What The Heart Learns

by Gadziala, Jessica

"I mean... it's not a coffee cake muffin."

  "Which would be an inappropriate dinner selection."

  "Then you really don't want to know about how I can make a whole evening meal out of popcorn and Twizzlers, huh?"

  "God, how are you still alive?"

  "My body has rewired itself to run on fat and sugar and carbs. So don't be surprised if I go full-on Exorcist after eating this, and die a slow, gruesome, painful death."

  "I think your outlook is just fine. You got the asparagus down no problem. After that, the peppers, zucchini, and eggplant should be a breeze."

  "I will try them all. Except this evil little fucker here," she declared, spearing a portobello mushroom slice, holding it up with a grimace before depositing it on the edge of his plate.

  "They're really more for flavor," he allowed with a shrug. He, personally, wasn't a big fan of biting into giant slices of mushrooms either.

  "And what do we have here," she wondered aloud, poking at the meat with her fork. "Pork roll with apple stuffing."

  "Apples too, you sneaky bastard," she declared, but she was already cutting into the food. "At least the fries are something I can unequivocally get behind."

  There were only a few of them, and they were sweet potato, but he'd wanted to include something he knew she'd get excited about.

  "Okay," she started, savoring a bite of the meat for a second before going on. "So, let's talk about The Lost Queen."

  And so they did.

  But he occasionally snuck in a personal question whenever he could find a segue, learning about her upbringing, what books got her most into reading in the first place, all the places she had lived and visited, what, exactly, her issue was with cats, and even learned that her stay was open-ended for the time being, that she had been long overdue for a vacation, that she ended up liking the town - and the people - more than she thought she would or could when she'd first shown up.

  "You know who is weird?" she asked, getting into a bit of the small town gossip, eyes bright.

  "Damn near everyone?"

  "Yeah, but not like small town kooky weird, but kinda just... weird weird?"

  He didn't honestly know the difference, but he was willing to play along. "Who?"

  "Alec."

  "With the horses?" he clarified, having only brushed paths with the man a handful of times, finding he generally liked to keep to himself as much as possible, a trait he understood and respected, feeling the same way himself.

  "He sings to them, you know. And it's not like he just happens to be singing while he's working which is perfectly normal," she insisted. "But he actually sings to them."

  "I don't think it is uncommon to sing to pets."

  "But they're not really pets..."

  "Anything can be a pet to the right kind of owner, I would imagine. I mean many people do, after all, keep cats as pets," he said, dropping his tone to make it sound quite grave.

  "Those weirdos. If I wanted to be stabbed over and over again by their little needles I, well, I simply wouldn't want that. People are bizarre."

  "Just because you had an unfortunate incident with Winny..."

  "Bitch Cat," she corrected.

  "Doesn't mean all cats are evil."

  "You've met cats, right? They're just here to make us their slaves. The feline overlords just delight in making us their pawns. I mean, their meow has developed over the years to closely resemble a baby cry for the sole reason of making us have an emotional response to them. Sneaky little furballs."

  "What animals - pet wise - do you like then?"

  "Well, dogs are pretty cool. I could see myself with some lazy thing that likes to keep my feet warm while I read. Some birds are cool. they're smart. I hear rats make great pets."

  "You'd have a rat before you'd have a cat?"

  "Have you ever seen a dumbo rat? They're adorable. Even if the tail-sweat thing freaks me out a bit."

  Careful, a voice in his head whispered. This is dangerous.

  What, exactly, was dangerous was confusing.

  But, eventually, he figured it boiled down to getting to know more, getting to like more about her.

  The more he knew and liked, the more there would be to miss when that open-ended stay of hers came to an inevitable end.

  The concept of missing someone was foreign to him if he was honest.

  He had vague, time-warped memories of missing his mother when she'd died. But there had been no such feelings for his father when he'd passed - there not being much to miss about a man who hadn't given much to his sons.

  And since almost no one ever left Stars Landing, just passing when it was their time, usually of old age, there was no one to ever miss as a whole.

  But he was going to miss Riley.

  He knew it with a sort of crystalline clarity, something brilliant and undeniable.

  He'd miss sitting across from tables convincing her to eat food she thought she hated while she went off on tangents about bizarre things. He'd miss her hanging out at a table in the cafe.

  He'd just plain miss her.

  "I got you cookies," he told her after clearing the table.

  "Oh, God, no," she said, rubbing her stomach.

  "Are you refusing dessert? Has hell frozen over?"

  "Less talking, more coffee making," she demanded, getting up, pushing Liam away from the sink, rolling up her sleeves to wash them herself.

  He knew he was supposed to tell her that he'd handle it later, but he liked watching her move around his space like she belonged there, like she was comfortable there.

  As he went through the motions of making the coffee, he let his mind wander a bit, let himself imagine what it would be like to have her there, grumbling at him when he got up 'early' to open the store, drinking the coffee he'd make when she crawled out of bed a few hours later, coming into the bookstore for another cup, then sit there working on her laptop for a few hours while he handled the shop. Maybe they'd go out for lunch, bitch about some author he liked that she hated, then go back to their place later where he'd make dinner while she read in bed or in the reading chair, then fall into bed, have sex, fall asleep with each other.

