Thirty-Five
Ky
I’m quiet on the drive back to Colt’s house, and it’s not because my belly is full of treats.
Nor because the plush cow with the floppy hair he bought for me on the sly is sitting on my knees, its adorable face looking up at me.
It’s not because it’s late and the snow is coming down heavier and heavier, coating the world in white and making me feel quietly sequestered, as though it’s only Colt and me in this world.
“You okay?” he asks softly, like he’s been resisting shattering the quiet.
I lift the cow, press a kiss to its head. “I’m great.”
His smile is a flash of white in the darkness and then he reaches forward, turns up the volume on the radio. “I love this song.”
My heart seizes when I hear the familiar strums of the guitar, John Fogerty’s lyrics of rain clearing and beauty in the aftermath of the storm filling the air. “What do you love about it?”
His fingers find mine, squeeze. “Probably the same thing you do,” he murmurs. “The clouds parting. The sun shining…”
“Rainbows coming out?”
“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “You.”
I tilt my head in question.
“You’re the rainbow, bright and beautiful and formed only after the storm clears.”
I suck in a breath.
“Too sappy?”
“N-no,” I say, blinking rapidly against the tears turning my vision watery. “It’s perfect.”
We both fall quiet again as he turns into his house, the garage door rumbling closed behind his car, ensconcing us in gentle darkness.
He turns to face me, hand cupping my jaw, lips brushing over my forehead. “Let me get the door for you.”
“I can?—”
Lips gliding over mine. “Let me?”
I can’t resist him normally, but like this? Gentle and soft, his eyes burning into mine, his fingertips trailing over my cheeks, my nose, my throat.
“Yeah?”
I nod.
“Thanks, Teach.”
Before I can ask why he’s thanking me, he’s out of the driver’s seat, coming around to my side. Then his big body is bending over mine, his scent is in my nose, his hand is wrapped around mine. A tug and I’m out of the car, being led into the house…
And straight up to his bedroom.
I set the cow on the dresser, pat his fluffy head, but when I start to shrug out of my coat, his hands land on my shoulders. “Let me?” he asks again.
Lungs hitching, I nod. Slowly, he undoes the buttons, pushes the fabric down my arms, pulling it free and folding it over the arm of the chair in the corner.
But when he reaches for his own jacket, I step close. “Let me?”
