He slept.
Linen shirt gaped open at the chest, without his shoes, probably already sunburnt for the thousandth time in his life. Someone should wake him, send him to bed. Someone should be here to wash the fruits, peel them, bake them into tarts for when he woke up.
Dropping the curtain, she slipped back from the cottage and trekked around the side. Her steps were soundless on the grass. When she settled next to him beneath the tree, he didn’t even stir.
She memorized every part of him.
Her eyes drank in his hands, his arms, the knot in his throat, the motion of his chest, until looking wasn’t enough and she touched him.
Her arm slinked around his. Her head fell onto his shoulder.
Tom.
The fear, the anguish of everything was gone—and she loved him. That’s all she knew. He was wonderful, not for anything he’d done in the past but for what he’d done for her now.
For taking her to the water and letting Meg forget her shoes.
For making her laugh in the curiosity shop.
For brushing her hair.
Taking the bullet.
Painting the cottage red.
With a deeper breath, he stirred. A yawn stretched his arms as he took a long, confused look from the crab apple basket to her face. “What are ye doing?”
“I came to see you.”
“Ye shouldnae have come.”
“But I—”
“Ye walked too, didn’t ye?”
“Well, I—”
“Lass, ye’ve no sense. Yer shoulder—”
In one heart-leaping second, she leaned up, grabbed his face, and cut off his reprimand with her lips. She pressed with wildness. Jolts intensified as his reaction wavered from surprise to hunger to whatever it was that wept in her own heart.
Longing so precious, but so long left wanting.
“Lass.” Deep, shuddering.
Her kiss found his cheek, his other cheek, then his mouth in a flurry of excitement. La, but he tasted so familiar. A little tart like crab apples, a little soothing like honey. Her stomach fluttered. “Tom—”
“I just wanted to keep ye, lass.” Why did the words ache? As if they were murmured in pain and wrought from too many days of starved hope.
She dragged her hands back behind his neck. His warm skin flushed her face. “I wish I would have known us … before.”
“Ye would have loved the cottage.”
“I love it now.” She hesitated. Then breathed against his mouth, “I loveyou.”
“Ye dinnae know me.”
“I do.”