  He could see himself enjoying that, falling into that new pattern. With her.

  It would still be comfortable.

  But less lonely.

  "Tell me."

  "No," he told her, already knowing what she was asking. What kind of coffee he served.

  "Is it something I can buy in a grocery store?"

  "No."

  "Hmm," she mumbled, drying the dishes before taking her cup of coffee, and making her way away from the kitchen.

  He thought she was heading back to the dining table, but she kept moving, climbing up on the bed instead, sitting cross-legged, leaving space for him to move in beside her.

  "Thank you for dinner."

  "You didn't get sick once," he informed her, clicking his mug to hers.

  "Maybe I have been too close-minded about vegetables."

  "Maude told me I can try them in oil with garlic too."

  "Don't mind garlic breath kissing, huh?" she asked, gaze down at her mug.

  "Can't really bother us if we both have it," he reasoned.

  "This is true. So tomorrow night we have vegetables in oil and garlic," she decided.

  "Yes, ma'am," he agreed, taking her mug after she'd drained it, setting it next to his on the nightstand.

  He felt a twinge of awkwardness, uncertainty before the bed shifted, making his head turn back to find her up on her knees, head ducked to the side a bit, watching him with a look he couldn't quite interpret in her dark eyes.

  "What..." he started, but then she was shifting, throwing a leg over his hips, settling down on his lap, hands planting on either of his shoulders as she leaned forward, eyelids getting heavy before her lips pressed down on his.

  His hands went up, framing her face as she deepened the kiss, as her tongue traced the seam of his before slipping inside, claiming his.

  H
er hips sank down lower, grinding against his hardness, wiggling her hips side to side until she got him where she needed him, pressed against her cleft. He could feel her heat even through both their pants, matching the need gripping his system.

  His hands slid from her face, gliding down her back to sink into her ass, dragging her against him again before they moved back up, snagging the hem of her sweatshirt, slowly dragging it up.

  Her lips broke from his, hands raising over her head, allowing him to free her of the material.

  "Fuck," he growled, finding she had gone without a bra, her nipples already straining with need.

  Her hips rose up off his lap, her fingers pushing down her pants and panties, having to plant a hand on his shoulder to allow her to maneuver herself out of them completely, leaving her gloriously naked on top of him.

  Her smile went a little wicked as she shifted back a few inches, reaching between them to undo his button and zip, pull out his cock.

  Her body slowly lowered down, her mouth closing around him, tongue lapping over the head before sucking him deep, making pleasure shoot through his body.

  He reached down, gathering the hair that had fallen like a curtain, holding it at the top of her head so he could watch as she worked him, making soft little mewling noises as she did so, getting him impossibly harder still.

  His hand pulled her hair, yanking until her mouth released him

  His body knifed up, grabbed her around her lower back, twisting, and tossing her onto her back, his lips going to her neck, breasts, down her belly, refusing to go lower until she was writhing, begging again.

  Only then did he taste her, his tongue working her, his fingers slipping inside her, finding her soaked, tight, begging for him.

  Her hands went down his back, dragging his pants and underwear over his ass, her fingers sinking into the flesh, dragging his hips to hers.

  A low, ragged growl escaped him as his cock slid up her wet cleft, coating her in his need.

  "Liam, please," she begged, making him push up, reach into his nightstand, protecting them.

  "Now," she demanded, fingers raking down his back.

  His cock pressed against her pussy, pausing for the barest of seconds before slamming deep, claiming her completely.

  "Fuck," he growled, his forehead pressing to hers as he took a second to find control.

  "Liam..." her voice cried, needy, desperate.

  His arm went around her lower back again, holding her body to his as he flipped again, his back pressing into the mattress.

  Her lips against his neck stifled the small surprised giggle that rose and burst out before her hands pressed into his shoulders so she could push up, settle astride, giving him a perfect view.

  His hands sank into her hips as she lifted up then sank back down on a whimper.

  Her moves were slow and measured at first before the need seemed to eclipse her desire to drag it out, making her fast, desperate, her hand slamming into his shoulder as she rode him.

  "Liam..." she half-pleaded, making his arm clamp around her lower back as he started thrusting upward into her, feeling her walls tighten as she got closer, her breath getting choked in her chest before her walls spasmed hard around him.

  When she found breath to cry out again, she cried out his name.

  And when he came, it was her name on his lips as well.

  Her body collapsed onto his, weighted, drained.

  His arm became dead weight on her back, keeping her pressed to his body as they both came back down.

  It was a long moment before she moved away, rolling off to his side, allowing him to get off, go deal with the condom, and come back to find her under the sheets and comforter.

  "Hey, can you drag that other blanket up?" she asked, making his lips twitch a bit. "I'm freezing," she added as he moved to the side, snagging the blanket, and dragging it over both of them as he slid underneath with her.

  Never having been someone who did overnights, he wasn't sure of the protocol.

