, and not since the club went legit. Cars are what I do now, which is fine since that interests me way more.”

  I sit back in my seat and watch him, the muscles of his arm bulging under his thin white cotton shirt, the vision of the same muscles flexing when he has his fingers inside me. I feel myself getting instantly hot at the sight of him, and the pressure between my legs is throbbing as I picture his long tongue licking up my clit.

  “Um, you okay over there?” His voice shoots my eyes away from his arm to his face, where he’s looking at me with wide eyes.

  “What? Am I what?”

  “You made, like a noise, then I looked over and you’re staring at me.”

  I clear my throat and sit up straight, shuffling the paperwork. Goddamn hormones.

  “Holy shit…you were totally thinking about me doing things to you.” He smiles and laughs a little, until I shoot eye daggers at him. Slowly, he stops laughing, his smile falls as realization dawns on him and he swallows thickly. I should say something, I should deny it, shouldn’t I?

  “Unless,” He says sitting up, setting the baseball onto the desk and moving around to my side.

  My head turning as my eyes follow him, his foot presses on the wheels to turn my chair and face him, bracing his hands on either side of me on the arm rests, he bends down. My breathing has quickened and my panties are wet as his breath hits my face, his warmth invading my space as I look up to meet his eyes.

  “Unless?” I whisper.

  “Unless, you were thinking about the things I’ve already done to you?”

  I lick my dry lips and then curse myself when his eyes follow my movement. Curse myself? Why? I want him to know I want him, but he’s right about saying that I need to sort my shit out, and I feel guilty that he still doesn’t know about the baby. But when his eyes look back up to mine, and his fingertips run along my collarbone…fuck guilt. He runs his rough fingers across my chest back and forth, between the straps of my shirt.