by Jillian Neal
She grinned up at him and brushed a tender kiss along his stubble. His heart beat disjointedly in that moment. “Thank you for everything today, and for most of my life really. Thank you for being you and letting me be me. I don’t think anyone else has ever done that for me.”
“I like you being you. Never change,” he allowed as he continued to inhale pizza with rapidity. When both his cock and his stomach were sated, exhaustion set in. He dispensed with everything but the boxers he’d put on and settled in the bed with her. Something about the distant roll of the Atlantic that he could just barely make out over the soft voices on the TV, the gentle sea breeze whispering through the pines outside the apartment, and the perfume that was entirely Hope, put him at ease. His mind allowed him to speak without much thought.
“I’m so damn afraid of losing you, and you’re not even mine to lose,” he confessed in a strangled choke.
She sat up and stared at him. Fear haunted her eyes in the moonlight. “I could be. I … want to be.”
With a pained half-grin, he brushed a stray strand of damp blonde hair behind her right ear. “Nah, you don’t, darlin’. Let’s just enjoy this while it lasts.”
“Why? Why do you think that? It doesn’t make any sense. I … love you. And I think I love you more than in a best friend kind of way.”
His jaw tried to dam back the words, but it was a futile attempt. “Yeah, I love you that way too, Hope. But nothing lasts forever. You deserve someone much better than me.”
“That isn’t true,” she huffed, but allowed him to guide her back to his chest.
“You don’t know everything, Hope. Let’s just get some sleep, okay?”
She wanted to argue. He could tell. He could read her better than he’d ever be able to make out black ink on white paper, but she wasn’t going to. She was afraid of what might come of an argument. Her mind was churning. He sensed that as well. He’d deal with whatever she’d come up with in the morning. Right now, he wanted her to rest safely in his arms. He certainly couldn’t have that for a lifetime, so tonight for the first time since he’d left the ranch so many years ago, he wanted to make a memory that he would always refuse to forget.
Thirteen
Wednesday morning, Hope went on with her fate. She’d hung out at the bookstore the day before, attempting to offer the crew some kind of help as they quickly unloaded her store and took the furniture to a nearby storage facility.
When Brock had started directing the crew on stripping the roof off, she’d fallen even more in love with him. His entire crew deeply respected him and his expertise. That thought whipped itself into the storm already ravaging her mind. So, she loved him. He was completely amazing. He’d basically said that he loved her too. They’d been best friends for years. He was perfect. This was perfect. Heck, she’d even packed his lunch the last two days for him. He’d made her dinner. They were already acting practically married. A mischievous grin formed on her features just then as she thought of all the other ways that they were acting like a married couple.
What she and Brock had wasn’t something you found every day. It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. Yet, he continued to insist that they couldn’t have forever. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Ugh. “Not sure about that just for a little while part, but you’ll both come around eventually. Men are so stubborn.” Hope gasped as the memory forced its way through the storm in her head and her heart. Molly. Was this what she was talking about? Would he eventually stop being stubborn? Were all men like this? Maybe she just needed to be patient. She’d waited most of her life to get to where they were now. What was a little while longer? Somewhat mollified, she sighed as she pulled into the Pender County public library’s parking lot. “Well, here goes.”
A deep breath of book infused air mixed in with a hint of dust as it filled her lungs. It soothed her enough to continue her trek towards the circulation desk. She loved every single thing about working at the library. Every single thing except … Mrs. Meecham. She turned her sharp hawk-like eyes on Hope and pursed her thin lips into a perfected scowl. The expensive scarf fixed perfectly around her neck did nothing to ease the harsh features of her face.
“I wondered when you’d be back pawing at the door for winter work. You’re lucky we’re so busy. Find your name tag in the workroom, and restock those books.” She directed Hope to a cart full of books that belonged all over the library. Sighing, Hope thanked her and leapt into work. It wasn’t as if she had a choice. Running the store part time and working at the library the rest of the week was the only way she survived the off-season. Truthfully, she did love working at the library. When Ms. Meecham wasn’t there, it was great.
*******
“Brock!” Cooper Rawlins, Brock’s right hand man, elbowed him. “Earbuds is fucking up again. I swear he’s gonna get somebody killed.”
Rolling his eyes, Brock eased upright and made his way over to Paul. The kid was barely legal to work. Ryan had turned down his application repeatedly, but his father had pitched a fit. Trying to avoid some kind of ridiculous issue, Ryan had given in and hired the kid on the understanding that if he failed to do as he was told or show up to work that he would be let go immediately. Brock had taken up for the kid. When he’d needed a job, someone had believed in him. He was trying to return the favor, but so far that idea had done nothing but bite him in the ass.
