by J C Hartung
“He loves you. Look what he did for us today. There is no way a man not in love would be doing this right now.”
“He loves us; me and Oliver,” she nodded in agreement, and once again leaned her head on Dave’s shoulder.
“What mom said to you at Thanksgiving is true. You are our daughter, our sister and aunt. Rae, we’re not going away, ever. We also know that you’re not replacing Mark, nothing and no one ever could, in that there never was a choice. But if we add Lincoln, we get more of you and Oliver, and someday, hopefully not in the too distant future, we’ll love him too.”
Dave turned and kissed her forehead and pulled her tight to his side. She couldn’t speak. So much, she thought, she had so much.
Chapter Forty
Oliver was at home with a babysitter and she had finished up at the party she’d catered much earlier than she had thought she would, so on her way home she decided to stop in on Linc. She wanted to see him, she felt foolish, but she missed him. After all the drama the weekend threw at them, the afternoon with the Sawyers had gone exceptionally well. It felt like family, which she hadn’t expected to feel.
There were a few awkward moments, but the overall spirit of the afternoon had been one of acceptance, love and a genuine interest on everyone’s part to get to know Linc and his family. Their humorous interrogation of him had been so inspired; even she had learned a few things.
She’d spoken to all of them since and they couldn’t have made her feel more loved than they already did. The only roadblock she felt came from Linc himself. He had assured her he was comfortable with how everything had sorted itself out. He’d even sincerely enjoyed the Sawyers. But it had been a few days since the weekend and he’d stayed away.
She also felt guilty she hadn’t managed to get over to Linc’s to see the progress on the house, but he hadn’t given her a chance to get over because he was always at her house or willing to be there. She thought by now he had wanted to be moved in, but he hadn’t mentioned any moving in to her. Plus, when she asked, he just shrugged indifferently and said it was coming along.
There were no lights on in the house but the lights in the barn burned bright. She parked next to his truck, pulled her collar up and went to see what he was up to.
He saw the lights turn into his drive. He wasn’t expecting anyone and because he was in the zone, his eyes only acknowledged the lights with annoyance. He hoped selfishly that if he didn’t turn the music down and continued to run the table saw and electric sander, whoever it was would see he was busy and turn around and leave.
He felt the draft, saw the sawdust by his feet blow further under the table where the breeze encouraged it to hide and he knew the door had opened. He finished his cut even though he was fully aware someone stood nearby, waiting for the chance to interrupt. It had been happening more increasingly; word of what he’d done with the place had obviously got out. Mostly it didn’t bother him, but tonight he wasn’t in the mood.
When the machine dulled into the low hum of inactivity, he turned.
He saw her wave her fingers by her side and watched her lips mouth the word, hello. He pushed the safety glasses onto his head and walked over to a shelf to turn the music off. He heard the muffled sound of her voice, and when he pulled the earplugs from his ears, she laughed at herself.
“Now I see why you need it so loud!” she laughed, and not waiting for him to greet her, she walked straight into his space and drew him into a kiss that reminded both of them they’d not seen each other for a few days.
“Will it cross the line and appear clingy if I admit I’ve missed you?” she asked.
He brushed his fingers along her bangs and kissed her again. His eyes claimed her possessively and his mouth barely restrained need. “No. I miss you the moment I leave. How’s that for clingy?”
She laughed again even though his eyes told her he was serious. She knew instantly something was going on with him, though she couldn’t put her finger on the mood he was channeling.
She smiled easily up at him. “So, what are you working on? More house stuff?”
He laughed under his breath. “No, not house stuff.”
“What is it then?”
She ran her fingers gingerly along a thick square piece that he had yet to sand.
“It’s a post.”
He didn’t know how to tell her what it was for without telling her everything else that was on his mind, and knowing his mood and the way his insides were twisted up, he didn’t know if this was the time.
She rolled her eyes at him and flashed a smile that could have meant a lot of things. His uneasy mood splintered and he offered a smile of his own.
“I can see it’s a post, smarty. You’re in a mood,” she accused laughingly.
He agreed. He was in a mood.
“Just tired.”
He could actually blame a large amount of his mood on that simple fact. The rest, well, only he was to blame.
“Aww, you know, after this long, a wise man would have moved a real bed up there.”
“A wise man,” he echoed quietly, and nodded in agreement. He rubbed his face and watched her move around his shop.
“Why don’t you walk me through your house and tell me what’s got you so agitated.”
She held her hand out for him to take. She wondered if this might finally be her chance to encourage him and make his life better. He glanced quickly from her small, strong hands, to her face that looked all too happy, and he made the decision. He’d never know unless he spoke to her about it. What was the worst that could happen? He’d open up everything he was, and rest it in her hand. She had no idea what he was about to lay at her feet; he had no idea what she was able to lay back before his.
