Page 61 of Trusting the Fall
Claire turns in my grasp, both her hands securing the one I tickled her with while her eyes blaze.
She tugs at me as she starts to walk backward.
“It was good to see you, Matt. I’ll catch up with you later,” she calls to her friend.
I give him a wink as I willingly follow wherever she leads me.
When we’re far enough away, deep in the crowd, I realise I may have underestimated the easy affection she was giving me.
With narrowed eyes that make my balls retreat, she crosses her arms over her chest.
“Just what the hell was that?”
26
Iarchabrow,waiting for Leif’s answer.
I hate that he looks so good. It really makes scolding him difficult. Especially with that damn backwards cap. Why?Whymust he look like every woman’s wet dream?
His tanned muscles look positively glorious in the burnt gold shirt that sits tight against his biceps. Light-washed denim hugs his thighs, and black sneakers on his feet make him look so relaxed and casual. It’s a side of him that makes me want to spend mornings walking through farmers’ markets and afternoons strolling the beach. It’s a side that’s soft, playful and comforting. And absolutely not the kind of wistful shit I normally allocate brain power to.
“Well?” I probe again.
A light chuckle falls from his lips as he steps closer to me. His arms wrap around my lower back, pulling me into him. He tries to meet my eyes, but I look anywhere but at him.
“What’s wrong, Bombshell?”
“What’s wrong?” I hiss, finally meeting his ice blue eyes. “You may as well have pissed on me with that territorial display. Just what have I done to make you think you could take such liberties?”
He hums in thought, stepping us side to side.
At that moment, I notice the music playing around us, coming from the acoustic band set up under a marquee in the middle of the street.
Pretty floral displays from Heartfelt Blooms are spread throughout the festival, making cute little photo spots for families and couples to gather in front of and capture their sweet moments together. The entire scene is far too endearing.
I don’t even know why I’m here. Lex is working late tonight, but Liv told me it would be fun to come along, convincing me it would be a good opportunity to promote Parlour Tricks a little before we open.
I helped her set up the tables in front of her place earlier, but when the bakery got too busy for me to be helpful, I decided to wander around.
So many cute stores line the street, along with additional food trucks and entertainment for the night. Normally, I don’t mind spending quality time with myself. I’m great. Who wouldn’t love spending time with me?
I’ve always been a social butterfly, finding somewhere to land no matter the crowd, but walking around the festival, I felt painfully lonely.
There was too much silence that allowed thoughts of Leif to creep in. Thoughts that made me question every relationship I’ve had with men in the past. Not that I’ve had relationships. One-night stands or a few weekends in a row with the same guy just doesn’t earn that title.
With my mother constantly telling me what a disappointment men were and to never trust them with my heart, I always made sure I had one foot out the door when it came to spending time with the opposite sex.
With Leif, I almost couldn’t help myself. I was having too much fun. What was the harm in letting him stay a little longer, come around a little more often? My heart felt fine, my pussy felt absolutely ecstatic. They were practically meeting for champagne brunch every day, gloating about how good life was. But then, Leif had to go and be sweet. Caring. The way he bantered and played with me sent my heart racing, eager for more without realising I had, in fact, grown dependent on those moments.
I fear this is the dangerous territory my mother warned me about. I’m standing on a podium wondering if I should step back and retreat to the safety I know or close my eyes and leap, hoping like hell love catches me. That Leif will catch me.
“Forgive me, Claire,” Leif says softly in my ear. His head rests against mine, and I’m lost in a haze of leather and sandalwood. “I don’t mean to take liberties. Not when you’re so gracious to give them behind closed doors. But I don’t like sharing your attention.” I pull back with a gasp. How does he do it? How can he be so open with his feelings?
“What—”
“Just stay there, guys.” We’re interrupted by a cool voice beside us, and I notice we’ve come to stand behind one of the floral displays.
A mix of blush pinks, fuchsia and violet flowers create a border around where we stand. Through the opening on the other side, a guy sits on a stool in front of an easel. His hand moves in a race against time as it dances over the canvas. His eyes snap up to us, and his pencil stops.