“Paul!” Brock shouted as he jerked the earbuds that he was beginning to think were permanently affixed to Paul’s lobes from his ears. “I told you to lay the starter shingles along the eaves, and no earphones up here. We need to be able to hear each other. That’s how we work, and how we keep anyone from getting hurt. You got that? Now, lay the damn starter-shingles along the eaves, like I told you. And for Christ’s sake, secure that ladder!” Brock’s eyes landed on a nearby ladder that Paul had set up but failed to tie off. Coop was right. He was going to get someone killed.
“You said to lay shingles. That’s what I’m doing.”
Brock’s molars ached from the fierce clench of his jaw. Fury flared his eyes. “Yeah, you’re laying regular shingles like an idiot. Since Ms. Hendrix is paying us to put on a roof that won’t leak we need starter shingles down there.” He pointed to the eaves. “I’m not telling you again to stop fucking around and get the job done.”
“You’re just pissed you screwed up that order Monday. Stop taking out your bad mood on us. I lost a day of work because of you. How stupid can you possibly be? Who can’t order shingles?” The salty air that had settled on the roof in the noonday heat took on a stagnant feel. It ceased to move. Brock narrowed his eyes hatefully and sensed Cooper and Matt move closer, all eyes glaring at Paul.
“Shut the fuck up, mama’s boy,” Cooper snarled. “Brock’s the reason we all have jobs. No one else would’a given you a chance. You outta get down on your knees and kiss his boots. Ryan wanted to fire you last week. He talked him out of it. And if you don’t shut it, I’ll shove my own boot up so far up your ass you’ll taste leather, you got that?”
“Whatever,” Paul backed down quickly. He returned the earbuds to his ears, but did head further down the roof to install the starter shingles.
By six-thirty, Hope rubbed her hands over her lower back. She’d been pushing that cart all day long. She’d gotten a brief reprieve at four when Ms. Meecham had taken her break and allowed Hope to run the circulation desk. For that brief hour, she’d loved helping customers find books they were interested in and had listened to several kindergarten students sounding out phonics with their daycare worker who’d brought them over from the nearby afterschool program.
When Ms. Meecham had returned, she’d been relegated back to the cart. A half smile formed on her features and pinked her cheeks when she thought about asking Brock for another one of those massages she’d received after their day of horseback riding. Her thoughts flitted from the calming ease she’d eventually felt when riding Izzy to the all-consuming heaven she experienced when she was in the sanctuary of B
rock’s arms.
She checked the clock on her phone. Forty-five minutes ‘til closing. No time like the present. With a deep breath of dusty fortitude, she slunk back to the desk. “Thank you so much for letting me work again this winter, Ms. Meecham. Would the same schedule I kept last year be all right again?”
“All day Tuesdays, one ‘til seven Wednesday through Friday. All day Saturday, noon to five Sunday, off Mondays. Was that correct?”
Do not roll your eyes, Hope. Don’t do it. “Yes, ma’am. That’s right.”
“All so you can run your little bookstore, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hope withered.
The terse pout that said she was going to be unnecessarily difficult returned to Ms. Meecham’s features. “I suppose that will be fine, but do not ask for exceptions, Ms. Hendrix. Remember, I am doing you a favor with this.”
“Yes, ma’am. I know, but I can’t work this upcoming weekend. I just can’t. I have … uh … plans that have already been … planned.” Hope grimaced over her lack of explanation or mastery of the English language.
With an overly dramatic sigh, Ms. Meecham shook her head. “You young people will truly ask for the world to be handed to you on a silver platter, won’t you? I leave Princess Peaches-Buttercup alone all week. She needs my attention on the weekends. If you cannot commit to the schedule, you’ll need to find winter employment elsewhere.”
Princess Peaches-Buttercup was Mrs. Meecham’s long-haired poodle. Truthfully, the dog itself was fine; it was Mrs. Meecham’s obsession with it that was the issue. The dog probably loved the playtime outside without Ms. Meecham’s constantly trying to put it in sweaters, comb its hair, and affix bows and bells on its collar constantly.
“But, this is a really important trip.”
“No, Ms. Hendrix.” She spun fitfully and stomped back to the office area.
Tears pricked Hope’s eyes, but she couldn’t afford her rent without this job, so camping was off the table. Brock would be so disappointed. That stung more than not getting to go herself.
