by Lilia Moon
She looks down at her bowl full of eggs, but not before I see her pink cheeks. “Have a nice hike. Tell him to come see me if he needs any rope.”
I stare. I came for support. That sounds almost like a blessing.
Chapter Eighteen
Callum
I’ve never been the kind of architect who shows up to work at the crack of dawn, but I know my friends well, and it took the sun quite some time to make it over the mountains this morning. I push my way into their offices, my hands laden with coffee and pastries and heartier fare.
Rafe heads straight for the bag of breakfast burritos. I can’t blame him. They smell outrageously good.
Matteo takes two of the coffees. “Any of these fancy?”
I know my friends. “Black, all of them.”
Rafe chuckles. “That will work for me, but Liane is softening Matteo up. He takes all kinds of frippery in his these days.”
Matteo shoots him a dirty look. “I can drink it plain.”
Rafe just grins. “I can tie it up in a karada dress, give it a little decoration.”
Matteo snorts. “Your karadas can barely stay on hairy legs. You’d never make one stick to a coffee cup.”
I take a seat, enjoying the banter. It harkens very much back to the day we met, right down to rope ties and hairy legs. I smile at Rafe. “As I recall, you were an excellent rope bunny.”
He snorts. “Don’t tell India that, or my life won’t be worth living.”
I met the delightful Liane last night, but I haven’t met the woman who has charmed Rafe yet. “Tell me about her.”
He smiles. “She’s prickly and tender and volcanic and she can do things with metal that will tear your heart out and give it back to you more whole.”
I’ve seen her work. I take a sip of my coffee, which a Canadian winter has cooled off nicely. “I bought one of her sculptures for Gabrielle for Christmas.”
Rafe laughs. “Thank you. I told her to put a handful of them up on her website for a week. If none of them sold, she could take them down and go back to pretending she’s just a jewelry maker.”
I consider him thoughtfully. Of the three of us, he’s by far the trickiest Dom. “There was only one on her site when I went shopping.”
He leans back, a very satisfied look on his face. “Yup. She put up six. They sold in five hours. You got the last one.”
Matteo laughs. “How many people did you email, dude?”
A shrug from a man well pleased with himself. “Just a few. No one since then, and they’re still selling almost as fast.”
As well they should. The one I managed to acquire rendered my niece speechless. “She lets you push on her. That’s lovely.”
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t get served burnt dinner every time a sculpture sells.”
That’s lovely too. Rafe thrives on pitting himself against opposing forces, and if India’s smart enough to let herself be one some of the time, that will only strengthen them. “You sound very well matched. I’d like to meet your India.”
He grins. “Oh, I’m pretty sure that if you’re sniffing around Daley, she’ll find you.”
I hide a smile behind my cup. “I’m not sniffing.”
They both give me the kind of skeptical looks only experienced Doms can pull off.
I inhale, the smell of coffee always far more useful to me than drinking it. “She’s fascinating. I spent the afternoon with her yesterday.” I nod at Matteo. “As you already know.”
His lips quirk. “I don’t think I got all the salient details.”
“Last night I wanted to get to know Liane and the two of you together. She’s helped you to find your center. I’ve seen you happy before, but never quite this content. It was a delight to be in the company of that.”
His eyes soften. “She’s amazing.”
I pick up one of the foil-wrapped burritos. “You’ve both done very well for yourselves.”
Rafe reaches for one as well. “Going to make it three of us, old man?”
This is what drew me into a life of kink. Not the accessories or the power or the sex. The river of honesty, deep and wide, that runs through it. “I don’t know yet.”
Rafe’s eyebrows fly up. “But you’re considering it.”
They’ve both known me a long time. Since Ellie passed, I’ve been a very contented bachelor. “I’m intrigued, in a way I haven’t been in a long while.”
Matteo’s watching. Quieter, like always. “She won’t make that easy.”
I nod. “Noted.”
Rafe snorts. “Already ran into that brick wall, did you?”
He’s a man who sees things in a way most of us can’t. He also honors boundaries with more care than anyone else I know. “What can you tell me?”
He takes a bite of his burrito and chews, thinking. “They’ve been a trio for a long time. Really close, and getting a lot from each other that you might normally get in a good relationship.”
I saw hints of that. “Has that unraveled some with the arrival of the two of you?”
They look at each other, and then both heads shake. It’s Matteo who answers. “No. They’ve all been really careful not to let that happen. And Daley’s around a lot.” He casts me a careful look. “She handles us as well as any vanilla not-sub I’ve ever met.”
My looks might be more subtle than most Doms, but they’re no less potent. “I’m not yet elderly enough to have lost my powers of observation.”
Rafe shakes his head and swipes Matteo’s hot sauce. “Idiot.”
Matteo shrugs. “I like Daley.”
He’s got more than that to say. I wait. He’s not a man to be rushed, but what he comes out with is always worth the wait.
He sighs. “She comes across as really confident and insightful, and she is. She pushed on Liane and Daley at just the right times to give both of our relationships a helping hand. But I think she’s got some roadblocks inside herself, and I don’t know how well she sees them.”
