by CM Foss
“Because you are so incredibly strange. But I love that about you.”
She averted her eyes at my admission and went back to concentrating on her task, but I didn’t miss the spark in them.
Ivy
“I’m doing this wrong, aren’t I?” Patrick popped his head out of the farm fridge.
“God, yes.” I heaved a sigh of relief. “Take everything you just did and do the opposite.”
His shoulders began to shake in laughter, but he complied easily, taking the jars of milk and switching the order around. I loved watching him laugh.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
“Of course. Anything.”
“Why are you still here?”
He froze. “What do you mean?”
I picked at the edge of my cast, grimacing at the grime on it. “I mean, you have a job. In New York. I assume you need to get back to it. Don’t get me wrong. Even when it hasn’t seemed like it, I’ve appreciated you being here. It’s been a huge help and everything, but…”
He dropped to his knees in front of my chair, hands on my thighs. I watched them splayed across my legs, his fingers long and aristocratic, but still masculine. I loved his hands. “I couldn’t be anywhere but here, Ivy. How could you even ask that?”
“It’s just something I’ve been wondering. I mean, we’re on this… this date. And I really am enjoying it. But in the back of my mind, I can’t forget that… you have to leave at some point.”
“What if I didn’t?”
I raised my eyes to his. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I quit my job.”
“What?” I squeaked.
“I’d been making plans for weeks before your accident. That’s why I was working so hard and covering so much. But when everything happened, Bob was great about me breaking my contract. He even wrote letters to some of the bigger hospitals around here. They’re not too far away and I already have offers. I just haven’t dealt with all of it… yet.”
He lifted his finger to close my mouth that had been hanging slack.
“Well, now what are you going to do?”
One corner of his mouth tilted upward. “My plan hasn’t changed. Not too much anyway.”
My heart fluttered as I thought of him moving here. “That seems crazy. What if I’d said no to our date?”
He shifted closer, pushing my knees open to place his body between them. His hands slid to my hips, and the leggings I wore suddenly seemed thin and inconsequential. I sucked in a breath as heat spread from my core. He bent to kiss my neck, and I’m sure he could feel my pulse running out of control. “I never would have let that happen.”
“That’s”—I cleared my throat as his lips continued to brush across my flesh—“that’s pretty cocky of you.”
“I know.”
He sat back on his heels, leaving me dizzy as his warmth left me in a rush.
“Ready for dinner?”
I blinked quickly to orient myself.
“Uh… yeah. Yes.”
He gently helped me to my feet, cringing when he saw me wince. “It’s okay.” I gave his hand a squeeze. “Getting better.” It was.
We shared a smile, and then he led me out of the barn.
My lips twisted in confusion when we bypassed my truck and kept walking toward my house. “I thought people went out to dinner on dates?”
“You’re thinking normal people again. That’s not us.”
Right.
The moment the front door opened, a rich, savory scent assailed my senses. I had to swallow hard and clamp my lips shut to keep drool from escaping.
“What is this?” I kept sniffing in wonder. My stomach was growling like I hadn’t eaten in days, which was a little bit true.
“Your favorite.”
“My favorite? You remember what it is?”
“Of course I do.”
I stepped cautiously into the kitchen and opened the lid of a pot keeping warm on the stove. “How did you do this? This doesn’t look like you reheated a package.”
“How else?” He shrugged. “Connie.”
I smiled. “Of course.”
He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and helped me sit. “Shall I serve you?”
I tipped my head, and he busied himself at the counter. Every time he passed by, he took the opportunity to get closer, to brush my shoulder with his hand or drop a kiss to the top of my head as he placed a wineglass in front of me. I was squirming with pent-up… feelings of some kind by the time we were both seated with steaming dishes in front of us.
“Creamed chipped beef.” Patrick was staring at his plate piled high with Connie’s homemade Texas toast topped with the creamy, beefy goodness. The ultimate gravy. “You know I’ve never actually had this before?”
“Did you know that this is probably number one on a ‘what not to have on a first date’ list?”
He tsked me. “We already concluded we aren’t normal. Lists don’t apply.”
“This is gonna be gross. I’m preparing you.”
“Like gross in a good way?”
“More or less.”
He poked at the mess. “No really. More… or less?”
I widened my eyes at him and took a large bite, barely able to fold my lips to my fork. I had to cover my mouth with my hand to keep it all in as I laughed at his incredulous expression. But then I closed my eyes and sighed as I tasted a better version of my childhood. The flavors and textures swirled around my mouth as I chewed and swallowed.
“That’s orgasmic.” I pointed with my fork.
Patrick’s eyes darkened, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly as he watched my tongue dart out to make sure my lips were clean. I clenched my thighs together as I thought of the feel of his mouth on mine, his tongue on mine.
“Well, if it’s orgasmic, I’ll give it a try.”
