She did, and everything went bright again—edges dissolving, body pulsing around him as she came again with a surprised, delighted sound she didn’t even try to swallow.
He followed, the sounds he made rough as he gripped her hips to keep her pressed against him. She felt the rhythm of his coming inside her, each wave matched to the steady pulse at his throat where her mouth had landed.
They went still together. She lay draped over him, both of them breathing like they’d outrun a storm and found a porch roof to huddle under.
“Hi,” he said after a while, voice like raw silk.
“Hi,” she echoed against his neck, smiling.
He smoothed a hand down her spine, palm slow, content. “So,” he said, “the seduction…”
“Five stars,” she said promptly into his skin. “Warm syrup was a strong opener. Exceptional follow-through. Would recommend to a friend.”
“Please don’t recommend to a friend,” he said, in mock-horror, and she laughed until he rolled her carefully onto her back and kissed the laughter right out of her mouth.
She hooked her leg over his hip and tucked into his side, still smiling against his chest.
Through the window: the river, the willows, a magpie giving loud opinions about the morning.
“Pete’s going to demand his hike soon,” Shane warned her.
“Pete can have a hike.” April traced idle shapes over the scar she loved. “After a nap.”
“In broad daylight?” He turned his head, fake scandalized.
She tickled his chest. “Who are we kidding, Sailor? We’re going to cat nap for sixteen minutes and then eat leftovers standing in front of the fridge.”
“And then hike.”
“Andthen,” she said, because she loved this part—planning a day that belonged to them alone—“we’re stopping at Riversong for a cold brew and one of Hannah’s lemon bars. And tonight I’m making fajitas and you’re chopping the peppers because you take the seeds out with surgical precision and it’s hot to watch.”
He huffed a laugh into her hair. “I love your brain.”
“I love your hands,” she said, shameless. Then, softer, because the happy had an underlayer that was tender as newly-healed skin, “I love this. All of it. You here. Me not… afraid anymore.”
He went still, caught by surprise. His palm slid up to her jaw, tilting her face so he could kiss her slow and sure. “I’m here,” he said simply. No oath needed; it was in the way he warmed the syrup, in the vase of fresh wildflowers, in the way he looked at her with love in his eyes.
“I know.”
“Good.” He nuzzled her temple. “But I’m going to keep proving it anyway.”
“Please do,” she said, feeling light again. “I’m a woman of numbers and I need all the theorems proved.”
“Oh, God, not math.” He laughed into her hair. The room was full of warm sunshine, making them lazy, their bodies heavy and sweet. She closed her eyes and listened to the river’s soft song, Pete’s contented dog-snore down the hall, the soft beat of Shane’s heart under her ear.
Sixteen minutes, she thought,and then out for lemon bars.
Maybe twenty. She could savor her life for a morning.
TWENTY-ONE
The camp buspulled into the elementary school parking lot at four-thirty on Sunday afternoon, right on schedule. Shane leaned against the side of his truck, watching April pace beside him. She'd been doing that for the last ten minutes—three steps left, three steps right, checking her phone, twisting her hands together.
"He's fine," Shane said for the third time. "They would have called if anything was wrong."
"I know." April didn't stop pacing. "I just missed him. I missed him so much and I also loved having the house to ourselves and now I feel guilty about it. Is that weird?”
Shane caught her hand as she passed, pulling her close. "Not weird. You're allowed to miss your kidandenjoy adult time. That's called being human."
