Twisted Strands

by Lilia Moon

  I stare at her as she assembles a short stack of waffles, a handful of huckleberries, and half a bowl of whipped cream. She grins at me cheerfully. “Thanks for breakfast. Need anything before I go?”

  I’d like to know why she’s running for the hills, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what she means.

  She crosses back over to the table and gives Matteo one long, last assessing look. Then she kisses my cheek. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  A blessing, India style. Not an entirely enthusiastic one, but that’s who she is. A careful daredevil. I nod solemnly. “Does that leave anything out?”

  She grins, but there’s a hollowness there. One that she doesn’t want me to see, because it’s gone as soon as I notice it. “Maybe. If you want a list, call. Or come stick labels on boxes with me later.”

  I do know what that offer is. An open invitation to invade her inner sanctum, day or night. The offering of one artist’s heart to another. I take a deep breath, because the moment she leaves, it will be time for me to deal with the third artist at the table. “Thank you for the berries. They were amazing. I still don’t understand how you convince them to grow tame for you, but keep doing it.”

  She snorts. “They love me because I treat them like berry royalty. I’ll bring you some more on the weekend—the rest are kind of wimpy still.”

  One last grin, with no shadows this time, and then she’s gone, and all of the things I’d managed to pack away this morning flood out to fill the vacuum of her presence. I swallow hard and look over at my guest.

  He smiles. “I like her. She’s prickly in some really interesting ways.”

  That’s a compliment India will love when I pass it on—and it says a lot about the man who made it. “I have two best friends, Daley and India. India’s the one who decided the three of us were meant for each other. She digs us out of our artist lairs and makes sure we get sunshine and water every day.”

  He chuckles into his coffee. “That sounds like someone well worth having in your life.”

  He has no idea. Or maybe he does. I study him like I would a fiber I want to get to know better. “Are you a loner most of the time, or just when you go on a road trip?”

  He waits a beat longer than I expect to answer. “Some of both, I think. I’m surrounded by people when I work, and the kink community in Seattle where I live is really close-knit. But something in me craves solitude.” Something that looks almost like puzzlement creeps into his eyes. “Or a quiet breakfast of waffles and sunshine.”

  He’s not the first guest I’ve had say that, but it touches me differently than it usually does. “It’s why I live here. There’s a small wooden platform down by the lake. You might enjoy spending some time there this morning before you leave.”

  He looks up from his coffee, and just like that, the focused lightning is back. “I wanted to talk to you about that. If your bookings aren’t full, I’d like to stay a week.”

  My insides try to reassemble from the jolt they just got. I spent all morning getting ready for him to go. “I only take guests when I feel like it. The next ones aren’t due for two weeks.” A family with the most adorable toddlers. They’ve been coming to my lake since they were babies.

  His hand reaches out and quietly takes mine. “I need an answer from the woman, not the innkeeper. Would you like me to stay?”

  His words don’t leave me any more room to wiggle than his ropes do. “I think that depends on why you’re staying and what you want to do with your week.”

  He chuckles as a tiny orange paw hooks up onto the table. “I’d spend time getting to know you. Wrangle this guy while you work, maybe. Sweep floors. Whatever you need.”

  I blink. “You want work?”

  His eyes laugh before the rest of him does. “No. I need far less of it. Those are just ways to keep my hands busy while I spend some time with you.”

  Time. I can feel the weight of what he asks. The risks. Things that get rooted are far harder to pull up, and this already has its rooted beginnings. It’s growing at dandelion speed, invisible fluff one day, a cheerful, waving yellow head the next.

  Except I’m not all dandelion, and I know it. I’m mostly a careful woman who has slowly, steadily built the life she wants, with a couple of friends to make sure I don’t get too stuck in my ways. But it’s not the careful part of me trying to answer right now. It’s the part that speaks up only rarely. The last time it rose up, I quit my job, moved to a lake in the middle of nowhere, and made myself into an artist.

  That part of me wants this, with an unsteady, uncomfortable yearning I just can’t bring myself to ignore. I nod at him. “I would like that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Matteo

  Walking into Liane’s studio has more weight this time, and not just from the kitten who’s trying to chew through my sleeve. It also has some clear and immediate requirements. Her kitchen was warm and cozy, but out here definitely isn’t.

  She grins at my shiver. “Welcome to Canada. Even in June, the mornings can be chilly here.”

  I’m a rock climber. I know all about eastern exposures. The studio was bathed in sunlight yesterday afternoon, but right now we’re still in the shadows. I glance at the wood stove. “Want me to start a fire?”

  Her eyebrows go up. “Can you?”

  I give her a look. “I drove up in a pickup truck and you doubt my survival skills?”

  She grins. “You live in a fancy condo in Seattle and you work as a corporate consultant, whatever that is.”

  I squat down in front of the little stove. It’s small and new and far more efficient than anything I’ve ever used, but a hunk of black cast iron doesn’t get to be the boss of me. “I grew up on a farm. And consultant, in this case, is a nicely generic term for teaching corporations to be kinky.” I look up just in time to catch her reaction, which is good, because it’s priceless.

  She shakes her head, like she’s just convinced herself I’m kidding.