I watched with a grin as he savored his first bite, groaning in appreciation.
“Told you.”
He nodded. “I need new pants after just one bite.”
“It’s worth a new pair of pants.”
“At least.” He chewed thoughtfully as he watched me continue to dig in. “You need to eat this more often. You know… because you’re actually eating.”
I swallowed hard, the food suddenly like a stone in my throat. I kept my eyes down as I grabbed my glass of wine and took a completely unladylike swig.
“Hey.” He reached across and took the glass out of my hand and set it aside. I followed the action through narrowed eyes. Why would you take wine from a woman?
He drew my palm over to him and pressed a kiss into it, his eyes squeezing shut as if pained. “You can enjoy yourself, you know that?”
My forehead was crinkled and tight. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“It’s healing. You can still heal and hurt at the same time. It’s part of the process. But you need to stop fighting it.”
I took several breaths, watching the way our hands looked together. His elegant ones wrapped around mine, which were roughened from farm work. What a contrast. Still, they fit.
Finally I looked up at him. “So what’s next?”
He gave me a wry smile. “One day at a time. One moment, even. So for now, let’s finish getting you fed and in bed. I’ll clean up once you’re settled.”
“Will you… will you sleep with me tonight? Just sleep, of course.”
“Nope. I would never do that on a first date. What kind of man do you take me for?”
I laughed and felt my muscles relax. Laughter was good. “The one-night-stand type, I guess.”
He stood and cleared his now-empty plate. “Not anymore,” he said with a wink.
Chapter 30
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Patrick
“How much longer until that cast comes off?” I nodded at Ivy’s right arm; it rested on her knee as we milked one of the goats together.
Every morning for the past week, I’d been walking her down here. And every day she got stronger and stronger, able to last longer, smile more often. We would somewhat inefficiently milk the goats by hand. They were gentle with her, almost like they knew. Of course, they were carrying their own kids as well, so maybe they did. Sometimes, in quiet moments, I’d see her eyes dim and a wistful look come across her face, but she’d shake it off and bring herself back to the present.
I was getting glimpses, small glimpses, of the girl I first met. The good news was I didn’t fall in love with that girl. Not just her, anyway. I fell in love with all the different facets of Ivy. In the relatively short time we’d spent together, I’d seen her in a myriad of extreme circumstances. She liked to get hung up on what could be written on paper, but the truth was, I knew her better than anyone. I loved her better than anyone.
She still didn’t speak of the baby. Of David. And that worried me. I didn’t want to push too hard, especially when we were still in such a delicate balance.
“A couple of more weeks. Three? I think.”
“How’s it feel?”
She gingerly wiggled the tips of her fingers. “Weird. Not too sore. More stiff, but then again, it’s been immobilized.”
“Milking will be good physical therapy, huh?”
“Nah. They’ll be done milking for the season by then.”
“Really? I didn’t know you stopped.”
“Yep. They’ll get a break so they can grow some healthy babies and”—she swallowed hard—“and then we’ll start up again about a month after they’re born.” A shaky breath escaped her lips, and her tongue darted out to moisten them.
It was quiet in the barn, save for the sound of milk spray hitting the metal bucket in steady streams. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and let my thumb brush across her cheek. They had a little color now and a little more fullness to them. I wanted to lay my lips on her skin, feel it warm to my breath, but I held back. I hadn’t kissed her again since our first “date.” I was waiting for number two.
“Are you ready? To talk and to…?”
She gave a swift nod but kept her eyes downcast. My stomach dropped, in relief or apprehension, I wasn’t sure. Because if she was ready to talk, I had to as well.
We finished milking in silence, and I cleaned everything up while Ivy looked on. Then I took her hand a led her out of the barn. Dimple had been off cavorting around the property, but as soon as we walked out, she fell into line in front of us, trotting down our familiar trail.
Ivy looked at me in question, but I just shrugged, not ready to explain the reasons for her dog’s behavior.
I helped her over the terrain, making sure she watched her step. I didn’t need to bother. She was plenty cautious on her own. Finally, we cleared the woods and watched Dimple bound over the stone wall. Ivy sucked in a breath and froze. I gave her hand a firm squeeze and kept walking, so she had no choice but to follow. We’d come this far.
Her skin was clammy. Or maybe it was mine. I’d been here so many times over the past few weeks, but never with another person. And never with her.
I led her through the opening, and we picked our way carefully through the maze of headstones. She stayed tucked behind me as we got closer. I stopped and turned, giving her hand another squeeze and letting go. She watched me curiously, her forehead wrinkled and tight, as I lowered myself to the ground in my usual spot. Her eyes widened, and the lines on her face smoothed.
“Do this often?”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “It’s kind of my thing.”
I opened my eyes when she didn’t respond right away.
“Why?”
