“I didn’t even know this was here.” She followed him from the front office to the back, where he kept a beat-up old sofa, a tiny fridge, and an ancient TV set with an antenna. The guy he’d taken over the garage from liked to spend time away from his wife in there, and Sam didn’t have the heart to change it once he became owner.
“I’ve never really had occasion to use it,” Sam said. He closed the door behind her and flipped the switch on a space heater in the corner, praying the rusted old thing still worked. It sprang to life with a groan and quickly filled the dark space with musty warmth.
As he double-checked the lock on the door, she creeped up behind him and slid her hands under his work shirt. She laughed against his back, and he closed his eyes, drinking in the sensation of her delicate body against him.
“Can we take a trip to Bora Bora so that touching each other isn’t so much work?” she said.
Her cold fingers slid under his T-shirt, and his stomach contracted in response. His head was a cloudy mess. The smell of her perfume and the sensation of the pads of her fingers tracing up his sides and across his abs consumed every inch of his brain space.
He turned in her arms and held her head as he consumed her mouth, exploring every inch. She was so sensitive, so reactive, that every time he did something new or touched her in a different place, a fresh sound emerged and egged him on. Exploring her was a treasure hunt, each gem better than the last.
“This time is gonna be different,” he said, trailing his fingers down the sides of her neck. He ran a thumb across her collarbone and watched as goose bumps appeared in its wake.
“Different how?” she asked.
She wore a short black puffer coat that hid her body entirely, and this time around, he wasn’t having any of it. He wanted to see her. All of her. And if they couldn’t have sex in a well-lit bedroom, then he’d have to put in a bit more work.
“You cold?” he asked.
“No.” She kissed him again. Their mouths were like magnets, always finding each other in the spare moments. She left a trail of moisture on his lower lip that forced him to lean down for another kiss.
He unzipped her coat and pushed it off her shoulders, pausing as it fell to the floor. Tonight, instead of layers of clothes and a turtleneck, she wore a black sweater with a deep V-neck that exposed her exquisite neck and the curve of her breasts.
It was the spot on her body that always turned him into a puddle, and tonight, he let his hands roam free across it. She leaned into his touch, and a warm breath escaped her lips, sending chills across his jaw. He cupped her right breast and traced his thumb across the edge of her sweater. The fabric pulled back to reveal the pale pink lace of her bra, and he hooked his thumb there also, as the dark pink bud of her nipple came into view.
He placed his mouth over her nipple, sinking into the sound of low moans radiating from her chest. He pulled back in time to see her closed-eyed, open-mouthed face lifted to the ceiling in pure, unabashed pleasure.
“Come here,” she said, hooking her hands into his belt and dragging him toward her. Her red-tipped fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt and then she tugged at the T-shirt, a pile of discarded clothes growing at their feet.
For a moment, she didn’t move. She stared at his naked chest with her fingers poised over his belt and then raised her eyes, a dopey smirk tugging at her lips.
“What are you, chiseled from stone?” she said. She nuzzled into his chest and traced her tongue across the ridge between his pecs, forcing all the blood in his body to one concentrated area. When she arrived at the tattoo over his right pec, she paused again. “Does this mean something?”
He’d gotten the large black-and-white begonias the day after his mother’s funeral. She’d always hated his tattoos, but he needed something injected into his skin that would remind him of her. Not to remind him of her face or her kindness or her spirit, but to remind him of what she gave up and that he should never take it for granted.
“Yeah, but I’d rather not talk about my mother again when my chief concern is getting you to come more than once this time.”
A strangled animal sound came from her lips, and her hands dropped to his belt, working at the buckle in record time. He took this opportunity to tug at the bottom hem of her sweater and lift it over her head, dropping it into their pile.
Her breasts strained at the edges of her delicate pink bra, and he nipped at the flesh there with gentle bites. His dick was so hard it almost hurt, but more than anything, he wanted her to feel ultimate, otherworldly pleasure. He wanted to pull her toward the edge and hold her as she came again and again in his arms.
As he pulled away, he took her all in. He wasn’t afforded this view the first time they had sex, and he wasn’t going to ignore it now. Her full breasts gave way to a flat stomach and the rounded curves of her waist. He popped the buttons on her jeans and tugged them down, not content to end the visual tour at the waistband of her pants.
While he was on his knees, working the jeans over her feet, he rested his gaze on her stomach. She had a small brown birthmark to the left of her belly button, and he kissed it gently. Every inch of her was a gift.
“I know,” she said suddenly. “I’ve kind of, um . . . gained some weight since I moved here.”
His head snapped up. “Are you joking?”
Her brow furrowed, and she gnawed at her lip as her hands crept across her stomach, blocking his access. “I just mean, I used to work out a lot, and I was super toned and just less doughy.”
He stood to meet her, nearly sick to his stomach that she thought of herself that way. “You are perfect. If you apologize to me for the way you look ever again, I will make good on that skin coat thing.”
Her lips pressed into a smile, and he snaked his arms around her waist, clutching her body close. She held his neck with both hands and kissed him with more fervor than she’d ever kissed him before. This time was different—in more ways than he’d hoped for.
