She rolled onto her belly, her breasts pressing against my stomach and her chin resting on my sternum. I was acutely aware of the thin cotton between us. If only it weren’t there.
Running my fingers from her temples to the back of her head, I combed through her dark, damp locks. Letting go, I reached for the shampoo bottle, grasping it with a mischievous grin. I playfully squirted some onto the top of her head, letting it almost drip into her face. She giggled as I massaged it into her scalp, working it down to the tips. Her hair fanned out across the water, creating a foamy halo around us. Cupping water in my hands, I gently rinsed the soap away, one scoop at a time.
With her eyes closed, I shifted again and retrieved the conditioner, smoothing it through her hair and patiently working out the tangles. It felt incredibly silky in my hands. This was heaven.
Eventually, she turned her head to rest her cheek on my chest, her arms snaking around my torso. We remained like this for a long time until the fire in the stove died down and the water started to cool. My skin was pruning, and for all I knew, hours could have passed.
When the sky outside turned dark, she finally stirred. Her big brown eyes looked up at me, and without a word, we rose from the water together. My hand rested on her back to guide her out of the tub.
She handed me the stack of robes, and I fluffed them before holding hers open so she could put it on. I placed the fabric on her shoulders, then turned her around to wrap and tie it shut.
She watched me the entire time, and then helped me into my robe, tying it with a quick and forceful tug that made me smile.
“I’m craving grilled cheese,” she announced, her voice cutting through the quiet. A look of utter contentment was etched into her features; she seemed so peaceful.
“Mmm,” I mumbled in agreement,“that sounds good.”
“And tomato soup, too,” she added.
“Perfect,” I said, pinching her nose as she looked up at me.
We locked eyes for a moment, my throat feeling tight. I reached out, my fingers brushing under her ear and cupping the back of her head. Drawing her close, I leaned in until our foreheads touched.
I could feel her breath quicken, my heart pounding in response. She nudged her nose against mine, and then my lips gently grazed hers. With a tilt of my head, I took her lower lip between my teeth and tugged before releasing and stepping back. I grinned, brushing my hand down her arm and lacing our fingers together.
I left her hanging, flushed and dazed. With a tug, she followed me, and I led her to the shed door. She didn’t erupt in protest, but I could tell she wanted to. This was payback. She’d left me wanting plenty of times before, and the little brat deserved to feel as I had.
We slipped our boots on by the door, taking turns to lean on each other for balance.
She still had nothing to say, speechless as we made our way back to the cabin. Our steps were unhurried, our hands clasped together. It was the kind of gesture you’d see from a couple who’d been together for decades, though it had only been a handful of days. Maybe we’d done things a bit out of order, but fate had a funny way of bringing lost souls together.
This was our story, and for whatever reason, it made sense.
Chapter 25
Betty
I couldn’t stop replaying the almost kiss in my mind. I went to sleep thinking about it, woke up thinking about it, and now here I was, trying to focus on reading my book, but my thoughts kept drifting back.
I’d never spent so much time mulling over a moment that‘almost’happened, not even when I was a teenage girl obsessed with boys.
Why hadn’t I manned up and returned his kiss? I scolded myself for not diving in when Gray got that close, seizing the reins and taking hold—that would have been the Betty thing to do.
It felt as though he’d frozen me, leaving me stunned like a deer in headlights.
The book slipped from my grasp into my lap, and I surrendered, tilting my head back with a frustrated growl. All I wanted was to gaze upon Gray, but I was trying to appear cool and unbothered. Yet, at this point, who the hell cared?
“Yolo, Betty,” I said under my breath.
Outside the front windows, Gray was fitting Villainy with a rope harness around his middle and chest. He’d announced over breakfast his determination to turn Villainy into an adventure cat. He’d promptly tied together some makeshift leashes out of scrap rope.
Villy sat placidly on the ground, unbothered by Gray’s efforts as he tugged and worked at a knot. The cat’s large yellow eyes gazed out across the yard, his fluffy tail flicking lazily from side to side.
Mr. Beans, however, showed no actual interest in the outdoors, always looking, but avoiding an open door like the plague. He sat in the chair across from me, lording over the yard’s activities, content to watch. When Gray tested a harness on him, he collapsed like a dead weight, unwilling to move. This was typical of my beanie weenie—he considered control to be a construct and nature beneath him, preferring the comforts of warmth and upholstery.
As I watched Villy and Gray, Larry’s entrance almost went unnoticed until his jerky movements caught my eye. I leaned forward when I spotted him, absorbed in the unfolding scene and the drama that might ensue.
Larry crept up behind Gray. For a moment, I considered knocking on the glass to warn him, but then Villainy’s ears twitched forward, and I knew it was too late. The cat and the weasel had spotted each other.
