by Blue Saffire
“No,” I reply, placing my hand over his chest.
“No?”
“No,” I say again, firmly. I snake my hand up his chest and around the back of his neck.
This summer is for memories and freedom, and I’m damn well going to make the best of it. So, I kiss him, showing him exactly what I want without words. Right here, in the middle of this lake, under the moonlight. Cold water be damned. Heat licks against my skin, and all I can think about, all I can feel is him. He moans into my mouth as he reaches down to cup my ass, driving me down hard against him.
That’s when I realize how turned on he truly is. How close I am to finally fulfilling my fantasy of me and him. Homer’s head falls back as he sucks in a quick breath. I take the opportunity to kiss the length of his neck. I can feel the ridge of his Adam’s apple rising and falling, and I kiss that, too.
“Claire . . .” His voice comes out shaky.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, stopping my assault.
His lips curl up. “In all the right ways, darlin’.” Then he’s kissing me. My body’s screaming for more, so I rock gently against him, as much as I dare, trying to find my release.
His hand descends slowly, leaving a tingling trail of anticipation until he stops at the edge of my panties. His eyes search mine—for signs of objection, I assume.
Don’t hold your breath, cowboy.
I wiggle a little so his hand can glide down beneath the band of my underwear. It’s all the invitation he needs. His finger dips into my core. I gasp and buck against his hand. His mouth continues his assault of my skin, peppering every available surface with kisses and tiny love bites. I let my head fall back, my eyes closed, and give myself over to him as he slowly pumps his finger in and out, his thumb running circles over my tenderest part.
“Homer . . .” I moan, delicious pressure building low in my abdomen. Then suddenly, the night sky fills with vibrant colors behind my eyelids and my universe falls away beneath me. I cry out against his mouth, lost in wave after wave of pleasure. But I know I’ll never truly be lost, not while I’m here in his arms.
When it’s over, I let my head fall to his shoulder, my breath coming in heavy pants, matching his. “You’re perfect, Claire,” he whispers as he kisses my forehead.
I don’t know how to respond to that. So I don’t. I’d promised myself a summer I’d never forget, and this . . . well, this is a night I’m never going to forget.
13
Homer
There’s somethin’ to be said about a woman who makes you see the world in a whole new light. Growing up, I always wondered if I’d find someone who would love or care for me the way my grandma does for my grandpa.
But with Claire, asleep here in my arms, I feel at last like it’s possible, if she would just let me. The last few weeks have been a perfect whirlwind of days spent laughing away the hours, and nights spent tucked away in her room or mine. The thrill of sneaking into her borrowed abode, or whisking her away to mine, has become a nightly habit I spend all day waiting for. Well, that, and everything that comes after.
I’ve got to say, I’m impressed she hasn’t pushed us to go faster than I’ve wanted to. She seems to enjoy the thrill of the experience, the growing need of wanting someone without giving in to all of our carnal desires.
We’ve done everything from kissing to orgasms—or, in tonight’s case, multiple orgasms—but haven’t taken that last final step. It hasn’t been easy for either of us to hold off, but somehow, that last step feels like a hurdle we’re not yet ready to pass. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of what I said the night I gave in—that with her, it could never be just sex. Maybe this is her way of ensuring we don’t cross that final line between summer fling and something more.
I don’t know if I’m ready to let her go yet. Harvard and my future are starting to loom large on the horizon, but I’m not ready to admit how close we are to the “expiration date” she promised. Despite my best efforts, I’ve fallen for her. Hard and fast. My heart knew even before I did. Claire Young is the one for me, and though she may not see it yet, I know she’s the girl I’m gonna marry. Even if that means I have to let her go for a while.
Kissing the top of her head, I whisper, “I love you, Claire.” I need to get back to the farm before Mama realizes I’ve been gone. She’s been getting suspicious these last couple of days, asking where, exactly, I’ve been off to in the middle of the night. It’s getting difficult to dodge her questions.
Extricating myself from Claire, I pull on my discarded clothes and slip out the window, jumping down from her second-story bedroom with the aid of the nearby trellis—a maneuver I’ve gotten better at with practice.
Thirty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of our farm and get right to work. I’ve got a long day of repairing fences ahead of me. Claire’s planning to stop by later, but that won’t be until well after lunch. She’s been trying to perfect my grandma’s recipe for shepherd’s pie and wants to show off for her birthday in a few days.
She’s been working her butt off these past few weeks, determined to make herself useful while I finished up the chores I’d promised to do before fall hits. I’m not sure how I feel about my grandparents getting so close to the woman I’ve fallen in love with—especially if, despite my efforts to keep her with me, she ends up slipping from my life when the summer ends.
I try not to think about that, though. Instead, I turn my attention to the long list of tasks standing between me and Claire’s arrival.
14
Homer
“Hey there, cowboy.” I startle at the sexy voice coming from behind me and look up. The sun’s almost directly overhead. I’ve been working for hours, lost in thought. “You gonna help a lady out, or are ya gonna leave her hangin’?”
