I stared at him, mouth open, until I recovered, "No large animals, Nate.I feel like that is a year two kind of commitment, not month two."Had we even been together two months?"And those dresses do not scream comfort."
He pulled me close and pressed soft kisses to my neck, "You will have lots of places to wear those dresses during the season, and you are going to look so good in them."
Before I knew it, we were tumbling into his bed, and the obscenely overstocked closet was forgotten.
In the mornings, he’d roll out of bed hot and mussed, kiss the curve of my neck like a promise, and go.I learned his pre-season schedule by the sound of his footsteps.The penthouse would go quiet after the door shut, and I’d drift for thirty more minutes until I forced myself to make the drive back to Hawthorne Ridge.
One morning, I was up first.I made coffee the way I like it, indecently strong, a splash of cream, and scrambled eggs in his too-nice pan that made me feel nervous I might damage it.He came out of the shower with a towel low on his hips and grabbed a cup after kissing my temple.
“You’re going to ruin me for road trips,” he said, voice still gravelly.He leaned on the counter, watching me like the scene itself did something to his pulse.
“Pretty sure hotels have coffee makers, Nate.”
“Not like you.”He stole a piece of egg off my plate.I slapped his hand, which he obviously enjoyed.His fingers skimmed my waist, barely there, and heat shivered all the way through me.There was something obscene about domesticity with us, like every normal thing was newly scandalous.
He rested his forehead between my shoulder blades.“Stay tonight?”
“I have a full day out on the truck with Dr.King today; it may go late,” I said into my mug."And then an early morning tomorrow at the clinic.”
He didn’t argue.Just kissed the spot below my ear that makes my spine loose.“Then I’ll drive up after.Even if it’s late.”
“Nate...”
“Even if it’s late,” he repeated.
While I loved spending any time I could with Nate, I was happiest when I escaped the city noise for dirt and horses and the quieter rhythm of things that grow.
Maggie let me take over her kitchen like I’d been born there.We chopped tomatoes for late-summer canning, talked seed catalogues for next year, and argued over whether zucchini bread should have chocolate chips.
Kenzie sat at the island, eating whatever passed her by, saying that it was her way of contributing.
Everything smelled like the sun on wood and the faint clean of laundry drying on the line.
Nate showed up that day, grinning, a takeout bag dangling from one hand and a Kodiaks cap pulled low.“Brought offerings,” he said as we pulled me in for a kiss.
Kenzie swooned, and Maggie had the biggest smile on her face that I had ever seen.
“You keep showing up like this, and people are going to start thinking you work here,” I teased, taking the bag.It was the good Greek place from Summit City I loved, the one that made tzatziki so garlicky it could make a grown man weep.
He hugged his mom and Kenzie and then locked eyes with me.“You’re here, aren’t you?That is where I want to be.”
We ate on his parents' back porch.He watched me more than he ate.I pretended not to notice and failed.
“You’re staring,” I said around a mouthful of my pita.
“I can't help it,” he sighed.“I need to remember every moment with you for when I’m on the road.For when I miss you and my heart is sad.”
“Your heart is safe,” I said, my heartbeat picking up.
He leaned back on his chair, eyes half-lidded under his cap.“No, it's not.”
I swallowed hard and looked away so I could regain control over my emotions.This man...I don't think it washisheart that was in danger.
Nights bled into routines I didn’t think I’d ever want: him asleep on my couch with his arm flung over his face after a long training session, while I folded clothes; me sleeping on his chest while whatever game he was studying ran on mute.Sometimes he’d come home wrung out, body hot and temper short from pushing past where he should’ve stopped, and I’d pull him into my shower and run water over both of us until the lines around his mouth softened and he remembered how to breathe.
He has scars.Tiny pale lines on his knuckles, one jagged one low on his ribs.The first time I traced it, he caught my wrist.
“Hit from behind,” he said.“Ribs took the boards.”
