Rowan
She’s fucking pleased with herself.
Addison sits across from me, a small smile on her face, her hair freshly mussed and rumpled from sex, and my t-shirt hanging off of her shoulder as she eats the Fettuccine Alfredo and grilled chicken I spent the last forty minutes making.
She watched me the whole time, her leg propped up on the edge of her chair as we chatted idly about the changing weather and how we both enjoy the colder months. I wanted to bring up her fixing the books for me, but I was enjoying our small talk.
Now, she looks fucking delectable as she sits across from me and twirls her pasta on the end of her fork. She’s barely eaten what I prepared for her as she pushes her plate away.
“I’m done—”
I cut a look at her. “No, you aren’t. You need to eat more than that. You’ve barely touched your water.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m full, Rowan.”
“A few more bites.”
She begrudgingly gives in, lifting her fork before shoving a piece of chicken past her bruised lips.
“Atta girl,” I praise.
The apples of her cheeks tint pink as she swallows and picks up her water. “What are we doing tomorrow?”
I tilt my head. “With the weather getting colder, I was going to chop more firewood.”
She sets her cup down excitedly. “With your shirt off?”
I snort, twirling my pasta on my fork. “I don’t usually chop wood shirtless.”
She sits back with a huff. “Buzzkill.”
We’ve scratched the surface on getting to know each other. There’s still so much I’m dying to know about her, but I’ve kept my questions contained until she was in a better headspace. Now, I feel like I’m going to bubble over my metaphorical cup if I don’t know.
“Tell me about your family in Montana,” I suggest.
Addison brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She's in my house, wearing my shirt, and eating the dinner I cooked for us.
“My dad and I used to go and visit my uncle and his son over the summer. It was kind of like our thing. Well, one of them.” She gets this little smile on her face as if those memories are where her heart lies, and I realize that’s where I want to be. I want to be that comfort to her. “My Uncle Ford was a quiet, stoic man. He never really seemed happy. He and my dad would spend long nights talking, and my cousin, Logan, and I would have to stay inside and play. Those last few times we went out there were rough. They got into a huge fight that ended with my dad packing our bags the night before we were supposed to leave. I didn’t know I wouldn’t see them again after that. If I had…” She wipes a stray tear, blinking rapidly as if it can expel the sadness she feels at losing a part of herself.
“Oh, Sunshine,” I leave my chair and walk around to her before sitting down beside her and taking her into my arms. She melts against me, a deep sigh leaving her.
Her hands slide along my back as she squeezes me to her. “I just wish I had known.”
“Sometimes we don’t get that closure,” I say, turning into her hair. “Is there any way for you to reach out?”
“I tried,” she sniffles. “They didn’t even come to Dad’s funeral. I could have stayed in touch.”
My heart breaks for her, and all I want to do is fix it. “Maybe we can start looking up names? Do you have their last name?”
“My mom was pretty crazy about keeping the Bright last name, but my uncle’s name is Ford Hughes.”
I stop, my hand resting on the center of her back as familiarity strikes me.
Hughes.
Where have I heard that before?
“Are you okay?” Addison asks, rocking me to the present.
