by Juliette Poe
It’s not our first kiss. But it feels all kinds of new and wondrous and incredibly hot. It’s not a sweet kiss. I can feel how much he wants me behind it—I can also feel other things underneath me, and my blood races even faster.
My hands tentatively go around his neck as the kiss deepens.
And then Deacon is groaning in what could be misery or perhaps frustration, but regardless, it’s enough to have him picking me up off his lap and setting me on the couch beside him.
His face is flushed, his eyes blazing with an almost unholy light that makes me believe I would be locked up tight if he had a pair of handcuffs on him.
“Why did you stop?” I ask breathlessly. I’m filled with utter disappointment, particularly because in a quick flash of memory, I remembered I have on a pretty sexy pair of underwear.
Deacon shifts his position, drawing one leg up slightly so he can face me. He puts an arm along the back, then bends his wrist so his fingertips can brush through the hair at my temple. “Do not ever doubt how much I want to take things further with you, Larkin.”
“I sense a “but” in there,” I murmur.
Deacon nods, his face a little troubled. “You’re different.”
“I’m not sure if that’s an insult or not,” I quip.
“It is most definitely not an insult,” he says, then goes on to explain. “There’s only going to be one first time between us. I don’t think I want that to be over just yet. I think I’m quite enjoying the buildup and denial.”
“Sexual tension,” I surmise. I’m also impressed by his willpower. I don’t know many guys who would stop because they’re enjoying the buildup.
I also realize I am quite okay with this. I am not a virgin, but I am not well experienced either. I have a lot of doubts, and I wonder if I will disappoint him in the end. But despite those fears, I know without a doubt I want Deacon Locke. And I’m not just talking about sex. I’m talking about the total package, which means sex goes along with it.
But I’m okay with waiting if he is.
“Why did you tell my family so much about your family?” I ask.
His fingers still against my temple, his eyebrows jerking upward in surprise. “Because they asked me.”
“I’ve asked you several times to tell me more about yourself, but you never do. You always turn the spotlight back on me.”
“It’s a little different what your family did to me tonight,” he points out dryly. “Your family grilled me with direct questions that required direct answers. You always say something like, ‘Tell me about yourself,’ and then things get sidetracked.”
I think about this moment. He’s absolutely right. I’ve only ever given him open-ended questions, hoping he’ll want to spill his guts to me. Starting from the time he sat down in the living room until dinner was over, he was peppered with dozens of questions that he politely answered.
It’s the most I’ve ever learned about him, and the juxtaposition of his family compared to mine is like night and day. The Mancinkuses are a strong, cohesive unit. While we may fight and bicker and annoy the hell out of each other, we love each other deeply. We spend time every week with each other, and it would kill me not to see my family that often.
Deacon isn’t close to his family at all. And not because he came out and said that, but I could hear it in his tone. He loves them. Respects them. Well, maybe not his brothers-in-law, but everyone else.
But it’s what he didn’t say about them. It’s the lack of intimate details, and I can tell he didn’t offer any because he doesn’t know any.
When I was telling him about my family that night at Chesty’s as we played pool, I practically gave him a dissertation on each one of my siblings and all their multiple personalities. I heard just the briefest of details tonight from Deacon, with no elaboration because he just didn’t have it to give.
“I’m sorry you’re not close to your family,” I say, forcing my own conclusions based on what I heard tonight.
Deacon’s lips curve upward in a slow, gentle smile. “Nothing to be sorry for, Larkin. I don’t feel like I’m lacking anything.”
I rush to reassure him that I don’t think that at all. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just… it doesn’t sound to me like you experienced deep familial bonds the way I have. I know how good it can be. And I know you—somewhat. An outgoing human being who enjoys people. I think there was much more to your family that could have potentially been enjoyed.”
Deacon shrugs. “I love my family. But I’ve always been really independent and never needed to depend on them or anyone. Besides, I was always last in line for the resources available, but I didn’t mind.”
“Children always have to depend on their parents,” I say, hoping to elicit more information.
“I figured out things on my own just fine,” he says.
“But why would you have to?” I ask, now feeling slightly mournful for the little boy he used to be.
Deacon slides a hand behind my neck, where he gives me a reassuring squeeze.
“When my mom died, my dad and I were lost. My dad was in over his head having to take care of a son on his own. When he married my stepmother, MaryAnne, she stepped in and did everything for my dad. Took all the stress and pressure off him. Helped raise me. She was an utter angel in his eyes. Now, she had her own daughters from a prior marriage, so they were always going to be her primary concern and responsibility. MaryAnne did right by me and saw to my basic needs, but by the time she got done doting on my dad and her two daughters, there wasn’t a lot left for me. And before you think that’s awful, you need to know my dad didn’t have a lot left for me either. He put all his time, energy, and devotion into MaryAnne, because he was so grateful she came into our lives and saved us. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t loved. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t taken care of. It just meant when I had a problem, I tried to figure it out on my own rather than go to the people I should have. That’s what made me independent.”
