Wasted Words: Inspired by Jane Austen's Emma (The Austens Book 1)

by Staci Hart

  We stood in the dim hallway and said goodnight in whispers and promises, hating to part, wishing we were at home where could be alone, where she could sleep in my arms.

  I didn’t want to be apart from her for another minute.

  But I made my way to my room, feeling her down the hall as tangibly as if I’d left a limb with her. Though I had, I supposed. She had my heart.

  I tossed and turned for a long while, my mind on her until I couldn’t take it anymore — I snuck down the hall, avoiding the creaking boards, and opened her door, closing it behind me softly.

  “You came,” she whispered.

  “I always will,” I whispered back as I slipped in next to her.

  She sighed and shifted until our bodies were flush, her head tucked under my chin. And I felt more at home than I ever had before.

  We didn’t talk, just held each other in the moonlight. Didn’t kiss, just breathed. And when I finally drifted off to sleep, it was with her name on my lips and her body against mine.

  29

  MIRROR

  Cam

  IT WAS STILL DARK WHEN he woke, leaving me with a kiss and the brush of my cheek, and I slipped back into sleep with a smile. When I woke again, the sun was up, and I stretched like a cat, hoping he was already awake, wishing he were still in bed with me.

  When I was dressed, I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen, finding Tyler there, reading. I’d brought him The Hobbit, and he was bent over it, engrossed in the words. He didn’t see me approach, not until I was next to him, pressing a kiss on his temple.

  His mom was making breakfast, eggs and bacon and hash browns, but the kitchen was otherwise empty.

  “Morning, Cam,” she said. “Sleep well?”

  I smiled at Tyler. “Great, thanks for asking. Are the girls at school?” I asked as I sat down next to him.

  “They are,” she said, “and Carl too, but he’ll be by later to see you both off.”

  Tyler frowned a little at me. “When’s your flight?”

  My smile turned into a smirk. “I got on your flight coming home, thanks to your mom.”

  She smiled at us over her shoulder. “I might have done some covert luggage digging for the information.”

  He laughed. “Now I’m glad I brought my receipts with me for both flights.”

  Mrs. Knight sighed. “I’m gonna miss you. This trip was a blur.”

  I felt a little guilty. “That’s my fault.”

  She waved her spatula at me. “Don’t be silly. Tyler wasn’t going to be home much whether you were here or not. At least yesterday we got to spend the day together. Will you two come back for Thanksgiving?”

  He looked at me hopefully, and I smiled. “I’d be happy to. Maybe we could go to Walnut too and see my parents. It’s only an hour and a half away.”

  “That’ll sure make the holidays easier,” she said with a laugh, as if she knew we’d be spending holidays together for the foreseeable future, as if it were the only natural course of action, and I hoped she was right.

  We ate our breakfast and packed our bags, Tyler’s dad making it just in time to see us off, as promised. We all embraced with the promise to see each other at Thanksgiving, which made the goodbyes easier. And then we climbed into Tyler’s rental car and drove away, waving until we pulled out of the gate.

  I sighed and sat back in my seat, and he reached for my hand, smiling at me, our fingers entwined for the entire ride.

  On the plane, he lifted the armrest between us and tucked my legs in his lap as we read our books. He’d pause on occasion to talk to me about it, read a passage to me with my head resting on his shoulder. I did the same with Mists of Avalon, convincing him to read it too, undaunted by the fact that it was near nine hundred pages long.

  New York was just as it had been when I’d left the morning before, but I felt lighter, happier than I’d imagined I could. Like he was the antidote to my crazy, somehow normalizing me, lightening the load of my burden.

  By the time we got home, the sun was setting, and we walked in the door, heading straight for our rooms to dump our things. He met me in my room and flopped down on my bed, and I did the same, giggling.

  He propped his head on his hand and laid a hand on my hip, sliding me closer to him. I slipped my leg between his.

  “I liked seeing you in my hometown,” he said, smiling.

