She gives a strained little laugh, tugging the blanket tighter around her. “If I’ve learned one thing since my grandfather passed, it’s that being alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
That comment tugs at my heartstrings. “I know you miss him. We all do. But you seem to be doing okay on your own.”
“I’m not really on my own though, am I? I know you think I don’t notice the little helping hands you give me. I notice every single thing you do for me. I just didn’t talk about it because I didn’t want to encourage you to start thinking of me as your responsibility.”
“I would never,” I assure her. “I help out lots of people, not just you.” Unsure why I’m lying to her, I change the subject. “Does having a work from home job help? We’re similar in that regard. I work from the clubhouse and live there too.”
“Yeah. I used to hate driving to town and back every day to work. For the last couple of years, I’ve been doing gig work. Since I own the cabin, my expenses are minimal. Finding decent gigs is the trick but so far, I’ve been lucky. Though the asshole smashed my laptop and phone, so I’ll not be able to work until they’re replaced.”
“There’s a victim’s compensation fund. You might qualify for that since he was a fugitive,” I offer. “Definitely look into that.” I pause for a moment, before adding, “But you know, if you ever need money you can come to me, right?”
She blushes and shakes her head, unwilling to even consider that as a back-up option. Emily has always been independent, so I’m not surprised she wouldn’t come to me for money. “I’ll be okay.”
A soft meow drifts up from around her feet where Frisky is brushing against her legs while looking up at her adoringly. He walks over to his empty food bowl in the corner and meows again, louder this time.
Emily sighs. “I guess I forgot to feed him this afternoon.”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind. I’ll get it,” I tell her, moving towards the counter where the food container sits. I quickly pour a measured scoop into the bowl while Emily reassures him with quiet words.
This moment feels incredibly domestic, like we’re a couple taking care of our cat together. It feels very natural, like something we’ve done before even though we haven’t. When I sit back down, she rolls her eyes, but there’s a spark beneath it.
“I could have done that. You don’t have to bring firewood or do any of the other things you slip around doing for me.”
“It’s no trouble,” I say, trying to sound casual.
A hint of a smile jumps onto her face. “You act like I’m some fragile woodland creature who needs coddling.”
“You do live alone in the woods,” I point out, leaning one arm across the table. “And you opened the door for a man because he mentioned a bear.”
She groans and covers part of her face with the blanket. “I walked right into that one.”
“You did,” I agree, unable to hold back a low laugh. “But I’m glad you said the things you did to let me know something was wrong. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known.”
She lowers her hand and looks at me. The humor softens into something quieter. Something appreciative. The steam rises from each of our mugs, warming us.
As she takes a sip, her eyes land on my knuckles. The bruising has already started to darken, and my skin is scraped raw from fightin’ the ignorant fuck who broke into her home.She sets her mug down and reaches for my hand, carefully inspecting the damage.
“You got hurt protecting me,” she whispers with a pained expression on her face. The concern in her voice makes me feel things I’d best not feel.
“It’s nothing,” I say, though her touch feels soft and sweet against my skin. “A busted knuckle or two is just part of the job.”
Her fingers trace along the bruised ridge near my thumb, light and warm. The tiny bite of pain alongside the tender caress of her touch, makes my cock perk up with interest. I know that makes me a sick twisted fucker, but I can’t help what I feel.
And that frown creasing her brow tells me she’s not letting this go. The next thing I know, she has her first aid kit out and is swiping over my battered flesh with an antiseptic wipe. Then she smooths on some antibacterial ointment. Her gentle ministering is both heaven and hell for my conflicted mind. I know she’s just being her usual kind self. But the asshole part of my brain, the one controlling my cock, is telling me that maybe it’s more.
When she breaks out the gauze, I growl, “Enough, sweetheart,” pulling my hand back.
She glances away and gets up to throw away her used supplies and puts her kit away. I struggle to get my cock under control before I thoroughly embarrass myself. When she comes back, we fall into a companionable silence.
This woman has always been able to make me feel special, valued, and respected. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to her. I hate this thing that happened to her and would give anything to make it better for her, but I can’t seem to stop these feelings that are doubling and tripling with each moment we spend together.
My head is so messed up that I blurt out the worst possible thing. “Do you want me to spend the night?”
Her head snaps up so fast that it surprises me.
“I don’t mean that the way it sounds. I mean I can stay for protection. Maybe sleep on the sofa or even the floor.”
Her eyes hold mine a moment too long before she glances away, “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.” Then she yawns, reminding me it’s late in the evening and she’s had a stressful day.