“I don’t even know what to think about that,” I say sincerely. “Part of me thinks that’s an awful way to be raised, but part respects the hell out of you for the type of man you’ve turned into.”
Deacon shrugs again. “I’m just me.”
I shift on the couch, bringing both of my legs underneath me and turning more fully toward him since this has turned into a much deeper conversation than I’d anticipated. “And you’ve never thought about settling down somewhere? Going back home to Idaho?”
Deacon chuckles. “I think you know the answer about Idaho. But no, I’m thirty-three, which is young to me. I don’t feel like time is passing me by. Don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything by staying in one place. In fact, I feel like I’m missing out on all those things I haven’t seen yet.”
I grin. “Such an adventurer.”
Deacon looks at me pointedly, lifting his chin up. “What about you? Haven’t you ever wanted to leave Whynot?”
I laugh at his supposition I haven’t ever left. “I’ve traveled some. I did a semester in Europe my junior year in college. Visited Costa Rica once. Been to all the big cities like New York and Chicago. I’m not a country bumpkin who has never stepped out of the small-town proper, you know.”
Deacon inclines his head in silent apology. “Where else would you like to go see?”
I lean my head against the back of the couch. “Oh, I don’t know. Back to Europe. Paris was my favorite. I haven’t been to Vienna, and I heard that’s lovely. Maybe Australia.”
“Australia is amazing,” Deacon says, then he launches into a recitation of the five best things to do while there.
When he finishes, I ask, “What has been your most favorite country?”
“Japan,” he says, then he goes on to explain why.
I pepper him with more questions. We talk for a full hour about his travels, and I definitely now have a bucket list of places I want to go to.
We talk until a yawn inadvertently pops out of my mouth. Deacon smiles, announcing it�
��s his cue to leave.
I walk him to the front door, and he gives me a very brief but incredibly sweet kiss. He then pulls back ever so slightly from my mouth, lifts his chin, and presses his lips against my forehead. That’s even sweeter in my book.
“Good night, Larkin,” he says softly. “I had an amazing time with you tonight.”
“Me too,” I say before he turns and makes his way down my front porch. He’ll walk the few blocks back to Millie’s.
And it’s not lost on me that he didn’t say he would call me later. Didn’t ask to see me tomorrow, which is Christmas Eve, either.
He left without making any further plans with me, and I hate that it makes me doubt everything we experienced together tonight.
CHAPTER 14
Larkin
Diary Entry
Monday
December 24th
Dear Diary,
It’s Christmas Eve, ostensibly one of my favorite times of the year. I spent the day wrapping gifts. Rather than putting them out under the tree, I packed them into shopping totes to be carried to my mama and daddy’s house tomorrow for Christmas dinner.
I had hoped to hear from Deacon today, but he has been radio silent. I am a modern woman in modern times, but I can’t bring myself to reach out to him. There’s still too much old-fashioned notion within me that I should sit back and wait for the man to come a callin’.
But I very much want him to come calling. Deacon is larger-than-life, and I have never met anyone like him. He is so different from other men. Patient. Amazing self-control. And that in and of itself is incredibly attractive.
I have no idea if this is something that will turn into more than a short, pleasurable fling.
But it most likely can’t be anything more than that.
Deacon is a wanderer, and I’m a root. I am planted deep in Whynot, and I have a very sneaky suspicion Deacon, in all his larger-than-life ways, would wither if he was forced to stay in one spot for too long. I wish I could be the type to say, “Let’s get on the back of your bike and just go. Wherever we end up is wherever we end up.”
But I know, and I’m sure he does as well, that I could never do that.
Not because I’m afraid to experience new things, but because I can’t leave a place I love so much, nor the people I care for so deeply.
Merry Christmas Eve, Diary.
Until I find time to write again.
Love,
Larkin
CHAPTER 15
Deacon
I get that Christmas Eve is not the most happening holiday of the year. But I’ve never quite seen a town shut down the way Whynot has at six on the night before Christmas. I’ve made almost a full lap around the town square, yet not one business is open.
All the interior lights are off, closed signs hanging in the windows, but cheery multicolored lights are still on and blinking in window displays. There’s a massive lit Christmas tree on the courthouse lawn that could be seen from almost any angle around the square.
It looks like if I want an evening Christmas meal, I’m going to have to go back to my room at Millie’s and dig into the big bag of Doritos I had bought from the gas station two days ago. I think I might also have a Snickers bar in my duffel.
It’s not difficult to figure out that everything is closed down because this is a holiday where everyone would expect to be home with their families.
I have no clue if Larkin is with hers. The subject of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day didn’t come up last night, and I specifically didn’t ask because I didn’t want it to come across as if I were fishing for an invitation. Because I most certainly was not.
I mean, if she had invited me, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I also don’t want to overstep my bounds. When it boils right down to it, Larkin and I have been on a few casual dates and that’s it. There should not have been any expectation she would want to spend any part of the Christmas holiday with me.
