Finding Focus
Page 22
“Well, I’m right here if you need me.”
I nod and hop out of the car. After I try the combination on the lock a few times, it finally pops open. The combo is my granny’s birthday, but I forgot I put the year first and the day and month last to switch things up. Not that anyone wants to break into this place. The items in here are only valuable to me. Besides, there aren’t many people left on this planet who care enough. When the door of the unit rolls up, I’m hit with sensory overload. Her old rocker from the front porch is front and center, and the dresser I used to sit and play dress-up at is against the back wall. Something about this place smells like her. I don’t even know how that is possible after all these years, and it might be my imagination, but it’s like she was just here . . . like I just missed her.
I inhale deeply, closing my eyes, trying to make this moment last just a little longer.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper, walking over to the rocking chair and gently sitting down on it. There’s a storage bin to my left labeled blankets, so I open it and find the last quilt she made right before she died. Taking it out, I shake it open and wrap myself in it.
It’s a hot day in the middle of the summer in Laurel, Mississippi, but I don’t care. Pulling my feet up into the chair, I kick off the floor and sit, rock, and remember.
When I open my eyes, a familiar box catches my attention. It was one she kept in her kitchen—the jackpot I’ve been thinking about. Quickly, I fold the blanket back up, put it back in the storage bin, snap the lid down, and set the bin outside the storage unit. It’s coming with me.
Walking over to the stack of boxes against the wall, I take the top two off to get to the one I was hoping to find. Cracking the lid, just to make sure the recipes are still there, I see my granny’s handwriting on top. But it’s not a recipe. It’s a letter.
How could I have missed this?
I know I was grieving the last time I was here, but I don’t know how I could’ve missed something like this.
My Dearest Dani,
I’m saving this to give to you on your wedding day, but in case something happens to me between now and then, I’m writing this letter in hopes you’ll find it when the time is right.
This book was given to me by my mother the day I married your grandfather. I think it saved our marriage, or at least saved us from eating burnt chicken every night. So I’m hoping it will bring you good luck as well.
Sweet girl, I want you to know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Most people say that about their children, and your mother was my greatest accomplishment, but you saved me. If it hadn’t been for you, losing your grandfather and then your mother would’ve been the death of me. But you gave me purpose and kept me from wallowing in my grief. I want you to know you were a blessing from the day you were created. There was never a doubt in my mind that you would go on to do amazing things. I’m so proud of you. I can say that without hesitation, regardless the occupation you choose or anything else you’ve done in life, because what’s inside of you makes me proud.
You’ve not had the easiest road in life, but you’ve always shown great strength, even at a young age. Hold on to that strength, Dani, but also allow yourself to be vulnerable.
One thing I’d like to leave you with is this . . .
Let your heart be your compass.
Everything you need in life is right there inside you.
And last, but not least . . . you’re never alone. I’ll always be right here with you, even if I’m no longer on this earth.
All my love,
Granny
My sob echoes into the small space as I wipe the tears that have fallen to my cheeks with the back of my hand, hugging the letter to my chest. Under the letter is what looks like a cookbook from the 1950s. Its outdated cover is faded and the edges show years of kitchen use. There’re a few splatters here and there. I open it and press my nose into the pages, hoping for a hint of her kitchen. Pulling it back, I quickly flip through the book. Beside each recipe are notes in her handwriting. In some of them, she’s written how she changed them, made them her own. On one of the pages, she wrote: Not Matthew’s favorite. I laugh through my tears, trying to picture her making dinner when she was my age, newly married.
I didn’t know my grandfather, but I’ve seen so many pictures of him, I feel like I knew him. He was handsome—tall and slender. From what my granny told me, he was mild-mannered, never had a harsh word for anyone. She would laugh and shake her head, reminiscing on how he would leave the disciplining to her. He loved my mom more than anything. My granny always said it was a blessing he died before my mom, because if he hadn’t, he would’ve died from a broken heart.
I came for recipes, but this is so much better. This is more than I ever could’ve dreamed of finding. When I put the letter and the cookbook safely back into the box and close it, I notice something else: a faded gold compass embossed into the worn green lid.
Let your heart be your compass.
“Thank you, Granny,” I whisper, closing my eyes.
“Hey,” Micah says, leaning against the side of the building. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I turn away from him, drying the tears from my cheeks one last time. “I’m good.”
“Find what you’re lookin’ for?”
I look back over my shoulder feeling like my entire world has been righted . . . like everything just came into focus. “Yeah, I did.”
“Are these all you’re taking?” he asks, pointing to the small stack of boxes on the ground.
“For now.” One of these days, I want all of this in my house. Not my apartment in New York, but wherever I put down my own roots. I want my granny with me.
“Ready?” Micah asks, shutting the trunk.
“Yep.”
“Still wanna drive by your old house?”
“Yeah. I’m kinda scared, but I want to see it,” I tell him, climbing into the car.
Micah closes the door behind me and walks around to his side. “What scares you?” he asks when he gets in.
“I’m worried it won’t look the same,” I admit.
“And that’ll make you sad.” He doesn’t ask. He knows.
