“Do I need to spell it out for you, Professor Wilde? Thought I was supposed to be the dumb one.”
“Me?” My voice is so small I’m not confident any sound came out.
But he watches my lips so intensely that he doesn't need to hear my question. He nods. “You.”
My heart is racing and suddenly everything around him blurs. “We’re not together,” I drawl, unsure if I’m reminding myself or him.
“You’re right. We’re not officially together, but I’ve been yours for a long time.”
“I…”
He grins, amused at my inability to speak. “You.”
He smells so good and his skin looks so warm and firm and grabbable.Maybe, just one touch wouldn’t be so bad…
He steps back, my hand frozen midair. I blink.
“You don’t trust me,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“I–I don’t?”
He shakes his head, takes another step away, and folds his hands behind his back. “I don’t want to be meaningless to you. The next time we kiss, I want to know that I’ve earned you.”
The very air I breathe is suddenly sucked out of my lungs. Did he saythe next timewe kiss? As in he thinks it’s inevitable—thatweare inevitable. But he doesn’t know my shadows, my traumas.
I narrow my eyes. “You seem sure of yourself.”
“I might be, but you’re not.” He falls back onto the sofa and pats the cushion next to him. “Come. Tell me things. You’re never gonna trust me until you do.”
I can’t argue with that; Idon’tfully trust him. Before he moved in next door, my fortress was secure, safe. Strong foundation, steady walls, locked gates. I never imagined I’d allow another man in like this. But the walls I built are cracking, and Jonah’s sunlight is bursting through. For the first time since Greg, my heart aches to open the gates and discover what’s on the other side.
“If I’m gonna sit here, you’re gonna need to put on a shirt.”
He chuckles and returns two minutes later donning a dark teal and white T-shirt that reads "Philly Fathers Sevens Rugby," and under that in a smaller font it says "Who's yourdaddy?" He’s brought his shepherd along with him and King hops up on the couch to lay between us as if this is a totally normal thing we’re doing. I’ve already covered my legs in a heavy knit blanket, ready to tell what lies beyond my walls.
“Where should we start?” I ask.
“Tell me about your family.”
King’s fur is thick and fluffy and fills in the spaces between my fingers. His breathing is even and I watch his relaxed face while I speak. “You already know my parents were famous in the bluegrass and country music scene.”
“Mhm.”
“I grew up on the road with them, touring all over the country. They were incredible songwriters and musicians. Voices that could pull you in hook, line, and sinker. If I wasn’t on a tour bus, I was in a recording studio or playing in the closest brook looking for creatures.”
“That’s cute.”
“It was. When I got a little bit older, they let me play on stage with them. Just a few shows in the beginning. I guess the crowd went bananas whenever I came on with my mandolin. And then, when I started singing, it was like the floodgates were opened.”
“What do you mean?”
“The more I sang, the stronger I felt. It was like I was feeding the crowd my energy, and they somehow boomeranged it back to me tenfold. I was in love with performing. And it wasn’t even the size of the crowd that mattered. I could be in a recording studio playing or singing something solo, and just watching the audio engineer or a producer’s jaw drop could give me that same high.”
A playful grin plays at the corner of his mouth. “I know that feeling well.”
“You do?”
He nods. “I’m in an off-and-on garage band with my brothers. It’s not even close to the scale you grew up with,but I felt that energy transfer every time we played a gig. Didn’t matter if it was a cruddy bar, a college party, my friend’s quinceañera... I felt invincible. I still do, even if it’s for an audience of toddlers now.”