My smile has no bounds when my eyes land on her. Her accent’s been getting thicker and thicker as she spends time with my family. Unlike most around here, my grandparents were born and raised in southern Texas, moving here only after they married. And you know what they say: you can take a cowboy out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas outta the cowboy.
“Well, hello there, pretty lady.” I tilt my cowboy hat toward her, playing up the role. “How may I be of service?”
“Why . . . I seem to be quite thirsty for a tall drink such as yourself.” She fans herself, batting her eyelashes like an overdramatic Southern belle.
I laugh. “Come here.”
She does. She runs all the way to me, jumping into my arms. Her legs wrap around my waist as our mouths collide. A groan rips from deep in my throat. “I’m never gonna get tired of you, darlin’.”
“Good. I never want you to get tired of me,” she says, peppering kisses over my mouth, face, and neck.
If only that were true. If only she could be mine forever, she’d know I meant that wholeheartedly. I tighten my arms around her, as if I can push the sad thoughts away by the sheer force of her presence. Never mind that that presence is fleeting.
“So, shepherd’s pie?” I ask, as she continues kissing me.
She pulls back, sliding down my body with a squeal. “Yes! I’m totally ready for this.”
“You’re gonna do great.”
She crinkles her nose. “Maybe. But it’s not the best until Grandpa George says it.”
The last four times Claire tried this on her own, she placed a bowl of Mama Lucy’s shepherd’s pie next to her own. Whichever one Papa picked as the one he loved most won. It was always Mama Lucy’s, of course. But Claire was determined. She’s not willing to give up quite yet.
“Today is gonna be my day, cowboy,” she says, cracking her knuckles. “I can feel it.”
“What’s that you feel, Claire?” Grandpa George asks as he walks in.
“That today, old man, you are gonna love my shepherd’s pie more than your wife’s.” She smiles, that wicked sparkle I’ve grown to love in her eyes. “I’m not leaving until you do.”
“Best get to it then, girl. Lu
cy’s inside, waitin’ on ya. I think she’s just as excited about this little competition of yours as you are,” he says, chuckling.
“Eep!” Claire squeals, jumping up with a clap of her hands. “I guess I better get going then.” She gives me a quick peck on my cheek, another to Grandpa George, and then she’s off, running toward the house.
“She’s a keeper, that one,” Papa says as we watch Claire disappear inside. “When you find yourself a good one like that, best not let her go, eh son?”
I shoot a glance at Grandpa George. I don’t know what my face tells him, but he claps me once on the shoulder with a heavy sigh, and then turns away, leaving me to my thoughts.
I huff to myself. If only it were as easy as not letting her go.
A small yip pulls my attention to the barn. One of the puppies stands on the threshold, wiggling and panting, its tiny tongue lolling.
“What are you doin’ out here, little guy?” I ask, setting aside my tools and walking over. The puppy prances in a circle, bouncing and yipping. “Look at you, so happy to see me.” I bend over and scoop the little furball up, snuggling it against my chest. “You don’t have a hard time telling people you love them, do you? I wish I was more like you. I wish I could just tell her the truth.”
The puppy lick my nose, yipping as though in agreement.
“Yeah? You like that plan? Think I should tell Claire I love her?”
Yip, yip.
“All right. Maybe later, little guy. For now, let’s get you back to your momma.”
15
Homer
The silence in the car is deafening when I take Claire home to the Young house at the end of the day. Neither of us is especially talkative, the mood between us growing ever more strained as each day brings us closer to the inevitable end.
I spent the entire day wrestling over ways to make her stay, from long-distance relationship plans, to desperate fantasies of her following me to Harvard, to even just the simple act of telling her how I feel—how I truly feel.
No matter the circumstances I concocted for myself, the outcome was the same. In just a few short days, Claire will leave, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. Realizing that has made me sullen. I know that. But I can’t quite shake the claws of bitter resentment ruining our night.
I glance at Claire as I turn down the final road before her Uncle Mike’s house. Her gaze is far-off, lost somewhere in the world outside her window, a small frown on her mouth.
She’s here in body, but her mind . . . her thoughts, those I can’t see.
I run my thumb over her knuckles, hoping to get her attention, but she seems numb to the gesture.
This isn’t how I wanted to end the night.
I sigh as I ease the car to a stop.
“Claire . . .” I squeeze her hand. “What’s—?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“It’s something. I thought you’d be happy about winning your shepherd’s pie contest. Papa couldn’t tell the difference between yours and Mama’s. You should happy, celebrating. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, darlin’?”
“I just need some time, okay? Just give me some time.”
With that, she slides out of the truck. “Claire, wait,” I call after her, exiting the truck and coming around to intercept. She stops at the bottom of the walkway, but doesn’t turn around. I reach for her, but she takes a step back, flinching away from me.
Such a small thing, that step. And yet it feels like someone slid a knife right through my heart.
“Claire—” But my voice dies mid-word, withering away as I realize what’s about to happen.
“I’m sorry,” she says. Then she shakes her head and walks away. By the time my shock runs clear, she’s only a few feet from her front door. Damn, the girl walks fast.