He’s a good friend, even if he’s telling me what I already know. “A thoughtful Dom could help her with that.”
A slow smile. “He could. She’s worth the effort, if my opinion matters any.”
They both think very highly of the woman who’s caught my attention. It’s a good feeling to know that. I’m not a man who’s swum in these waters often. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Rafe grins. “Find Beatrice Monk and snag her fried-chicken recipe. I’ve been trying for five months now, but she’ll probably go for that Irish brogue of yours.”
It’s always amused me that the accent of Irish farmers causes swooning all around the world. “I’ve heard the lovely Beatrice sing. If her fried chicken matches the wonders of her voice, it’s a quest well worth pursuing, but I’ve other priorities for the moment.”
Rafe’s got a mouth full of burrito, so it’s Matteo who answers. “It will help with those priorities. Daley really likes fried chicken.”
For a woman who can barely heat soup, Daley has excellent culinary taste.
Matteo adds enough hot sauce to his burrito that I hope there’s a fire truck nearby. “Does she know yet that you can cook?”
She wasn’t wrong when she accused these two of being matchmakers. “It didn’t come up. Hopefully she’s discovered one or two of my other redeeming qualities, though.”
“Oh, I think she has.”
I cast Rafe a surprised look. He sounds awfully sure of himself.
He smiles and nods his chin behind me. “Whatever your next steps are, figure them out fast. She’s standing outside the door.”
Chapter Nineteen
Callum
The wind is blowing Daley’s hair around, matching the energy that swirls about her. She’s wearing a teal cape and a knitted hat that could have come from the streets of Paris, and it’s almost as if the wind is dancing attendance.
I step in and kiss her cheek. “Good morning.”
She smiles, and she means it, but I can see her uncertaint
y underneath. Which is good—it means she hasn’t tucked it away. I slide my arm in under her cape and lead her away from the building, in the direction of the trees. “You’ve come. Thank you.”
A quiet sigh, one that settles her. “I wanted to see you.”
That settles something in me. “I’m glad of it. I thought of you often in the night.”
Her laugh bubbles out, a little surprised to find itself in the light of day. “That could be taken a lot of ways.”
I shrug and smile. “Most of them are likely true.”
That doesn’t dim her eyes any. Whatever it is about me that has her worried, it’s not the delicious sexual tension that runs between us. We pause by the trees, and she lets her head rest on my shoulder. “I came to invite you on a hike. It’s a short one, not far from here. Up to a lighthouse.”
I look down at her feet, clad in hiking boots that have clearly seen frequent action. “I’ve some boots that would work back where I’m staying. And more layers as well.” I’ve already learned that Canadian winters have much in common with Irish ones. It’s best to leave home dressed for all possibilities.
She nods, her head still against my shoulder. “We can drive past. And find you some breakfast if you need before we go.”
She’s a caretaker, this one. “I’ve already eaten and fed my friends as well. Will you tell me why we’re hiking today?”
She slides out of my arms and takes my hand in hers, tugging gently so that I follow. “I want to learn more about you.”
A woman on a mission, but not one I’m entirely clear on—and keeping promises requires those kinds of details. “Have you rules in mind for our walk today?”
“Yes.” She grins at me. “Some of them are dictated by the weather. I’m pretty sure it’s going to keep your hands out of my pants.”
She’s not giving my ingenuity nearly enough credit. “Don’t rely on the weather to keep you safe, sweetness. If you want my hands to stay outside of your clothing, those are words I can hear with ease.”
She shoots me a skeptical look.
I wink at her. “I’ve plenty of other arrows in my arsenal.”
She rolls her eyes, entirely amused by the Irish charm she’s pulled out of me.
I squeeze her fingers. “I’ve a mind to speak very honestly today, and some of what I have to say might be fair arousing. Will that fit inside your ideas of the day you want?”
This look is a lot more careful.
I let her look. “Same promise as yesterday. We’ll both be saying some things, I expect, words of the body and mind and heart, and if they don’t fit comfortably together, I won’t let either of us brush that to the side.”
She makes a face as she turns us down the road toward her car, parked on the shoulder. “You were really good at that yesterday.”
That warms something inside me. “You allowed me to go deep with you. There’s a trust I want to earn so we can keep doing that.”
She nods slowly. “The trust. That’s more important to you than being comfortable.”
I touch my fingers to her cheek. “Truth is more important. Trust is just a way to get to truth with someone else.”
She stares at me.
It’s so very tempting to drag her off to the nearest bed, but I want to see this hike of hers. She’s shown up this morning to bring me something, to shade more of the lines in the drawing of who she is, even if she’s using hiking boots instead of charcoals to do it. I walk her round to the driver’s-side door. “I’m looking forward to this hike. I’ve a fondness for lighthouses, although I didn’t expect to find one this far inland.”
Her eyes snap with a kind of dare as she ducks into her car.
Good. One artist with her eraser firmly in hand.
Chapter Twenty
Daley
This is a sweet, short, energetic hike I do often. It clears the crud out of me when I’ve been sitting in front of a drawing board too long, and the views from the top always gladden my artist heart.