  Was he supposed to reach for her?

  Was he supposed to just lay there and let her decide?

  About ten seconds into the thought process, her body pushed up, scooted closer, and her head moved to rest on his chest, her hair tickling over his skin, her hand tracing over his tattoos, her chest rising as she took a deep breath.

  His arm went around her.

  His other moved to sift through her hair.

  She let out a soft sigh.

  And he knew he had been right.

  This was something he absolutely could get used to.

  And he was going to miss it when she was gone.

  ELEVEN

  Riley

  She was getting used to being with him.

  In the six days following the first time they'd hooked up in the bookstore.

  They fell into an easy rhythm with her showing up at the shop after staying over every other night.

  She felt like that distinction was important. She needed to keep herself from practically moving in.

  This was, well, a fling.

  Even if everything within her was suggesting a fling was the last thing in the world she actually wanted.

  She liked him.

  Not just as a great bed-warmer.

  No.

  She liked him as a person, prickly bits and all.

  Because, she had found, the cold, distant, using-his-intelligence-as-a-shield thing was, well, just that. A shield.

  Behind it, the last thing she would call him was cold or distant. Maybe he wasn't gooey and overly-sweet, but she was pretty sure she would destroy someone like that if she found herself with one. She needed someone who kept her on her toes, who challenged her, who stood up to her, taught her things.

  Liam did all that.

  And he showed his sweet side in less obvious ways.

  Like when she stayed over, making sure there was fresh coffee for her when she got up. And, because he had some kind of moral objection to her continually eating sweet things like turnovers and scones for breakfast, he had something else waiting there for her while he was already off to work. Scrambled eggs and toast, veggie-filled omelets, or once he'd treated her to crepes with fresh fruits inside. He tossed books at her when he finished them if he thought she might like them, telling her that some of the others were Too male-gaze or too gratuitously violent for her taste. Because he paid attention when she talked. He cataloged things, saved them for later.

  He made her dinner even on the nights when she was going to go back to the inn, teaching her that she liked broccoli and peppers and eggplant and zucchini and peas and green beans, but had a vehement hatred for cauliflower and carrots still.

  There was always some kind of dessert around for her even though he never ate any himself. He picked them up with just her in mind.

  And at night, after they both were drained after one or more orgasms, he held her to his body, sifting through her hair or stroking down her spine until she fell asleep.

  There was a lot of warmth there, brightness.

  And like a cat in a windowsill, she found herself basking in it, never seeming to get enough of it.

  She had the distinct feeling the only coldness she would feel would be when she eventually had to leave.

  It would happen.

  She had a life back in the city.

  But she was starting to wonder what kind of life that was after all.

  Since she didn't miss it.

  Since no one was calling her, missing her, wishing to see her, wanting to know when her never-ending vacation would finally be over.

  She had books and houseplants and bills she was paying for even though she wasn't there. That was really it.

  But she had to go back to that, right?

  Even if she liked it in Stars Landing. Even if she'd made friends there. Even if she had a bet going about whether Dane was going to realize he was serious about Cordelia or not. She wanted to be around for the corn maze and drink shots out of test tubes a
nd wear a costume for the first time since she was a child. She wanted to see the town lit up in Christmas lights. She wanted to know what their New Years party was like.

  She felt like she might never get enough of it, of the people, of the comforting vibe she got since showing up.

  And, quite frankly, she wasn't sure she had - or ever would - get enough of Liam.

  "Pretty lady," Devon's voice called from the other side of the door. "I know you said you were busy this morning, but I am just dropping off your coffee. I won't stay."

  For a long moment, she didn't remember why she had told him she would be busy.

  Then it came back, making her bolt upward in bed.

  Release day.

  It was release day.

  And she'd forgotten.

  Jesus.

  "Coming," she said, stumbling out of bed, rushing to the door, unlocking it impatiently, mind racing, silently praying her laptop was charged enough for her to deal with all the admin work she had to do for release day, all the answering of messages, the social media announcements, the email campaigns, the blog tours. And, of course, the incessant refreshing of Goodreads and Amazon to check for reviews.

  For all of them, of course.

  But maybe especially Liam's.

  Her stomach knotted at the idea, but she tried to ignore it, tried to push it aside. Things had changed. She had changed. Her writing had grown.

  Things would be different this time.

  She had to believe that.

  No.

  She knew that.

  "Uh-oh. Someone slept in, huh?" Dev asked, handing her a plate loaded down with sweet breakfast treats - oddly making her sort-of miss eggs - trying to free his other hands to bring in her coffee, placing it down on her nightstand. "Alright. That's everything. If you want me to bring up something from lunch, let me know. Have a good work day," he added, bustling out before she could even thank him.

  She poured her coffee, bringing her scones and danishes and coffee cake muffins onto the bed as she flipped open the laptop, getting to work.

  She didn't look up again until nearly four hours later, having forgotten what a vacuum of time releasing a book was.

  But she was excited, refreshed.

  Gone were the morning jitters, the belly-knots about bad reviews on Amazon that might prevent others from picking up the book.