  “I liked being in your hometown. I loved your family when I met them last time they were in New York, but now I don’t know if they’ll ever get rid of me.”

  He laughed. “I don’t know if you’ll ever get rid of them. Or me, for that matter.”

  My heart fluttered. “Well, the feeling is mutual.”

  His face grew more serious, and he brushed my hair from my face, smoothing it to cup the back of my head gently. “What if you get scared again?”

  “Then I’ll talk to you, and you’ll tell me you love me, and I’ll be fine.”

  “No more running?”

  “No more running away. Only toward.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” I searched his face, touched his cheek. “Now I’ve made you afraid.”

  “No, not afraid for me. Afraid for you. I don’t want you to hurt, Cam. Especially because of me.”

  “You never hurt me. I hurt myself. But I have faith. I have to, because being without you isn’t what I want. I need you, Tyler.”

  He closed his eyes and turned his face to kiss my palm. I leaned into him, pulling him down to kiss me, his lips brushing against mine gently at first, then deeper, his tongue sweeping my bottom lip. I parted them, letting him in, letting go. Giving him all of me.

  His hands were in my hair, our bodies pressed together as we came as close as we could. But I wanted to be closer. I wanted all of him.

  My hands found the hem of his shirt and slipped under to the hot, soft skin of his abs. They didn’t stop, moving up his body, feeling the ridges and valleys of his chest. He broke away from the kiss long enough to strip his shirt off and toss it before his lips pressed against mine again.

  I felt so small as he pulled me close, so delicate under his hands that stroked my chin and neck, my arm and hip, as careful as he was firm with me. He was tender and demanding all at once, pulling off my shirt, unhooking my bra with the snap of his fingers, and then they were gone.

  His hands — they were so strong and somehow soft as he stroked my breast reverently, thumbing my nipple, bending to place his lips around it, circling his tongue until my eyes refused to stay open. He pinned me against him with a single hand on my back, the other around my breast, and my hips rolled, looking for his, wanting the connection my body ached for.

  He moved down my body, the loss of his hot mouth on my breast instant, the cool air hitting it, tightening it just when I thought I couldn’t feel anything more exquisite. His hands deftly unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off, moving with certainty that made me feel helpless — I couldn’t move, my body surrendered — and powerful — he couldn’t stop, desiring me so much, his hands trembling with need. There was no ceremony in removing my panties, and I needed none. I only needed him.

  He settled in between my legs, kissing my thigh, touching me softly, opening me, filling me, sucking — my head fell to the side, unable to keep my eyes open at the relief of him touching me like my body was his. He broke away, and my lids cracked to see him moving for the bed stand. I watched him roll the condom on, his big hands stroking the long length of him, his body in shadows, the curve of his shoulders and chest, the ridges of his abs, the V that led from his hips and down.

  And then he lowered himself down, hovered over me, caged me in his arms, guided his crown until he was pressed against me. I moaned a word, his name, a plea, and he flexed, stealing my breath as he filled me.

  Full, so full I still couldn’t breathe, though he still could fill me more, but he pulled out with a shuddering breath, his eyes nearly closed, lips parted as his nose brushed against mine. And he flexed again,
harder, filling me more.

  Before, I had control over the depth, but this time was different. He hit me deeper, pressing gently. It was a dream, only heartbeats and sensations, breaths and visions. His face, his body, mine, coming together, parting, slow and steady. I rocked against him, legs raising to bring him deeper still, knees high against his ribs, thighs trembling. He rolled his hips against the sensitive spot where our bodies met, pulled out to hit the sensitive spot inside, and with every motion my heart beat faster, legs squeezed tighter, breath shallow, until he whispered:

  “Let go.”

  Two words, and I came unraveled, heart stopping before surging along with my body that squeezed and held him. And it was too much. Too much for me, for him, and he was right behind me, coming with a thrust that hit the end of me, on the breath of my name. He was everywhere, surrounding me, inside of me, in my heart, in my soul. He was mine. I was his. And I knew then I’d never give myself to anyone else.