I did finally get to meet her brother Lowe and his wife Mely a couple of hours ago. When they had gotten back from their honeymoon, they stepped into the bed and breakfast to check on things and talk to each of the current guests. There are only four of us here for the holiday, but they wanted to let us know there was not going to be a staff person on site on Christmas Eve. They provided the guests with their cell phone numbers if anything should come up over the evening and assured us they lived just one block down at Mainer house and could be by in a flash.
Of course, I’ve walked and driven by Mainer house several times since taking up temporary residence in Whynot. It is without a doubt the showpiece of the town. As Larkin had described it to me, it had been in the Mainer family for generations until recently when it was sold due to financial reasons. Mely is the one who bought it, Lowe caused all kinds of trouble for her regarding the house because he was pissed it fell out of the family, but ultimately, they fell in love and got married and now it’s back within the family.
I liked both of them right away, much like I had her other family members I met yesterday. Lowe is definitely more laid-back than Colt when it comes to being protective of his sisters. He and Mely had obviously heard about the handcuff story, but they both thought it was hilarious.
Prior to running into my bed-and-breakfast landlords today, I had spent several hours in the capital city of Raleigh. It’s a mere forty-five minutes away, and it seems to have everything a big-city dweller would want to have. Professional sports, museums, diverse restaurants, and a lot of shopping. Not that I like shopping. I’m a dude.
Still, I found myself over at one of the bigger malls because I had heard they had a great Vietnamese restaurant, and that is one of my favorite cuisines. After eating, I spent a lot of time walking around, just meandering for a way to kill time. While everything is closed down in Whynot, the mall was still bustling. Overflowing, really, and I had a few things to get, so it was pretty annoying battling the crowds.
It was a better way to spend the day than hanging out in the quiet of a town that was all closed down. The holidays have never held much meaning for me, but because most of my friends had their own families, it was usually a time I spent alone.
Funny how that had never bothered me before. I rarely went home for the holidays to spend time with my dad, stepmom, and stepsisters.
And yet, I find myself wondering what they are doing. Are things difficult because of the issues my father is having? Does he even understand what is happening to him?
I probably need to figure out how to get there sooner rather than later to check on how he’s doing and see things for myself.
I decide to take one more lap around the town square only for the fact I’m bored and it’s a nice evening out. It’s chilly, but it actually feels invigorating. I make it to the east side of the courthouse and head north up Walker Street. Millie’s is directly due north ahead of me.
When I make it there, however, I have absolutely no desire to walk in and settle myself down for the evening. I certainly don’t feel like seeing Mr. and Mrs. Edgar glare at me, still convinced I was trying to kidnap Larkin by cuffing her to my bed.
So instead, I take a right turn on Wilmington Street and walk one block before crossing the railroad track. Two more blocks east brings me to Larkin’s house.
I don’t feel overly stalkerish as I stand on the sidewalk and look at her home, which is lit up with interior lights. I take that to mean she is inside, though her blinds are drawn, so I can’t tell. I envision that perhaps she’s laying on her couch reading a book with her Christmas tree lights twinkling merrily behind her.
I stare at her house for a few minutes more, debating on what to do. I’d probably scare the hell out of her if I went up and knocked on her door. The fact this entire town is already closed down for Christmas Eve tells me she flat out would not expect a visitor to her door.
I can turn around and return to Millie’s. Head to bed.
I could get on my bike and drive over to Milner. Wolf’s would be open,
and I could have a beer.
I discount all of those. Instead, I reach into my pocket to fish out my phone. I am a texter by nature. With the invention of that technology years ago, I became overly reliant on it as a method to avoid actual conversations with people I didn’t particularly care to talk to. From there, it became easy not to have conversations with anyone. Not because I’m antisocial. Quite the contrary. But I am an efficient guy, and actual phone conversations can tend to drag on and on. When communicating by text, people are forced to get to the heart of the matter and get it handled.
And yet, I have no desire to text Larkin. I actually want to hear her voice.
So I call her.
She answers on the second ring. Her voice sounds slightly breathless with delight, excited I’m calling.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Deacon,” she chirps into the phone.
“Back at ya, darlin’,” I drawl in a low voice. “What are you doing?”
“Reading a book,” she says, and I chuckle at the knowledge I had pegged her right. It’s one of the things I had learned about Larkin over the last few days. She’s a bookworm. Any opportunity she can get, she has her nose in a book. If her hands are otherwise occupied, she’s got her headphones on listening to an audio story.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I look left down the street toward the darkened town square, then right where the sidewalk actually ends in half a block as Wilmington Street turns into a country road and heads out of town. I glance back at Larkin’s house and opt for the truth, no matter if it sounds stalkerish. “I’m standing outside your house.”
“Oh my God,” she exclaims, and I can actually envision her scrambling off the couch. Within moments, she’s throwing open the front door and pushing the screen outward, while she still talks to me on the phone. “Why didn’t you just come up and knock on the door?”
I don’t budge, holding my ground, nor do I call across the yard to her, just speak into the phone. “I didn’t want to intrude on a holiday.”