  I’m not. “I work with companies on their organizational structure, which is all about power dynamics. I teach them that the only good use of power is to make better outcomes for everyone. Mostly I build teams and demote a lot of the bosses.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “That seems like it would make them cranky.”

  It does. Except for the wise few who realize everything gets a lot better when you’re only in charge when you need to be. I reach for the dustpan to sweep yesterday’s ashes out of the stove. “Mostly I empower subordinates and give everyone clear rules and accountability for communicating.” I shrug. “Basically, I turn them into good little kinksters.”

  She grins. “I bet you put that in all of your marketing materials.”

  I probably could. Kink has gone mainstream, and the twenty-somethings in my ropes classes know more about respect and trust than many of us twice their age. “Maybe I’ll try that when I get home.”

  She smiles as she rescues a small ball of string from Trouble’s paws and rolls it across the floor so he can chase it again. “You do work that matters. That’s good.”

  Most days I think so too. “More abuse of power happens in the corridors of corporations than in any kink club.”

  She sighs. “I remember. I did twenty years in one. I was the head of the finance division when I left.”

  I’m not the only one with some surprises hiding under my first impressions. “How did you end up here?”

  “This was my grandparents’ home. Ten years ago, my marriage ended, and then my grandmother passed away six months later. She left the house to me.” She takes a deep breath and straightens, like the memory still has the power to lift weight off her shoulders. “So I blew up all my careful financial rules and decided I wanted to be an artist for a while. It’s worked out all right.”

  It’s done far more than that. The satisfaction in her voice runs deep. Dandelion-taproots deep. “Sounds like a good choice.”

  “It was.” She holds out a bucket for the ashes I’ve m
ostly herded onto the small dustpan. “I meant what I said earlier about heading down to the lake if you want. I have three orders to finish this morning, so I’m going to be pretty occupied.”

  I meant what I said too. I’m here to spend some time in her life. “Are there things someone with decent rope hands could help with?”

  She starts to shake her head, and then reconsiders. “Yes, actually. How do you feel about conditioning? I have some jute rope that’s been burned and waxed, but it needs to be put through its paces. This client likes his orders to arrive ready to go.”

  He obviously didn’t train with the same people I did, but I’m not here to second-guess her customers. “Sure. You want me to beat it, rub it, or tie it?”

  That gets me an amused look, which my cock and the rest of me are very happy about. She’s enjoying me. “Whichever kind keeps Trouble occupied the best.”

  That’s a low blow, but she’s got work to do—and I did agree to keep the tiny orange monster out of her way. I reach for the neat box of tinder beside the stove. Fire, then rope, and then I’ll see if I can convince a certain artist to take a break down by the lake.

  “The stove is temperamental.” She’s suddenly kneeling at my side, taking a piece of kindling from my hands and wielding a very large knife. Then she pauses and hands them both to me. “Sorry. I’m used to being in charge out here. I’m not sure I remember how to share very well these days.”

  Something has just opened up, and we’re back into interesting lands. Uncomfortable ones, at least for her. “We’re doing fine, Liane.”

  The smile she sends my way is tentative. Soft. Pleased. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  I lean into the opening she’s given me and run a hand up her back until my fingers reach the bare skin at the nape of her neck. Her face doesn’t change much, but I feel like my pickup headlights just landed on a deer in the dead of night. Which means I need her words before I go any further. “How do you feel about me kissing you?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Liane

  He knows how to ask questions that leave me naked right down to my bones. I pick up the ball of twine and roll it again. Trouble captures it with a pounce that would be terrifying if he were any bigger than my fist. It’s a good distraction from the question trying to jiggle me free of my moorings.

  It’s not the kissing part that’s the problem, although there may be parts of me that have forgotten how that works. It’s the rest of the package. I asked him to stay, but it wasn’t an easy answer. He threatens my steadiness. I’ve built a good life here, and he won’t leave it the same when he leaves.

  He won’t leave it the same already. He did something to my soul yesterday.

  His hand slides off the back of my neck and he reaches for the kindling. “I don’t need an answer now. I know you have work to do.”

  I do—but I suddenly don’t want to do it. It’s a beautiful June morning outside, the water is mirror calm, and I need to breathe in what I love most about this place—and maybe even to share it. Because something in me is sad that he took his hand away. Sad that my hesitation encouraged a really good man to withdraw and give me space.

  That might be what I want, but I’m not at all sure it’s what I need. And the place to work out those tangles has always been in meditation, which I do with my butt on a leather seat and my hands on a paddle. I reach for the kindling that’s still in his hands and set it down by the side of the stove. “I’ve just decided I’m playing hooky this morning. Want to come for a paddle?”

  His eyebrows quirk up. “Yes, but you need to know I’m on record as the man who managed to tip a sea kayak with three guys in it into the waters of Lake Union.”

  There’s a story there, and it’s probably a funny one. Which he can tell me on the way to the boathouse. I stand up and reach for my flannel shirt. “In that case, you get to sit in the front where I can keep an eye on you. My canoe’s fairly tippy, so if you value anything you’re wearing, you might want to take it off.”

  His grin is instant—and pure sin.