  Our bodies slowed, and he dropped his head, burying it in my neck. I cradled him in my arms, fingers in his hair, and I closed my eyes and breathed, feeling his heart beating against mine until they beat together.

  When he raised his head and looked at me, there was so much love, so much that I was overcome, my eyes filling with tears that spilled over, and down into my hair. And my eyes mirrored his, my heart and soul mirrored his — we were one, the same, together.

  I couldn’t speak, and even if I could there weren’t words for the moment. So I kissed him and promised him forever, and he promised me the same. And I lay in his arms, where I’d stay.

  30

  Epilogue

  TYLER

  CAM STOOD IN FRONT of the bar at Wasted Words with a champagne glass in her hand, tapping it with a swizzle stick to get everyone’s attention. The crowd turned to face her, my beautiful girlfriend who looked quite at home in heels and a dress, red lips smiling at Bayleigh and Martin.

  “Hi, everyone. I wanted to thank you all for coming tonight.”

  A voice came from the back, saying, “Where you at, short stuff?”

  Everyone laughed, and Greg appeared next to her with a chair, helping her up to stand on it.

  “Better?” she asked, and everyone gave their assent. “Good. So thanks for being here to celebrate Bayleigh and Martin’s engagement.”

  The crowd clapped and whistled, and Bayleigh blushed, leaning into Martin.

  “Now, some of you may or may not know that I was actually one-hundred-percent anti-Martin at first.”

  A few joking boos came from the back, but she laughed and held up a hand, nodding. “I know, hear me out. I sort of have a reputation for setting people up, and I thought I had the two of them figured out, and had big plans for them that didn’t include each other. But I couldn’t see what was right in front of me — that these two were perfect for each other. No matter what I did to keep them apart, they just kept finding each other. The force that binds the two of them is stronger than any one person could break, and I know. I tried. But if ever there was a time I was glad to be wrong, it was then.”

  Everyone cheered Hear, hear, and Martin raised his glass, wrapping an arm around Bayleigh’s shoulders.

  Cam lifted her glass in the air. “To Bayleigh and Martin: may you always defy the rules and truths of the universe, if it means you’ll always be together. Congratulations, my friends.”

  The crowd uttered their own cheers, glasses raised, and took a drink.

  I stepped over to Cam to help her off the chair, and she beamed up at me. “I need a drink that’s not so bubbly.”

  I chuckled. “Whiskey?”

  “Yes, please.”

  We stepped over to the bar where the new bartender, Sascha, smiled at us.

  “Halloo, Cam,” he said in his thick German accent, long face bent in a smirk of cartoonish proportions. “Something to drink?”

  “Makers on the rocks, thanks.”

  “No problem,” he answered as he scooped ice into the glass. “So has Miss Matchmaker found a date for me yet?”

  She chuckled. “Not yet, Sascha.”

  “Well, you know I am still looking for my green card,” he joked, crooked smile still on his face.

  “Oh, I know,” she said with a laugh. “I’m surprised you haven’t found one for yourself. You seem to go home with a new lady every night.”

  He laid a hand on his chest as he poured, smiling in a way that was self-deprecating and cocky all at once. “Well, you know, the ladies love the accent.”

  She laughed. “It’s true, they do. You’re everyone’s new favorite bartender. Now, if I could only figure out how to get you to come to work in lederhosen, we’d be all set.”

  “Ah, but I left mine in Frankfurt,” he said with a smile and a shrug as he handed her drink over.

  “Thanks, Sascha. Tell your mom to mail it. I’ll pay for postage.”

  He leaned on the bar. “Deal. Anything for you, Tyler?”

  I held up my drink. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “You are welcome.” A girl walked up to the other end of the bar and he stood up straighter, his smile pulling up higher as he kicked on the charm.

  Cam shook her head. “That guy is a freaking money maker. Look at him talk to that girl. He cleans up.”

  I laughed. “The man’s got skills. He’ll have his green card in no time at that rate.”