“Yeah,” I whisper, looking out the window as we make our way back to the main road.
“Which way?”
I point left to the road that’ll lead us out of town. It doesn’t take long to get there, and I don’t even have to tell Micah when we’ve arrived. He can tell by the way I grip the door handle and practically glue my face to the window as I stare out at the two-story yellow house. He parks on the side of the road and waits patiently as I try to process the different emotions surging through me.
“You sure you want to do this?” His voice is gentle, like he’s worried he’ll startle me and I’ll run off.
I nod my head and take a deep breath. “Being here is surreal. It’s exactly the same, but different. After I sold this place, I honestly never thought I’d come back, but it still means so much to me.”
“Want me to see if anyone’s home?”
“I’ll do it, but I’d love some company.”
His thumb caresses my cheek, and I can’t help the smile that blossoms on my face. “You’ve got it.”
As we walk to the front door, I automatically reach my hand out to him. He doesn’t hesitate to take it and link our fingers. I don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to express how much it means to me to have him here with me, but I have a feeling he knows.
Micah gives my hand a squeeze to reassure me before I knock on the door. A few short moments later, I’m standing in the backyard of my childhood home.
“They kept the tire swing!” I rush over to what was one of my favorite pastimes and see the tire is the same, but it’s held up by a newer, stronger rope. “I used to swing on this for hours, sometimes not stopping until I threw up.”
Micah laughs. “What?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I get a little motion sick sometimes.”
“Get o
n it. I’m sure the Millers won’t mind.”
“No way!” I’m sure the nice family I just met wouldn’t care, but still, I’m too old for a tire swing, aren’t I? “It’s for kids. I’m too big for it.”
“Bullshit. I’ll help you up, and I promise not to push you too hard.”
I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but at the same time, I’m just as giddy as I used to be whenever I’d swing here. Maybe more so.
When I place my hands on Micah’s shoulders, he grabs my waist and effortlessly lifts me up, placing me on top of the tire. Once I’m situated comfortably and holding on to the rope, his hands slide down and rest on my thighs.
“Don’t let me fall,” I say, jokingly, but when he answers, “Never”, there’s passion in his voice I wasn’t expecting. It leaves me breathless.
There’s a change in the air, and neither of us can deny the intensity enveloping us. Micah’s eyes are a deep blue, and he’s looking at me like he can see right through to my soul.
We’re now the same height, so he has no problem pulling my mouth to his. The last couple of days, our kisses have been sweet and fun, exploring and teasing, but this kiss . . . this searing kiss is full of desire and unspoken promises. Warmth spreads throughout my body as I sink my fingers into his thick hair, and his deep moan only spurs me on. When we finally separate, we’re both panting and dazed. If his hands weren’t still on me, I’m sure I’d slide right off this tire.
“Maybe I should get down.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
Micah helps me down and my legs wobble, though I’m not sure whether it’s from being on the swing for so long or the kiss we just shared. The cocky grin he gives me tells me what he thinks the cause is.
I pull my camera from the bag I brought with me and start taking pictures of the tire swing, the trees that used to hold my granny’s hammock, and the old red barn sitting out in the field—pictures that are just for me. It’s in front of the barn where I find myself locked in Micah’s arms again, but this time, his embrace is full of support and concern as I allow a few tears to flow down my cheeks. I’m amazed by how he seems to know exactly what I need, sometimes before even I know.
For someone new at all of this—whatever this is—Micah Landry is a natural.
Micah
NEVER IN MY LIFE DID I think I’d eat a peanut butter burger and like it. Scratch that. I loved that fucker. When Dani told me about Topher’s Rock ‘N Roll Grill, it sounded like a great place to stop for lunch, but I had no idea I’d be eating a burger literally slathered with peanut butter. Don’t even get me started on the peanut butter and banana shake I had with it. So fucking good.
At least I waited until Dani fell asleep in the car to unbutton my jeans.
Standing in line to check in at the hotel, I’m blown away when Dani turns to me and asks if we can share a room. “It’s been a long, emotional day. I don’t want to be alone.”
I’m not going to dwell on the fact that she said she doesn’t want to be alone instead of saying she wants to be with me, in particular. I’ll take what I can get. Besides, I can’t say no to her, especially when she looks at me with those big green eyes.
Thankfully, they only have rooms with king beds left, so it looks like Dani and I will be snuggle buddies.
Once we’re settled in our room, I start to feel a little nervous. I don’t know what Dani expects of me. Our agreement to take things slow has stayed in place for most of the trip. There have been a few times when our kisses have turned heated, but we’ve been able to pull back. I know sex isn’t a given just because we’re sharing a bed tonight, but fuck me if I’m not dying to make love to her.
It doesn’t escape me that I think of being with Dani as making love. This is the first time I’ve thought of sex in that way, but it’s true. It’s what I want to do with her; it’s how I want to show her what I’m feeling. I’ve never felt this way before, and I have no idea what’s going to happen once we’re back in Louisiana.
