“Yes, I know who you are,” she says. “Oddly, the school committee used you in my interview, saying you were a massive donor and anything I needed for the school, I’d have.”
“They aren’t wrong. Is there something you need?”
She shakes her head. “No, but I guess I know where to find you.”
“That you do. Paige tells me you have a son?”
She nods. “Tristin. They’re the same age.”
“Is your husband working in town or does he commute?”
“No husband,” she says quietly. “He passed away two years ago. Beaumont is,” she pauses and looks around. “Our fresh start.”
“Welcome,” I say. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me or my wife, Josie. She owns Whimsicality on Main Street.”
Teagan smiles, orders her beer, and I give her a menu to peruse while I pour her draft. After setting it in front of her and taking her order, a thought—one I don’t want to have—occurs to me. I groan deeply and pull my phone out to text Josie.
Jojo
Okay, I’m in. I’ll find someone for Nick.
I regret it immediately even though I know it’ll make my wife happy.
ELEVEN
Iwake up before Josie, which almost never happens, and I hold still so it lasts.
Josie’s back is against my chest and the arm she fell asleep on went numb somewhere around two. I wouldn’t move it for any amount of money. Our breathing matches. Inhale, slow exhale.
She stirs and pushes back into me without opening her eyes.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“You can’t see my eyes. The room’s dark and your back is against my chest, and the last time I checked, I don’t have a mirror in my hand, nor am I wearing a watch.”
“You stare with your whole body, Liam. Always have.” She turns over inside my arms, slow, and there’s the face I’ve been waking up to for over twenty years, creased from the pillow, eyes still half shut. And I’ll be damned if she doesn’t stir my need for her.
I kiss her before she can catch me looking. She comes awake slowly, her hand sliding up the back of my neck and into my hair, and then she’s kissing me back like she means it and whatever was lazy about the morning goes out of it.
“The kids’ll be here at two,” she murmurs against my mouth.
“It’s barely seven.”
“Mm.” She pulls me over her, both hands now, and I go.
“So . . . we’ve got time.” I take her face in my hands and kiss her like there’s nowhere else on God’s earth I’m supposed to be, because there isn’t, and she laughs low in her throat when I find the spot under her jaw that’s undone her since before we knew what we were doing to each other.
She kicks off our comforter and hooks her leg behind my knee, pulling me toward her. The cold of the room is gone the second she’s under my hands. She says my name breathlessly.
Josie pulls me down, her lips meeting mine with a sudden, hungry urgency that catches me off guard. The slow burn of the morning ignites into something sharper, a craving that’s been simmering for two decades and still feels brand new. Her hands are everywhere—mapping the planes of my bare chest, her palms sliding over my pectorals and dipping into the dip of my waist. She grips me, her nails digging slightly into my skin, anchoring me to her as if she’s afraid I might drift away.
I break the kiss, but only to migrate to her neck. I trail my lips down the sensitive column of her throat, tasting the salt and sweetness of her skin. I find that spot under her jaw again, but this time I don’t just kiss it; I lick a slow, wet stripe upward, then nip at the tender flesh. Josie lets out a sharp, jagged gasp, her back arching off the mattress.
“Liam . . . please,” she whimpers, the sound vibrating against my lips.
I ignore the plea for speed, choosing instead to worship her with a deliberate, agonizing slowness. I move lower, my tongue swirling around the peak of her breast through the thin fabric of her pajama top. I can feel her heart hammering against my cheek, a frantic rhythm that matches the thrumming in my own veins. I use my teeth to tug gently at the fabric, pulling the neckline aside to expose her to the dim morning light. She isperfect—every curve, every soft line, a landscape I know by heart but still find breathtaking.
Her fingers tangle deep in my hair, pulling my head closer, urging me on. I spend minutes there, licking and sucking the darkened center of her breast until she’s tossing her head from side to side, her breath coming in short, shallow hitches.