I dart forward and grab a hold of her hand, spinning her so her body’s slammed against me. Her eyes connect with mine. They’re wide and tear-filled. There’s sadness in them, something I’ve never seen before. It breaks me. I know, without a doubt, this is the moment I’ve feared. Our expiration date.
“Claire, please,” I whisper. “Don’t do this.”
Tears brim her eyes.
“Please, sweetheart. Don’t go like this. Please, just tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t—”
“Is it me? Have I done—?”
“No!”
“Something I said?”
She shakes her head, but she won’t meet my eyes. That’s it, then. It’s something I said. But what . . . ? I rack my brain, trying to think back over every second of the day.
“Please—” The word breaks free from my lungs.
“Fine. You want to know what’s wrong?” Her eyes, when she turns them on me, are a stormy blue, like she’s trying to keep it all together, and failing. “It is you, Homer Lovelly,” she blurts. “It’s you.”
I let go of her like I’ve been burnt.
“Wait, what?”
“All I wanted was for us to have a little fun, to remove all the other garbage out of my mind. But you just couldn’t let it be, could you?” Her eyes stare into mine, accusing. “I told you before all of this ever started. I told you that love and me . . . we just don’t . . . love is nothing but a fucking emotion that plays with your mind and heart. It makes you feel amazing while you’re experiencing it, but when it leaves . . . it ruins you so much that all you care about is how you can make yourself feel numb. You forget everything and everyone, until all you do is work.” Her tears fall freely now. Openly. Easily. “I didn’t want that. I never wanted that. And now . . . now, I feel the weight of it. Because of you, Homer. Because you love me, even though you promised me you wouldn’t.”
Yes, I do love her. I love her so much it breaks my heart to hear the reason she has such a harsh opinion about love. Hasn’t she seen how happy my grandparents are? Doesn’t she see how that could be us?
“See?” she hiccups, her voice breaking on a sob as she jabs a finger in my chest. “You’re not even denying it.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I don’t want you to end up like my father, or my uncle. I don’t want to end up like them.” She takes a step toward me, anger lacing the words that snarl from her lips. “What good is a promise when you can’t even keep it? You you promised to never fall in love, and you did,” she shouts, pushing me back a step.
“Claire—”
“Let go of me, Homer.”
She’s never sounded like this before, so cold and distant. So angry. I’m pinned beneath her stare, shock and pain rooting me to the spot. She turns to go. I should stop her. I know I should. But my hands stay limp at my sides.“Wait, Claire . . .”
Her step falters. She pauses, her hand on the doorknob.
“Who told you . . . ?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she twists the door open. The urge to know propels me forward. I can’t let her walk away like this. “Please, Claire, just give me something . . . anything—”
She looks over her shoulder, the flicker of a sad smile on her face. “You did.”
I think back on when I could have let it slip. I remember telling her I loved her this morning, but . . . she couldn’t have heard it. She was asleep. And then, after that, she was happy to see me . . . but then, after that . . .
Come on, come on, Homer. Think. Think.
My eyes widen as I realize the exact moment she must have heard it.
The puppy.
I confessed my love for her to the puppy.
Shit.
I look up at her, horror sliding through the place my heart used to be. “You heard?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” she says.
“And you pretended to be okay so they wouldn’t know . . . ?”
“Yeah.”
Then she’s gone, tucked away inside. And I’m left standing in the wreckage of what I know was meant to be the greatest love of my life. Of all the ways I pictured this moment happening, this
is by far the worst.
Turning on my heel, I walk back to my truck. With each step, a little more feeling returns to my stunned heart. Claire clearly sees love as something of a burden, something that ruins lives. But I know that isn’t true. How could it be, when I see what my grandparents have?
They know there will come a day when one of them is left behind, but they choose to be happy for their past, for their time together, their memories, their present.
They chose a different path than Claire’s dad or uncle. It is possible. She just needs to see that. That losing someone you once loved doesn’t mean it’s the be all, end all. I know that’s a lesson I’ll have to work hard to repeat with my own children. But even imagining a future with children will have to wait. That dream means nothing until I get Claire Young back. I don’t know what I’m gonna do yet, but I know I have to do something.
She doesn’t get to come into my life like a Category 5 hurricane, destroy everything I thought I ever wanted, and then ride off into the goddamned sunset because she’s afraid of the mistakes others made.
She deserves to be loved, to love someone. And even though I may have started this journey trying to get her out of my system, that’s not what it’s about now. Now, it’s about proving to her that when love comes first, nothing else will stand in the way.
The only question left is, how do I get her to see the same?
16
Claire
The angry sun blares into my eyes, making me wish I’d pulled the curtains before I collapsed into bed. Three more days. I only have three more days. In one more day, I’ll be nineteen, and in three, I’ll be headed home to Georgia, where I can forget all about Homer Lovelly and this disaster of a summer.
Yay.
Go me.
All I want to do now is sleep.
Sleep until it consumes me and rids my thoughts of Homer.