“Because…” I looked down and studied my hands as I thought of a way to explain. “I know the physical loss that you went through. You carried him. You felt his weight and growth. I only had ideas. I was stuck in my own world, stuck in work. I was… I was just getting used to the idea of a baby. And then… then he was gone. Almost like he was never here.” I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek as my eyes burned. These were words I’d felt and lived, but never formed into words or clear thoughts. “So I come here. To be close. To feel him in some way.”
“I don’t really know what to say.” She laughed shakily, dropping to her knees.
“I don’t either. I just don’t want to… not say anything. I don’t want D-”—I ran a hand through my hair—“David to be some secret. Something we can’t ever bring up. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah. I know. I do. It’s just… it’s hard to come up with the right words.”
“I don’t think there are any right words. There’s nothing right about any of it.”
She nodded and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
“But he’s still a part of us. And he always will be. You know that?”
She walked over on her knees to be closer to me, placing her hands on my thighs. My heart thudded out of my chest as I touched our fingers together and she watched. Then she reached her broken hand out and traced a fingertip along the letters in our son’s name.
“I was so happy,” she said softly. “You have to know how happy I was. I made jokes about getting knocked up, and I was still scared and unsure. But, God, was I happy. And you were so… perfect. With everything. You dealt with my nerves along with whatever you were feeling. I was so selfish, and I’m sorry for that. The memories we do have are always going to be laced by my sarcasm and…”
“Our whole lives are going to be laced by your sarcasm,” I interrupted with a smile.
She lightly slapped my thigh. “You know what I mean.”
I raised her good hand to my mouth and kissed it, then repeated the gesture to the fingertips of her casted hand. “I do know. And I want you to understand that I have no ill memories of that time. I think we ended up getting to know each other better, to grow closer than we ever would have going to movie dates or out to dinner eating weird food.”
She huffed in laughter. “Yeah, maybe.”
“No, certainly. I also need you to understand that I was really happy too. I wanted that baby with everything in me. My heart broke the day he died. But I still had you. I still needed you. I still wanted you. And I still do, right now.”
“How? I don’t even…”
I stopped her with a kiss, letting my lips say what my voice couldn’t. I gave her something she could feel and understand without rationalizing away or overthinking. She leaned into me and swept her tongue into my mouth, stealing my breath away in an instant. I wrapped an arm around the small of her back and shifted closer, but she stiffened and sucked in a tight breath and I pulled away.
“I’m sorry. I hurt you.” She shook her head, but I cradled her face in my hands. “I did. I never want to hurt you, Ivy. In any way. Ever.”
Ivy
I stood in front of my mirror, shifting the neckline of my sweater left and right, trying to get a casual, sexy look going on when I felt anything but. I lifted the hem and looked at the ugliness underneath. My stomach was back to being flat, but nowhere near as taut as it once was. I could hardly wait until I could start doing more physical activity and shape up. The scar though… That wasn’t ever going to return to normal. It was a reminder I hardly needed.
I was startled from my self-destructive musings by a familiar knock on the door. In an instant, my mood changed and I had to fight back a smile.
Date night two.
I swung open the door to reveal another bouquet of daisies with legs. Patrick lowered the flowers and grinned over top of them. “Good evening.”
My eyebrows rose. “Good evening.”
“May
I come in?”
“Of course.” I gestured for him to cross the threshold, still fighting back a giggle. “What have you been up to all day?”
I hadn’t seen him since the morning. He disappeared saying something about errands, but I never imagined they would take the entire day. I’d missed him.
“All sorts of things.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay. So what’s our date?”
“You’re an impatient thing, aren’t you? Can’t a guy do some wooing without the twenty questions?” I held up two fingers but he ignored me. “You’re messing up my game.”
I just raised an eyebrow.
“Anyway”—he held up a large bag—“we’re making sushi.”
I gulped. “Is it bad that I’m a little nervous about that prospect?”
“A little. For me anyway.”
“Where did you get stuff to make sushi? We’re not by an ocean. At all.”
“There are these crazy stores nowadays… oof.”
I backhanded him in the chest, shuddering. “I know that. But it still had to ship.”
“On ice. In refrigerated trucks. Within twenty-four hours. I asked.”
I glared at him sideways but was inwardly warmed by the fact that he had done his research.
“Also, I have it on good authority that you ate frozen food. From a grocery store. Generic.”
I gasped. “Who told you?”
“Your friends are not loyal.”
“It was only twice,” I grumbled as I followed him into the kitchen where he was setting out more food than two people could possibly eat. “Good grief. How many people are we feeding?”
“Just us. But you need options with sushi. Plus you have to allow for a learning curve.”
I picked up a plastic container and turned it side to side, turning up my nose. “Premade rice? Really?”
“Please. I made that over at the main house. Sticky rice is important.”