  I close my eyes and shake my head, even as my laughter burbles out. “Let me rephrase that. We’ll be sticking close to shore until I’m sure you won’t be making us swim, and this is the shady side of the bay in the morning. So dress for the weather, but wear something you don’t mind getting wet.”

  He leans in and kisses my cheek, but it’s entirely casual affection, gone in a flash and demanding nothing of me at all. “I’m ready. And if it’s comforting, I’m a much better swimmer than I am a paddler. Five summers spent working as a lifeguard.”

  I reach down and scoop up Trouble. “Good. Then if you tip us, you get to rescue this guy.”

  His eyes widen. “You want to take a kitten in a canoe?”

  He looks like I felt a few minutes ago. “Lots of people have canoe dogs. If he wants me to be his person, he needs to deal with lake time.” I look around and imagine just how much trouble one kitten could create in here in a couple of unsupervised hours.

  Matteo grimaces, clearly reading my mind. He reaches out and scratches Trouble’s head. “Sorry in advance, dude. I’m probably not the guy you want in the boat with you.”

  I’ve seen this man move—I’m pretty sure he’s got solid balance. He just needs better instructions. I head out the door of my studio, drawn to the light I can see starting to chase away the shadows on the shore. The shade of the early mornings here is one of my few complaints. The evening sunsets more than make up for it, but I won’t complain about a chance to paddle in the sunshine.

  I head down the path, far less overgrown than it was in my grandmother’s time, that leads to the tiny, decrepit boathouse that holds all my best memories as a kid. I can hear Matteo behind me, clearly part mountain goat just like I am. There used to be stairs through the rocks, but I’ve never bothered to replace them.

  Trouble sticks his head up out of my arms as we descend, eyes glued to the water and ears flat to his head.

  I give him a look. “I meant what I said, troublesome creature. Canoeing is one of my favorite things. Don’t mess that up.”

  I hear deep chuckles from behind me. “He doesn’t look very convinced.”

  He doesn’t, which does not bode well for the rest of my plan. I sigh. A week ago, my life was really uncomplicated. Apparently the universe took that as a dare.

  I round the edge of the small stand of trees that keeps the boathouse mostly hidden from the main house. That made it an awesome hideaway as a kid. Now it’s probably more of an eyesore, but I love it too much to change it. I tug on the gray, shingled door and wince as it creaks. I oiled the house and studio doors, but I forgot about this one. Winter isn’t kind to joints, even ones made of hardware.

  Trouble peers into the dim, which isn’t as dark as it could be. The wall overlooking the lake is mostly glass, courtesy of a cast-off window Grandpa and I found at the side of the road one day on our way back from ice cream.

  I set the kitten gently on the high window bench Grandpa built for me to sit on and stare out at the water. Maybe if he gets to watch the lake for a while, he’ll be less traumatized by his first canoe ride.

  I turn to find Matteo running his hands over the curves of my most prized possession. “This is beautiful.”

  It is, even in the dim. “It’s a cedar strip canoe. I built it with my grandfather from a kit when I was a teenager.”

  Matteo smiles. “You’ve got good handcrafting DNA.”

  It took me a long time to realize that. “It’s not the world’s most practical boat. We can’t run it up on a beach or leave it out on the shore.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t leave the ropes you make for me lying around in a tangle either. Good tools deserve the time it takes to care for them.”

  My grandfather would have liked this man—except for the tying-up-his-favorite-granddaughter part.

  Matteo chuckles and tips his chin at the window. “It looks like Trouble is voting to nap through this outing.”

&nb
sp; I turn around, and sure enough, one orange kitten is all curled up in an old wool blanket and whiffling softly, dead to the world. I look around the boat shed, considering. “If we take the canoe out and close the door, there’s not much damage he can do in here. And Daley will be here in an hour or so. I can text her to come rescue him.” I’m not sure if that’s avoidant cat parenting or not, but it probably beats tipping him over into Kootenay Lake. I pull out my phone, conscious of the very tangible presence beside me. He’s not saying anything, not pressuring me in any way.

  He just is.

  I get back a set of emojis from Daley that probably means yes, and reach up and leave my phone on a high shelf behind me. No tech in the boat. Grandpa’s rules.

  A second phone settles beside mine, which is interesting. Most of my guests would rather cut off a limb than leave their gadgets behind. His hands brush down my outer arms. “Thank you.”

  I turn my head to look at him, puzzled. “Why?”

  He smiles, his eyes bright in the dim. “For choosing to share a special part of your life with me.”

  I want to protest that it’s just a boat, and the only one that happens to be handy right now, since I haven’t borrowed my neighbor’s plastic kayaks for the summer season yet. But he’s not wrong. This is something that lives deep inside who I am.

  I stroke my hand down the cedar strips that took so much care to bend and fit together. My body knows what to do next. Pick up the canoe, carry it out of here, slide it into the calm waters of the nicest paddling morning I’ve seen since last fall. But I can feel something else tugging at me. The answer to the question he asked me earlier. I can find it now, here in this shed where I know how to bend and fit things with care.

  I turn and face him. “You can kiss me now. I would like that.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Matteo