His right hand moved downward until it cupped her ass, squeezing the smooth flesh and at the same time pressing her hips against his ever-hardening cock. He stepped out of his jeans and carried her toward the couch, setting her down gently and trailing her wavy hair over her shoulder.
“Lie down,” he said.
She kissed him again before complying.
He leaned his body against her closed knees until they parted for him. Her eyes shone brightly in the dim light of the back office, and her chest rose and fell with increased exaggeration. If he had to guess, he’d say she was nervous.
“I’m sorry I missed out on this part on Saturday,” he said. His calloused fingers traced the edges of her black mesh thong and gently pulled the middle aside so that her soft lips came into view.
“Hey, um,” she said in a tiny, timid voice. He dragged his eyes away from her glistening sex and looked up at her. Her face pinched in discomfort. It was not the face of someone experiencing unabashed pleasure.
“What’s wrong?” He stood, terrified that he’d hurt her.
“No, no, come back,” she said. She reached for his hand and pulled him back to the couch until he sat down next to her. “I don’t really like it. Oral sex.”
He shrugged. “Okay. That’s fine.”
She sniffed and centered her gaze on his chest, trailing her fingers through his sparse expanse of chest hair.
A weight settled over him like a wool blanket. She looked so beautiful reclined on the plaid couch. Her hair splayed over the threadbare arm like she was floating through water. But the concern creased into her features alarmed him. He wanted her to feel good. Safe.
“Do you want to stop?” he said.
“No!” she said without missing a beat. “No, I don’t want to stop. God, after running away on Saturday and now this, I feel like I’ll give you a complex.”
“Sydney.” Her name
fell out of his mouth like a balm meant to soothe. He didn’t know how to explain to this woman that she could be whoever she wanted with him and he wasn’t going anywhere. He sensed it was something he’d have to show her instead.
“Seriously.” The deep wrinkle between her eyebrows never changed. “I want to.”
“But you don’t have to.”
Her hand crept up his chest and landed in the crook of his neck before fingering the curl of hair behind his ear. “I know I don’t have to.”
“Then let’s stop. You’re not giving me any sort of complex. The part about Saturday that confused me was when you ran away without explanation and then I didn’t hear from you for four days. I thought you regretted it or hated it or that I’d hurt you.”
“It was none of that.” Her dark brown eyes sparkled with tears, and she continued to touch his hair with gentle fingers.
As much as he wanted her, he also wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life just like this.
“I will never push you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said. “Whether that’s talking about the ugly stuff in your past or, you know, going down on you.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Is that really messed up? Am I the only woman in the world who doesn’t like it?”
“So what if you are? It’s not messed up. You like what you like.” She looked so fragile in this moment that he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and squeeze the insecurity right out of her. He couldn’t envision the man who wouldn’t listen to what she wanted and do just that. Or maybe he could.
“Connor was always convinced nobody had ever done it to me the right way,” she said, raising a single eyebrow. “He tried and he tried and he tried. I used to fake the orgasm just so he’d stop.”
The anger bubbled up inside him again. Connor was the type of guy who ruined good women. The fact that he’d gotten inside Sydney’s head made him the worst type of asshole.
“Connor is the fucking worst.” He stifled any additional comments. They were still half-naked in the back of his garage office, and everything was a bit too exposed for pure, unadulterated hatred of the ex.
“It matters to me that you don’t hate me,” she said.
His gaze landed on hers, soaked her all in. She didn’t know how impossible that was. “I don’t hate you. I couldn’t hate you. And if it ever got to that point, trust me, it wouldn’t be because you didn’t let me go down on you.”
She exhaled and slowly nodded, finally seeming to believe him. This was it. The moment had passed. And yet instead of feeling like he’d missed out on something, something else had been gained. She’d laid bare her insecurities to him, and he knew he could handle them. He reached over and grabbed her sweater.
“Come on,” he said. “Sit up.” She lifted her torso off the couch and raised her arms over her head with a coy smile on her face. He slipped the sweater over her arms and head and tugged the bottom down over her stomach after she’d popped her head through the neck.
“Wow, you dressing me is almost as hot as you undressing me,” she said. She leaned into his neck and rested her head there, her warm breath on his collarbone sending electric shocks down his body.
They both finished putting their clothes on, and after he helped her with her coat, she sunk into his arms again. Her face pressed against his chest, and she burrowed in as if sinking into bed for a nap.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
“For what?” He held her tightly because he wanted to and also because it seemed to be what she needed. What she was missing. Had anyone ever held her like this? He wanted to believe he was the first.
“For just being kind to me. You are one of the kindest men I’ve ever met. I don’t really know what to do with that sometimes.”
He traced his fingers up and down her spine, hoping to infuse some sense of peace and comfort in her. “I care about you. That’s what you do when you care about somebody.”
She pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Can we spend some time together this week? Maybe just get lunch or something? Everything’s been so heavy these past few weeks, and I miss hanging out with you.”
“I don’t know. Now that I’ve seen you naked, I’m not really into non-naked hangs. Like, what’s the point, right?”
