“Is it too much? Did I go overboard?” She nibbled her lower lip, self-doubt clear on her face.
I tried to pretend I wasn’t tempted to soothe that lower lip with my mouth. “Nah, it’s perfect.”
She brightened. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely.” I’d been watching her from the corner of my eye all day. I turned to study her directly now. Her hair was piled on top of her head, loose curls falling free. “Yes, I think it looks beautiful, and you look beautiful in it.” I enjoyed the sudden flush rising up her throat.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kate
When I yawned, Aiden said it was time for him to go.
“Thank you for helping me paint my room.” I walked him down the stairs.
“Seemed like the least I could do after I lost you your job.”
He looked so dejected, I patted his arm. “Not your fault. That was on me.”
At the bottom of the stairs, he drew me into his arms. I stilled at the touch of his lips on my neck. He ran his mouth up to my ear. He nibbled the fleshy lobe before his warm tongue soothed the gentle bites, and I went limp. His mouth was against my throat, one hand dragging down my back, the other holding my hip in place. When he bit, my knees gave out. If he weren’t holding me up, I would have fallen into a puddle on the floor.
He dipped his head, his mouth brushing across mine, whisper soft, his kiss an entreaty. I leaned forward, mindlessly searching for more. His hand wrapped around my neck to tilt my head back. His tongue slid like velvet against my own. I gripped his biceps, pulling myself closer.
He was just dragging his hand down my back, fingers beginning to knead my butt, when his phone chimed, echoing through the still room. He reluctantly let me go to check it. Aiden got himself back in control more quickly than I did. He ran his hand through his hair, turned from me, and spoke into the phone. I was barely able to aim myself toward the couch before my legs gave up the pretense of holding me vertical.
My whole body was still vibrating, his phantom kisses alive on my skin. Part of my brain registered Aiden’s low grumble as he spoke, but the rest was drowning in a swampy mire of lust, confusion, fear—and let’s not forget the lust.
Aiden ended his call but stood staring at the door a moment too long.
“Everything okay?”
He shook his head, still not looking at me. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” He reached for the doorknob. “I need to go.” His back still to me.
“What happened?”
“Heather—my dispatcher—her husband walked out on her.” He turned back, glaring. “Kindest woman you’ll ever meet. Blindsided. I need to go. See what I can do to help. She was crying.” He shook his head. “I know a little something about getting my ass dumped.” He reached for the door again and stepped through. Hesitating, he looked like he wanted to walk back in. “Goodbye.”
Oh, I guess not.
After a fitful night’s sleep, I dozed in the soft, early-morning light, the sun diffused by the new sheer drapes. Snuggled in my feather bed, I opened my eyes to the soft twilight of my walls. Chaucer padded over and nudged my elbow with his cold, wet nose. “Quit it. I’m sleeping over here.” It was no use, though. The damn dog could hear it when I opened my eyes. He wanted food and his morning constitutional. Faking sleep never worked. He just got more and more pushy until I got up. “Fine, fine, fine,” I said as I threw back the covers. “But I’m coming back later for a nap.”
He gave me his best inscrutable look and waited for me to slip on my sweats and slippers. “You’re a damn annoying dog, you know that?” His response was a patient, long-suffering stare. As soon as I opened the bedroom door, he rushed out, bumping me off my stride. In his defense, he was almost twice my size, but would a little more delicacy be too much to ask?
When I got to the top of the stairs, his bushy tail was rounding the corner at the bottom on its way to the kitchen.
I’d found a wedding photo of Grandpa and Gran when I was cleaning a few weeks ago. I’d polished and hung it on the wall along the stairs so I could see it every day. I slowed now, as I often did, to say good morning.
They were married at Holy Redeemer, a beautiful stone church in town, the one we always attended when I visited. In the photo, they’re standing on the steps, just having emerged from the huge open double doors. They’re surrounded by cheering friends and family whose arms are raised, rice flying, appearing to be caught in an unseasonable snowstorm. But even in the midst of that joy, your eye couldn’t help but be drawn to the young, incandescent couple at its center, clutching one another’s hands and running through the onslaught, ready to face whatever life threw at them. Together.
My wedding photos were staged and elegant. We looked perfect but lacked what my grandparents had. There was no room for the chaos of love and life in the facade of a perfect wedding, a perfect marriage. Perfection was a cold and lifeless thing.
By the time I got to the kitchen, Chaucer was sitting by the pantry door, his food bowl clamped in his mouth, just in case I was confused about what should happen first.
“Man, you’re a nag.” I took his bowl and nudged him away so I could open the pantry door to fill his dish. He didn’t even wait for the dish to hit the floor before he started inhaling the kibble. “Slow down! If you choke, I have no idea how to give a dog the Heimlich.” I opened the back door for him. “Seriously, are you under the impression that if you eat it quickly enough, I’ll just forget I’ve fed you and fill your bowl again? It’s never going to happen, bud. Give up the dream.”
I walked out onto the porch. The morning was chillier than yesterday. Burnished leaves swirled in the wind; waves pounded the nearby cliff. Chaucer brushed past me on his way to the little boy’s room in the forest.
I was just turning around to start the coffeemaker when I heard his deep, anxious bark. I jogged out to the porch again, looking for him, listening to the increasingly insistent howling. “Chaucer, where are you?” I ran out and found him crouched by the storm cellar doors, growling, then whining as he scratched at the door. I went to him, weaving my fingers into his ruff. “What is it, baby? What’s down there?”