Panic starts to pulse through my body at the thought of Dani going back to New York once our road trip is over. I want her to do whatever she needs to be happy, I just hope I get the chance to make her happy, too.
I need a distraction before I wear a bare spot in the carpet of the hotel room. Dani’s so preoccupied with her treasures from the storage building, she isn’t paying me any attention.
“Hey, I’m going to hop in the shower . . . unless you want to first?”
She looks up from her granny’s cookbook and smiles. “I can wait. I’ll take a bath when you’re done.”
Well, there goes my plan to rub one out in the shower. No way am I doing that knowing she’ll be sitting in the tub moments later.
Instead of relieving stress my usual way, I simply stand with my back to the shower head, letting the hot water beat down on my shoulders.
I know what I need to do. I need to be honest with Dani and tell her how I feel, but the truth is, I’m too damn scared. I know she just broke up with Graham and she’s focused on getting her career going in the right direction, so I don’t know if she’s even in a position to accept my feelings, much less return them.
I step out of the shower and dry off, resolved to keep my feelings to myself. Despite what my heart is telling me I should say, I don’t want to pressure her or complicate things for her. She’s having fun doing this article; I’m not about to mess that up.
Not thinking about what I’m doing, I open the bathroom door with only my towel wrapped around my waist.
“Want me to start your bath water?”
“Oh, um . . . yeah, sure. That’d be great,” she murmurs. She doesn’t even try to hide the fact that her eyes are taking in every inch of my chest and arms, and I realize this is the first time she’s seen me without a shirt.
I clear my throat and she snaps out of whatever trance she was in.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she murmurs, dipping her head to hide the heat on her cheeks, but I see it anyway. “I, uh . . . I just didn’t know you had tattoos.” Her stammer is adorable and the way she looks back up through her lashes and checks them out makes my cock stir.
Letting out a low chuckle, I turn around and walk into the bathroom to start her bath. I need a distraction before I show her more than my tattoos.
When she walks into the bathroom a few seconds later, I watch as she bites her lip and hides her face with her hair, obviously embarrassed or feeling uneasy, so I grab her arm and make her face me.
“Hey, don’t do that,” I tell her, pulling her lip from her teeth with my thumb. “I like that you were looking at me, and it’s okay if you don’t like my tattoos. They’re not for everyone.”
“No, I like them very much.” She blushes again, and I’m quickly reminded my arousal will be very obvious through this towel if I don’t get out of this bathroom right the fuck now.
I release her arm and walk to the door, putting some distance between us. “Thank you,” I tell her when I’m far enough away to keep from pulling her to me and never letting go. “Enjoy your bath.” I smile teasingly and waggle my eyebrows at her before closing the bathroom door behind me.
After we’re both cleaned up and dressed, we decide to take it easy for the night and hang out in the hotel bar for dinner. It ends up being a great decision because there’s a live band playing, and they’re actually really good.
“I’m still leery of liquor, so I think I’ll stick with beer tonight.”
“A beer sounds perfect right about now. Good call, Chuck.”
I laugh as she rolls her eyes at my nickname for her. I can’t help it. I’ve always given people nicknames. Maybe it’s a southern thing, I don’t know. I’m just glad she doesn’t scowl anymore when I say it.
“How are you feelin’ after the day you had?” I ask.
She’s quiet, which makes me worry I’ve upset her. When she looks up at me and smiles, I’m able to breathe again.
“I’m good. I’m really good, actually.”
She shakes her head like she doesn’t believe me, but it’s true and I feel better just getting it off my chest. She’s incredible.
After we finish our meal and listen to the band for a while, I notice Dani trying to hide a couple yawns. I’m kinda tired myself. It’s been a long day. So, I scoot my chair back and lean down until my mouth is at her ear. “Come on, sleepy head,” I say loud enough she can hear me over the music. “Let’s go to the room.”
I reach for her hand and toss some cash on the table. She doesn’t hesitate to take it, and I can’t help but love how good it feels simply holding Dani’s hand . . . just touching her.
It feels so good, in fact, I wrap my arm around her and pull her close to me in the elevator. Her arms fit perfectly around my waist, and she rests her head on my chest. I swear I hear her sniff my shirt, but I keep quiet.
Once we’re in the room, we quietly get ready for bed. I’m dying to know what she’s thinking—what she wants—but I’m following her lead tonight.
I’m already in bed with only my sleep pants on when she slips under the covers facing me. We simply lie there, staring at each other until she whispers, “Can I touch it?”
My mind goes straight to the gutter and by the look of horror on her face, hers does too, but she quickly corrects herself. “I meant your tattoo. Can I touch your tattoo?”
Not able to hold it in any longer, I throw my head back and laugh. We both do. We laugh so hard, we’re crying. This moment is absolutely perfect.
When we finally settle down, I move closer so she can touch the ink on my chest. Her finger lightly traces the lines of the oak tree, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its path. When she gets to where the roots of the tree spell the word “family” right over my heart, she removes her finger and kisses my skin.
Never has such a simple act felt so intimate . . . so powerful.
I don’t want to ruin this moment and break the spell we seem to be under, so I freeze and wait for her next move.