Chapter twenty-one
Monty
“I can’t believe you turned down Barbados for this.” I peer out the windshield at the slushy rain pouring down. But even the dreary weather can’t fully get me down. No, my hands are holding the steering wheel tightly, partly to keep us safe but also so I don’t get distracted by wanting to touch Lark. I don’t dare even look at her or the excitement bubbling inside of me might spill over.
It’s Christmas Eve and we’re driving out to my parents’ place. I love the holidays, always have. What’s not to love about Christmas jammies, spending time with your family, and eating your body weight in cookies?
And getting to do all of that with Lark by my side? Holy shit, I might explode from happiness. But even knowing how weird and toxic her family can be, there’s a part of me that wonders if she’s going to feel like she missed out on something by not being with them over Christmas.
“Trust me, Dan. I’m not missing anything or anyone I truly care about. My parents haven’t done Christmas in Vancouver in years and being stuck somewhere with them? No thanks.”
“What did you do last year?” I ask with some curiosity. We’ve never discussed holiday plans; I always just assumed she was with Baron or her parents.
She huffs. “Spent it at the Hazelwood museum with Baron and his family.”
My eyebrows raise at her words. “Museum?”
“That’s what I call their house in my head. Imagine the most imposing, formal building, and then call it a home.” Another forced laugh. “So, yeah, even with the rain, I’d much rather be here with you.” She gives me a warm look, and her hand lands on the back of my neck, toying with the hair that sticks out from underneath my ball cap. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to these small touches, the affection that comes so easily after so many years of just dreaming of it.
God, I sound like a fucking putz, and I love it.
Lark shifts in her seat, twisting to get something out of the back, and of course, the second I look over, my eyes go straight to the gap in her shirt, giving me a clear view straight at those perfect tits.
Tits that I, apparently, am now free to look at and even touch. Fuck, that’s weird to think about. And getting a boner while I’m driving down the highway is not something I ever expected to deal with.
This is why I kept my feelings for her repressed for all those years…
She settles back into her seat, now with a bag of chocolate kisses in hand. One of the many leftovers from our baking day last week, seeing as I kind of went overboard at the store. Did I empty the entire shelf of kisses into my basket? Maybe. ButI didn’t want to disappoint her by bringing the wrong ones or not enough.
Besides, is there such a thing as too much chocolate? I think not.
Lark unwraps one and holds it up to my mouth. Sweetness bursts on my tongue from the creamy chocolate, but it’s when I glance over and see her looking at me with a soft, open expression that I melt, just like the damn chocolate.
Is this real life?
And if it is, how the hell do I make sure I don’t fuck it all up?
My inhale almost sends the chocolate kiss down my throat, which would be really bad as we speed toward my parents’ place. Coughing lightly, I recover. Another quick glance and I see she’s looking out her window at the farmland we’re passing through.
I want to touch her. No, I want her to touch me. To play with my hair like she was before. But I’m pretty sure it would be weird if I asked her to do that. Which means I’m gonna have to initiate something. Hoo boy.
I slowly unclench my right hand from the steering wheel and flex my fingers a couple of times. Then I set it on the center console between us. Maybe she’ll get the hint and take over?
Nope. She’s still staring out the window. Okay, Monty, you can fucking do this. You’ve touched her a hundred times before. Hell, she had her mouth on your dick a few days ago. Resting your hand on her leg is no big fucking deal.
Except, it really is. Because the feelings I have for this woman are like nothing else. And finally being free to express those feelings, to act on them, has me all kinds of fucked up — mostly in a good way, but with a healthy layer of anxiety on top.
I want to be good for her. I want to be everything she deserves. And I’m terrified I won’t be.
Taking a deep breath, I move my hand over and place it on her thigh. Her head doesn’t move, but she covers my hand with hers and squeezes gently.
And I exhale.
Waking up in the middle of the night in the spare bedroom — the one not taken over by my mom’s quilting supplies — at my parents’ house, with Lark draped over my bare torso, is a very odd experience.
Not a bad one, just…not one I ever really thought I’d have. Honestly? It’s not even something I let myself imagine. Partly because it always felt out of reach and partly because being in bed with the woman of my dreams with my parents right down the hall isn’t exactly the most romantic concept.
I’m pretty sure you could see my cheeks turn red all the way from the fucking moon when Mom casually said the two of us would be staying in one bedroom together.