He unlocked the door that entered from the garage and led into the back entrance of the kitchen. She noticed he bent down to untie his boots, so she removed her shoes as well. Then her senses registered the smell; it was clean. The air was different; it was fresh and there was the absence of the hum the construction heaters gave off. In its place she heard the quiet hum of the furnace running.
Linc asked for her coat, which he hung on a hook in a neatly designed cubby. Then he led her past the pantry. When he hit the light switch she nearly gasped. It was done. The kitchen was installed, the flooring was laid, and the appliances were gleaming in their proper home. Everything begged for attention, yet no one feature screamed louder than the other. It was welcoming perfection.
Linc was leaning on the wall watching her. She loved it; he didn’t need her words to understand that. It was what she thought about it beyond that that he needed to know. He watched her open the fridge and then close it again. She touched the faucet, turned the water on, then off, and she walked around the island while her fingers danced on the countertop. Then she froze, and he knew she noticed.
“Linc,this is soapstone,” she whispered, stunned.
He smiled, walked to her and laid his own hands on the cool, smoothly honed surface. It was a solid choice. He assured himself the day he ordered it that it was a better fit than the concrete he had originally wanted to go with. The surface exuded all he hoped it would; a strong quality to balance all the wood and stone, a handsome strength that was both impenetrable and elegant, and a surface that would, if all went well, see a whole lot of functional use.
“Once I saw it, I knew it was the right way to go.” That was the other thing he’d told himself.
“Well. It’s perfect.”
He joined his fingers with hers and instantly felt their warmth after touching the stone. He hoped she found that as comforting as he did.
She pulled his hand with her as she walked around the large living room. He’d been right about that space too. It was huge now that it was complete. It was so big, and much too empty. The only piece that occupied its space was a large area rug he’d ordered at the end of summer. He had to lay it out so that some of the sound was absorbed. He didn’t like to hear how alone he was when he was in the house,
though he hadn’t spent a lot of time in it, so that hadn’t been too much of a problem.
He couldn’t find the words yet, so he left her with her own thoughts as she looked around at everything he’d created and back at him. She led him through the rest of the main floor. First the office that was lined with the empty bookcases she knew he had made, and then across the hall to the master bedroom.
It too was empty, and stunning. She couldn’t ignore that. The fireplace made it charming and inviting, and the bathroom was sleek and rustic combined. But there was no sign of the living to be found. No soap or shampoo in the shower, no towels hanging on the bar, no toothbrush next to the sink. She walked out of the room both impressed and puzzled. Linc followed her back into the living room where she sunk to the floor in the middle of the rug.
He smiled at how small she looked sitting in the middle of the empty room. He hit a few buttons and a fire roared to life. He dimmed the lights and joined her on the floor. Their eyes did a dance while they each waited for the other to speak.
Linc’s face broke in a grin after a moment of this, and he thought he’d rather start by kissing her, than answering her questions. When neither had spoken for several moments, her hand gently pressed on his chest to ease them apart. She looked at him and he still saw puzzlement.
“Linc, when did you finish the house?”
A quick tug from each corner of his mouth formed a smile and then straightened again. “About ten days ago.”
Her brow creased. “Why haven’t you moved your furniture in? There isn’t even food in your kitchen. Why are you still sleeping on your deflated bed?”
He got up. All the cool, all the smooth, all the right words; at least the ones he’d thought he might say were gone. His mind had suddenly come up blank.
“Those are good questions,” he said, and then laughed at himself.
She sat on the floor and watched him pace from one side of the room to the other. If he didn’t look like something was seriously wrong, she would have thought his behavior was intensely comical, and such a contrast to any way she’d ever seen him. He made two more passes and in spite of feeling suddenly bad for him, she laughed.
He froze and realized he must look ridiculous. With intentional strides he made his way back to her and sat opposite her on the rug. He took her hands in his and looked down at them.
“Remember the first time I came out here?” she asked.
He nodded and allowed the memory to come to him; she’d been so easy to impress and he’d known just the right thing to say. He laughed. He could use even a small dose of those easy words and relaxed style.
“We sat out on your porch swing. You said all the right things, and listened even better. You showed me a piece of yourself that day. When I left here, a lot of things shifted for me.”
“For me, too.”
“You know, you still surprise me, Linc.”
He looked up at her and recognized the pattern, so he followed her, even if he didn’t know where she was leading. “Do I?”
“You know you do!” A gentle laugh floated from her lips.
“You think you might tell me how I do that?”
“You’re smooth, but when smooth words escape you, you let other things speak for you. You’re good at more than just words, you know that too.”
“Am I?” His grin spread and some of the knots in his chest began to relax. It seems he didn’t need words at the moment because she had her own, which were soothing to his anxious spirit.
“Oh, Linc! You know your gifts, and you know how to use them,” she laughed confidently and continued eagerly. “But I’ll indulge you one more time and tell you. You listen, and you hear what hasn’t been said. You’re generous, well beyond expectation, and you’re loving. Not only loving, but you give love in the right ways, and you make returning it an easy offering. You are an encourager, and you make each moment special in some way. You know how to take whatever comes your way and turn it into a blessing. How’s that so far?” she asked. He watched her face shift from sincere to pleased.
