"Breakfast is being cooked out here," Quint says, leading the group through a door on the opposite side of the building. "Come out and take a look."
Cecily and I are standing closest to the exit, so we are the first to follow Quint. I motion for Cecily to step in front of me, and without thinking too hard about it, I place my hand on the small of her back. She has a deep curve there, and my hand fits inside it perfectly, my fingers evenly splayed. Cecily tosses me the briefest of glances before we step out of the door into the bright sunshine.
I could probably drop my hand by now, but, well, I don't want to. Instead, I let my thumb inch over the skin of her lower back, left bare by that knot in her tank top. Back-and-forth, my thumb drags on, and it cannot be more than five seconds, but those five seconds feelright.
Dropping my hand should be a decision I make without consideration, but not right now. I have to, quite literally, force myself to discontinue contact. My fingertips meet the air, and I have the irresistible urge to sayfuck it, to bend her backwards and kiss her like there's no tomorrow.
I won't. I can't. Not in front of her family. I know we agreed on chaste kisses, but the first time I put my sober lips on hers cannot be in front of her family. She deserves more, and I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself. A taste of Cecily, and I'll become a man crazed.
Quint shows us the flat-top griddle, and one by one the men and women from the kitchen walk out, arms laden with everything needed to prepare a breakfast that more closely resembles a feast. Blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, ranch potatoes, and thick, hickory smoked bacon. Salty ham, fruit, sourdough toast, juices and coffee.
The Hamptons behavior is vastly improved this morning. Perhaps Ophelia scared them straight, or maybe it was Cecily's text to the sparsely used family group chat last night. Whatever it was, they seem to have taken it to heart. Even Marilyn, usuallyabsent while present, compliments the crisp bacon, the fluffy pancakes.
When she thinks nobody can see, Kerrigan mouths to Cecily,What the fuck?
Cecily smiles slowly. She wraps an arm around Ophelia's shoulders, and says, "Thank you for arranging the trail ride and breakfast. It has been an amazing experience, and I would've never thought to plan it for myself."
Ophelia harrumphs. "You are only saying that because I got mad at everybody."
Cecily laughs. "That is one hundred percent not true."
"Sure it is," Duke says, popping a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth. "Cecily sent out a group text last night and threatened everybody within an inch of their lives."
Cecily makes an aggrieved sigh, but Duke winks at her, and her bluster dissipates.
We stack our plates for the staff, carrying them inside despite their protestations. Even Glenn carries empty coffee mugs on his fingers, earning a second murmur ofwhat the fuckfrom Kerrigan.
I'm starting to think watching this family interact might be better than prime-time television.
Everything is going well until we reunite with the horses. I'm standing beside Cecily, and the natural thing to do would be to plant a kiss on her before we part to mount our horses. She seems to know this, understand this, and tips her face up to mine.
Two opposite and distinct thoughts swell inside me. Devour her mouth because I cannot imagine doing anything less, or settle for a chaste, underwhelming peck.
Or there's option three, which is what I end up choosing. I lean in...and rub the tip of my nose against hers.
Cecily pales. Hurt fills her eyes, followed closely by fury. I wish desperately for the packed Arizona clay earth to crack open and swallow me down. How am I going to recover from a gaffe of this magnitude?
Cecily shoves her foot in the stirrup, swinging her other leg up and in the direction of the horse's backside. And also, directly into my crotch.
"Oof." I breathe hard, knees knocking together as the sharp pain boomerangs around a part of me I'm quite fond of.
Cecily glares down at me, deliberately rearranging her face into one of apology. "Oops," she says, adopting an ultra-feminine lilt. She guides her horse away, leaving me there. Forcing myself upright, I look into the curious gazes of the Hampton family.
"She's a pistol," I say, retreating to my own horse.
"Probably should have figured that out before you married her," Glenn responds.
I stiffen. Turn around woodenly. "I wouldn't have her any other way." There's challenge in my tone. Defiance.
Glenn has nothing to say, and that's a damn good thing. Cecily and I might be headed for an annulment at the end of this, but for now, she's my wife.
I need to catch up with Cecily, explain myself. I've hurt her feelings. I mount my horse, using the reins to urge his turn, and startle. Cecily has not gone far. In fact, she's hardly gone anywhere.
"Thank you," she says softly.
I pull my horse up beside her, her booted foot bouncing against my tennis shoe. Impractical footwear for a trail ride, but all I had.
I look at her full on, hoping she can feel the strength of my gaze, an apology without words. "You are sacred ground, Cecily. I won't allow anyone to speak badly about you in my presence."