  She laughed and slipped her arm around my waist, looking over at Bayleigh and Martin with a sigh. “I’m so happy for them.”

  “Me too.”

  “I still feel bad about how all that went down.”

  “Well, you should. You were a huge dick about it.”

  She made a face and pinched my side. “Ha, ha.”

  I chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “It all worked out. Everything did.”

  “It sure did.” She smiled up at me. “I can’t believe it’s been almost a year.”

  “Me neither. I’m surprised you haven’t left me yet.”

  She snickered. “Who would have thought I would have been more of a flight risk than you were?”

  I squeezed her. “Me.”

  She smiled, lifting up on her tiptoes, and I bent to kiss her gently before she pulled me through the crowd.

  The year had been eventful. I’d signed Darryl and gone through my first off season — he’d accepted a contract with the 49ers, and I’d been there with him every step of the way. Cam had put in her time, working her ass off at Wasted Words, and it had become a staple of the neighborhood, singles night still a success, every time. And I still went, only for her.

  We’d spent every holiday in the Midwest, bouncing between Walnut and Lincoln, our parents sometimes traveling so we could holiday all together. The last time I saw her dad, on Labor Day, I’d asked him for her hand.

  He’d smiled, eyes glistening behind his glasses, and clapped me on the shoulder, telling me that he’d always wanted a son. Telling me he’d always wanted to see Cam as happy as she was with me.

  The ring was stashed in a pair of house shoes, under a stack of sweaters in my closet. The plan was firmly in place, our trip to Lincoln for homecoming booked, her parents set to be there with us, and the band already had the sheet music for “Crazy He Calls Me.” All I needed was for time to speed up and for her to say yes.

  Her tiny hand was in mine as we made the rounds, talking to everyone, but hanging mostly by Bayleigh and Martin. I’d never seen Martin so happy, not in all the years I’d known him. The two of them had been inseparable ever since that fateful night of bowling. And Cam and I had been inseparable since the band played “Bust a Move.”

  She’d kept her promise. She hadn’t run, hadn’t worried, just let it go, just like she said she would. And we’d been perfectly happy ever since. No more doubt. No more wondering. Just Cam and me, burning together.

  The night wound to a close, and everyone trickled out, Bayleigh and Martin last. There were hugs and congratulations, plans and promises discussed — Cam and I were
both in the wedding party — and then, they were gone too.

  We stood in front of the doors, the city on the other side, shelves and aisles of books behind us, and I looked down at her as she looked up, our eyes meeting for a long moment, smiles gentle and full of forever. And when we kissed, I knew our forever had already begun.

  Click here to read Cam and Tyler’s FREE epilogue novella!

  Read the next Austen: A Thousand Letters (Inspired by Persuasion)

  SNEAK PEEK: A Thousand Letters

  The ticking of the clock

  Marring the deafening silence,

  Time's footsteps toward an end

  Or a beginning.

  - M. White

  Elliot

  I didn't hear the knocking until I closed the door to my nephew's bedroom, and my first thought was that I hoped it wouldn't wake him from his nap. The second was wonder over who it could be as I hurried to the door of my sister's brownstone. But nothing could have prepared me for the turn my life would take when I opened it.

  My best friend stood on the steps, her dark hair hanging over her bent shoulders, tears falling from sparkling gray eyes, her mouth gaping in pain as she reached for me, falling into my arms.

  "Sophie," I breathed as I held her trembling frame as best I could.

  Sobs racked through her, and her hands fisted my sweater. She couldn't speak, so I held her with my mind racing, heart aching with dread, and her father's name echoing in my head. She'd come from the hospital, and she'd brought news. News I didn't know that any of us were prepared for.

  "Come inside," I said gently, guiding her into the house, down the stairs, and into my room.

  We sat on the edge of my bed, and Sophie hid her face in her hands as her shoulders shook. I turned to her, laying my hand on her back, waiting.

  She wiped her cheeks with the flats of her fingers, though tears kept falling as she looked at me with crisp eyes and a trembling chin and said words that would echo in my heart forever.