He smiled because her expression called for his to match. “I guess that depends on how you feel about all those gifts.”
She lifted her hand to his face. “See, there’s your smooth!”
He nodded in agreement and fell silent again as he watched her.
She looked to be considering him. “What is this,” she pointed at him. “Whatever is going on with you right now, this is new, and I don’t quite know what to make of it.”
“It is new…and I’m not too sure how to deal with it either,” he offered honestly.
She still couldn’t figure it out, so she asked the next question her memory gave her.
“Well, how about this. Do you ever not get what you want?”
He smiled down at their hands; he could only shake his head. She was right, he would find a way to convince her, hadn’t he already decided weeks ago that he would?
“Very rarely,” he responded, and he felt the flutter of anticipation surge through his chest.
“There you go then,” she waited for him to raise his eyes to hers before continuing, “Lincoln, why are you still sleeping in the barn?”
“The post in the shop, it’s for the bed. It won’t be done for at least another week.”
“Okay, that explains that part. What about your lack of food, or couches, dishes for the kitchen or towels for the bathroom. This is a super soft rug, but surely you have a couch somewhere in that back room.”
“Raina.” He squeezed her hands. “I don’t want to move my furniture into the house.”
If her face had portrayed a puzzled expression before, she was side swiped with so much more by his statement.
“What do you mean?” she whispered. She tried to ease her hands from his and he could see she had come to a very incorrect conclusion.
“No, no, no. Wait, I’m not going anywhere.”
It was his turn to laugh, because this couldn’t have been going worse than it was. He threw any and all of his previous ideas out the window and decided the bare and simple truth was the best. He took her face in his hands and watched her confused eyes search for understanding in his.
“I’m not always smooth, and I don’t always have the right words, and right now, that small window of fear has kept me from saying all the things I know I need to like, Raina, I don’t want to move into my house. I want us to move into ours.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, I know, it’s a big one. I want this to be our house, a home we make together. I want to fill it with our stuff. I want us to be able to remember where the first giant scratches on the floor came from, and how the paint got chipped on the wall by the stairs. I want to see the panic in your eyes when you come home from work and see Oliver has colored on the white walls with red marker.”
Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes welled with tears. He knew his words were back.
“When that bed out there, which I’m making for us, is finished and sitting in that room. I want you in it, sleeping next to me. I don’t care what goes into each room, if you’re not here to help me fill it. None of it has been about it being mine for a while now. I want it to be ours. Yours, and Oliver’s, and mine.”
“You want us to move in here?” she asked; just to be sure her emotions hadn’t told her something that wasn’t so. He trailed his thumb down her cheek and brushed her hair from her face.
“I would love that,” he confirmed. “We could let Oliver pick the room he wants, and then we could paint it up like Superman, and in the spring, when the snow melts we could rebuild him a proper tree house out where the old one is.” He paused again and decided this was the moment to push further. “And eventually once we’re all used to being here together as a family, maybe we could add some babies to our crew.”
Her expression sobered as she watched him. “Wow,” she breathed. “Superman, a treehouse, and babies. You’ve really thought this through.”
“I’ve thought of li
ttle else since the moment you walked into my life.”
She released his hands and stood, much the way he had, so she could pace. She followed the same pattern he had, only this time, neither of them found it humorous.
He gave her a few passes to think and then he asked. “What do you think?”
She stopped her pacing and stood with her back to the windows, facing him. “I know you love Oliver, and I think I have a pretty good idea how he feels about you, even though I’ve never asked him,” she admitted, and Linc rose. He crossed the room to her, so together they stood in the wash of moonlight while the fire’s glow warmed them. “I love you, and I know you love me. You paint a beautiful picture, Linc. Actually, until now I’ve believed in every possibility you’ve offered me.”
“Until now?”
The heavy drumming awoke in his already tense body. Her eyes leveled with his. He saw light, and love, and mischief, and he wanted to believe, to hope. He felt nervous energy and love in her touch, but what he heard was her gentle way of saying no. She took a step towards him, so she could touch, and when her fingers laced his, she confused his understanding.
“I told you that I was ultimately a spontaneous person and that I usually took the leap before I thought things through or looked to see what I was jumping over. I’m not doing that this time. I want you to know that you’re not the only one who has thought this through. Linc, I don’t think moving in here is the next step.”
Her words didn’t coincide with her body language. She was saying no, yet her face was beaming and her hands had made their way to the back of his neck, and her body was pressed against his.
He didn’t know what she was saying, but his body responded to hers. His arms circled her and his mouth turned to form a smile that now matched hers. He lowered his head to hers and touched her lips gently with his own.
“So you’ve thought it through and you don’t want to move in with me?” he asked, curious now to see where she was leading.
She threw her head back and laughed. “It’s about the possibilities, Linc!”
