Iwake up with Amy pressed to me, my hand already working at her hip, tugging her back into me, and when she wakes up, it’s with a little gasp that I want to swallow.
I’m the kind of sleepy that doesn’t feel like it has an end in sight. Not when each night we spend together goes on far longer than it should, touching and moving together, waking up already turned on.
Amy grinds back into me, lifting one of her arms up to grab the hair at the back of my head, even though she’s facing away from me. And that’s enough for me. She’s only wearing one of my shirts, and I pull it up, lifting her leg, pushing her forward a bit, and sliding into her.
She feels like home. Waking up with her, having her like this first thing in the morning, it might just replace my coffee addiction.
“Evan,” she moans into her pillow, and I reach around, pulling the hair away from her neck, kissing the tender skin there, letting my lips trail over her, settling on the pulse point and sucking until just before the point of leaving a mark.
Being with her makes me feel wild. I reach around to her front, sliding my fingers in until I find her clit, applying the pressure I’ve learned she likes, small, slow circles until she’s crying out, the pillow falling on the floor, her arms wrapping around my forearm instead for support.
When we’re done and breathing hard, I pull out of her and gather her up into my arms, carrying her to the shower.
“This ismuchbetter than the lodge,” she jokes when I set her down in the shower and push some of the hair over her shoulders.
“Low bar,” I return, twisting the handle to hot and stepping in beside her. We shower together, washing one another, and I can’t ignore the steadybeat, beat, beatof happiness inside me.
When was the last time I felt this? I don’t know if I’veeverfelt something like this.
In high school I dated, of course, and lost my virginity the way most kids do—in a car parked outside of town, way too eager with a girl who didn’t have a clue what we were trying to do, either.
We dated for months, until graduation, when she said long distance wasn’t going to work for her. I wasn’t that torn up about it, looking ahead to joining the Corps.
Gramps didn’t like the idea of that, but I knew the kind of man I wanted to be—like him. And that had started with service for him. He’d told me, over the years, all the ways the military had failed—not offering enough benefits to disabled veterans, abusing recruits during boot camp—but I still wanted to serve my country.
Amy pulls me out of my thoughts by laughing and pointing out a little soap bubble floating through the steamed-up air, and I blink at her—her dripping hair, the way she scrunches her eyes, the little mole just under her collarbone.
Stunning.
Two months ago, I didn’t know this woman. Now, I can’t stop counting down the seconds until I get to see her again.
This morning, I’m already thinking about the fact that she’ll go back to Denver, and I won’t see her for another week, until next Friday when she once again makes the drive into Granite Peaks.
“Come on,” Amy says when we’re toweling off together. “Exciting day!”
I do what she says and hurry, taking Blue out to do his business, securing the cabin before we go, checking on the trail cameras I put up after the tree-cutting episode.
As we climb into my truck together, I think that every day with her, so far, has been exciting. And, despite all my best reservations, I can’t wait to see what happens next.
“Oh, thank God!”
Beverly sees us the moment we walk through the doors of the old theater, and she’s looked better. There are bags under her eyes, a tired look to the way she stands, and she’s clutching a cup of gas-station coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“Evan, they need you in there,” she says, pointing me in the direction of where the new bookstore will be. “Something with the shelves.”
“All right,” I say, glancing at Amy, who waves at me with a little smile, then hangs back to talk to Beverly.
Ten minutes later, Amy walks into the room we’re working in with a thick binder and her tablet already out in her hand.
“What’s that?” I ask, stepping away from the bookshelf we’re working on. The entire room is going to be lined with bookshelves, with the center home to tables and displays, as well as some comfy sitting chairs.
“Beverly is trusting me to look over the plans,” Amy says, and I realize I’veneverseen her eyes lit up like this before. “I want to see if I can plug all this into a project-management software and sort it all out.”
I open my mouth to respond to her, but there’s the sound of a door opening somewhere in the building, then the collective chattering of several people under eighteen.
Amy shoots me a chagrined look, then turns, waving with the binder under her arm as Kendra and at least a dozen high schoolers appear.
“Was this you, Evan?” Beverly asks, appearing in the doorway, looking noticeably more relaxed now that Amy is holding the binder and there are twenty more hands ready to help work. “Great thinking! I’d completely forgotten about that silver cord thing.”