She grinned and gently punched him in the ribs. “Can I retract my previous statement? You’re a real asshole.”
* * *
• • •
The following morning, Sam hopped into the cab of his truck with a lightness in his chest he hadn’t experienced in a long time. They hadn’t slept together, but he had the glow of a man who’d had the best lay of his life.
Instead of getting physically closer, which he was still very much interested in, she’d shown him a side of herself he hadn’t known existed. Every preconceived notion he’d had about Karen Walsh’s stuck-up daughter dissolved around him. She wasn’t arrogant; she had walls built up. She wasn’t hedonistic; she was protecting herself with financial stability. And she wasn’t a selfish daughter; she was someone who’d had a difficult relationship with her mother growing up and was now working hard to mend it.
He drove through the slushy downtown streets, crisp white snow hugging the roofs and trees lining the road. Winter was a seemingly endless season in Pine Ridge, but at the beginning, the snow was refreshing. Clean.
He parked his truck in front of McDonagh’s to grab a coffee before passing by the Loving Page just to check and see if Sydney was inside. The hardware store was his true destination, but he wasn’t hurting anybody just passing by.
He tugged on the front door of the bakery, but it didn’t budge. The sign in the window told him they were closed.
“Hmm.” McDonagh’s hadn’t been closed on a Thursday morning for as long as he’d been alive. He scanned the street for a telltale reason, but the scene in front of him read as mundane. A few tourists huddled into their coats and scurried between shops and restaurants. Yuri salted his front sidewalk in anticipation of the day’s customers. He raised a hand at Sam, and Sam waved back.
“Hey,” he said, jogging over to Yuri. “McDonagh’s is closed?”
“Just for an hour or so,” Yuri said, leaning his heft on the shovel. “The gals are at the Loving Page helping out Sydney with some promotion thing she’s running over the weekend.”
Sam wondered if Sydney was as starry-eyed as he was this morning. And if she was, how well she was hiding it from Jorie.
“The gals? Jorie and her mom?” he asked.
“Jorie and Liv.”
A prickle of fear crept over Sam’s flesh as if the grim reaper himself had passed by. “Liv?”
“Mm-hmm.” Yuri’s mouth set, and he fiddled with the handle of the shovel. Maybe he knew about Sydney. Maybe Syd had told her mother, and Karen had said something to Yuri. Or maybe Sam’s poker face was worse than he thought.
“All right, well, uh . . . Guess I’ll see ya.”
With a deep sense of doom simmering in his gut, Sam crossed the sidewalk to the entrance of the Loving Page. He peered through the big front window to find a scene straight out of a Hallmark movie.
Liv and Jorie strung popcorn on the couch while Sydney stood nearby, sipping from a speckled red mug and laughing at something Liv had said. She leaned against the counter, her bulky gray sweatshirt unable to hide the swell of her perfect breasts. Despite Liv’s presence confusing the fantasy, his jeans were suddenly tight.
He adjusted his belt and cleared his throat before entering.
“Welcome to the Loving Page,” Jorie chirped. “What’s your pleasure? Bosoms, boners, or balsam candles?”
Both Sydney and Liv stared at him, each with a different hopeful expression on her face. Before he could decide who to speak to first, Sydney turned away to adjust something on the bookshelf.
“H
i,” Liv said. She plucked a piece of popcorn from a bowl and pierced it with a needle, working quickly with deft fingers. Sober.
“Hi,” he said, trying to force the confusion from his voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I was at McDonagh’s this morning when Jorie told me she was coming over here to help Syd.” Syd.
What is going on here? Liv’s face shone with hope.
“We’re prepping for the weekend event,” Jorie said. “Love Letters and Eggnog.”
“We’re still working on the name,” Sydney chimed in. She stood as far away from him as physically possible, but her heavy gaze told him she didn’t want to. Her fingers traced the neck of her sweatshirt as the blush in her cheeks deepened.
“It’s going to be so cute,” Liv said. “Sydney’s making eggnog, and Jorie’s bringing gingerbread men, and people are supposed to bring their old love letters to read aloud. After the readings, everyone votes on a favorite, and the winner gets a gorgeous Christmas wreath that Karen’s going to make, plus two new Christmas-themed romance novels just released. Isn’t that such a cute idea?”
“Syd’s full of them,” Jorie said.
“Why don’t you come sit down?” Liv said. “Maybe you can help us think of a better name. You’re so good at things like that.”
Paralyzed by guilt, Sam choked down saliva. In moments such as these, he conjured up the most painful memories: the glazed indifference in her stare as she confessed she’d slept with someone else; the stench of old booze on her clothes the morning after he’d picked her up from the drunk tank; the innumerable nights she’d passed out cold and he’d lain awake to make sure she didn’t aspirate.
Today, with clear eyes and nimble fingers, she proved her sobriety to him once again. He wanted to believe she could do it. She kept showing him and everyone else just how dedicated she was, testifying over and over again that she’d be a great mom to Jay if she could just have the chance. That’s what this was all about. But something about Syd and Liv in the same room created a pressure on his chest that he couldn’t shake.
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