I look over at the man who’s easily kept pace with me. He came out the front door of the cottage he’s renting in old-school brown-leather hiking boots, and he’s clearly no stranger to putting them to use. “We’ll be there shortly. It’s not a long trail.”
He takes a deep, appreciative breath as he casts another look around him. “That’s a shame. It’s glorious.”
It’s cold and windy and the air has a bite we don’t get around here all that often, but it means the views are gorgeous and clear. It’s been a pleasure to watch him. The trail has its steep bits, but it’s as wide as a highway and I’ve mostly been able to hike alongside him. Not that I minded the few times I tucked in behind. The man climbs with a sexy confidence just like he does everything else, and it’s a sharp reminder that he’s been the one doing most of the touching.
Sometime soon, I need to rectify that.
He smiles over at me and reaches for my hand. He’s done that several times as we’ve walked, as easy with the holding as the letting go. I come up beside him, which hops me up some rocks and fallen pine needles. He doesn’t hold any tighter or shift me toward easier footing. A man assuming that if I need help, I’ll take it. It’s sweet, and a bit confusing. I head us toward a sunny patch on the side of the trail. It’s the last spot we’ll hit in the lee of the wind, and while it’s not exactly warm, it’s balmy by comparison to what comes next.
I reach under my cape and pull a bottle out of the woven shoulder carrier Bee made for me years ago when she found me out on an impromptu hike without any water. “Shake it first. That’s fresh-squeezed orange juice, and I’ve got nut squares in my pocket if I can find them.” Fresh from the oven. Liane makes enough for a herd of elephants at least a couple of times a month, and so far, the elephants haven’t let any go to waste.
He kisses my cheek as he takes the bottle. “Dare I ask what else you have tucked in under there?”
Funny man. “I contemplated sexy lingerie, but went with wooly long underwear instead.”
His lips twitch. “I’ve a fondness for a nice set of woolies.”
I’ve finally located the nut squares. They’re not all that square anymore, but it won’t matter. They’re delicious in any shape they end up. I hand him the less-squished of the two. “They’ve got coconut and chocolate and three kinds of nuts and a bunch of other things Liane claims are a trade secret, so if you have any allergies, now’s the time to speak up.”
He peels open the reusable wrapper and sniffs. “Cinnamon and something spicy.”
I grin. “The spicy part is getting stronger since Matteo showed up.”
He takes a bite and his eyes widen as the first flavors land. “Whatever she uses for cocoa is fantastic.”
Of course he’s a foodie. “I brought some back from Brazil last year. I think she’s almost out of it, so I might have to make a pilgrimage again soon. The vanilla is from Tahiti.”
“It’s an interesting strategy you have around food.”
That’s a conversation I have often. “It works for me. I trade ingredients and drawings and errand running for the right to raid people’s kitchens on a regular basis. They’re happy, I’m happy, and I don’t accidentally poison anyone with my own cooking.”
“Do you not cook at all, then?”
He’s carefully mopping up the crumbs of his nut square with the tip of his finger, which isn’t going to make the squirrels very happy with him. “I bake. I have about four muffin recipes I can follow without anything terrible happening. Other than that, no. I’m an excellent scrounger.”
He smiles at me as he neatly folds up his wrapper. “I enjoy a good muffin.”
I snort. “If it’s a steady supply of food you’re looking for, you picked the wrong woman.”
“Not true. I’ve seen you scrounge for two. It was a delightful lunch you found us yesterday.” He takes my hand and tucks both of our wrappers in his pocket. “Liane’s already told me we’re making enough tonight for leftovers. Your friends know you well.
”
I blink. I’ve missed something. “What are you up to with Liane?”
“I visited with them last night and she says you’ve a regular Wednesday night dinner. She’s asked me to show her a couple of dishes from home to go along with the stew she’s making.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Moved right in, have you?”
His look is a steady one, and kinder than I deserve.
I wince. “I’m sorry. You’re a good friend of Matteo’s. Of course you’re coming to dinner.”
“I am.” He reaches out to tug on one of my curls. “Now tell me why that bothers you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Callum
Her eyes swirl with things still forming. She’s just pushed, and I’ve pushed back, and while I think that’s something she does easily and often with the friends in her life, I don’t fit neatly into that category. I keep my hand on her elbow and let her find her way.
She turns to lead us up the next bit of climb. This might be a short hike, but it’s not a wimpy one. My legs are glad for the work, and for the chance to watch the swish of her hips under her cape. When she gets to the top, she reaches for my hand, a bit of trust I don’t take for granted as my wool glove nestles with hers. “Wednesdays used to be just the three of us. Sometimes a friend or two, but only people who take us exactly as we are. It’s always been our safe space to be easy in our own skin, to be artists with temperaments and strange isolationist tendencies and sharp edges or melancholy ones or a touch of frenzy that doesn’t always fit anywhere else.”
I nod, listening carefully. “I’m glad you’ve such a thing in your life. Friends like that are a gift.” Weak words for what I mean, but I don’t want to take the time to search for others.
“Matteo joined us in the summer, and that changed things. Even when he’s not there, Liane’s different now, and so is India.”
I’m not yet sure what I’m hearing. “Is that hard for you?”