“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Suddenly, Ms. Meecham bound out of the office and stormed towards a little boy who’d climbed up on the bottom shelf to reach a book on an upper one.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. John Robert loves Roscoe Riley books. I’d just turned my head for a moment to check the baby.”
“It’s totally fine.” Hope marched over, glaring at Ms. Meecham. “No harm done. I love Roscoe Riley, too. He’s so funny. Here you go.” Hope lifted the books off of the shelf and handed a few to the little boy. He beamed at her, and then to her delight threw his arms around her legs in an exuberant hug.
“Thanks, lady. I haven’t read this one yet!”
Hope laughed and returned his embrace.
“Kindly keep your children off of the shelves,” Ms. Meecham huffed before returning to the desk.
“I really am sorry.” The boy’s mother looked exhausted. Hope noted a toddler in a nearby stroller with an infant in back. One was asleep. The other was not.
“It’s fine. Don’t mind her. She’s always like that.” Hope sighed just as John Robert tugged on the leg of her pants. She knelt down again.
“My friend Vincent says that Ms. Meecham is a vampire and that she controls the dragon that lives in the basement of the library that eats you if you color in library books.”
Choking back hysterical laughter, Hope pressed her lips together with a nod. “There is definitely not a library dragon, but you still shouldn’t color in library books. But that part about Ms. Meecham …” She shrugged and gave John Robert a playful wink. He dissolved in a fit of laughter.
As far as Hope was concerned, the old bat was a vampire; she sucked the joy out of most everything, including the library, which had always been one of Hope’s favorite places to be growing up. She took a moment to recall when Mrs. Teller was the head librarian. Always so kind and willing to help most anyone do most anything involving a book. She introduced Hope to Austen, Montgomery, and Fitzgerald. Hope sought Mrs. Teller’s opinion on most everything. She’d even helped Hope with her papers when she took advanced English courses in college. But Mrs. Teller had gotten her own happy ending when her husband had sold their beachfront home for quite a profit and had moved them to Hawaii. Ms. Meecham had been hired by the county the following month. It was no surprise that Ms. Meecham and Aunt Cora played bridge together often.
At 7:15, Hope dejectedly pulled her stupid car under the stupid carport of her home. A grin replaced the frown that had affixed itself to her face ever since Ms. Meecham had turned her time off request down. Brock’s truck was parked in the driveway.
She pushed open her front door and inhaled deeply. A savory smell came from the kitchen, and Brock appeared in all of his studliness. His sexy smirk was on his face. His chiseled biceps bulged out from under the white t-shirt he was wearing. His customary Wranglers sat low on his hips and pulled at the ample muscle in his thighs.
“Hi honey, I’m home.” Hope laughed.
“Good. I made Runzas, and I’m starving.”
“Is that what smells so good?”
“Yup. Come on, sugar, let’s eat and then you can tell me what’s wrong.”
“How did you know something was wrong?”
“I can tell, Hope. Always. Even before we were dating. Your eyes always give you away and you bite this little spot right here on your bottom lip.” He brushed a precise kiss in the center of her bottom lip.
“Yours do that too, you know. Your eyes, I mean.” She washed her hands at the sink while he removed the baked sandwiches from the oven.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes. They’re normally a mix of green and brown when you’re happy, but they turn much darker when you’re upset.”
“Okay. I’ll take your word for it. Sit down,” he commanded as he set a tray of sandwiches on her kitchen table.
Hope bit into the odd sandwich and her eyes goggled as the warm mixture melted in her mouth in a myriad of delectable flavors. “What’s in here? It’s delicious.”
Beaming, Brock nodded his agreement and wiped his mouth. “It’s a mix of ground beef with this seasoning my mom makes for me, cabbage, and onion. Then you wrap it all up in this dough and cook it. Everything in Nebraska is amazing, but these are my favorite, and you can only get them there. There’s this restaurant in Lincoln that makes cheeseburger Runzas with onion rings. They’re the best.”
Hope grinned at his exuberance. She wanted to ask him again why he never went back to visit, but steered clear of that subject.
“So, I can’t go camping with you this weekend because Ms. Meecham won’t let me off, but you can still go. It’s fine. I don’t want you to miss out because of me.” She shrugged and told the gnawing sensation in her stomach that wanted to beg him to stay with her that she shouldn’t be selfish.
“I don’t want to go without you, and who gives a fuck what that old bitty said? We’ll stay here. Camp on the beach.”
“Really?”
“There will always be people that want to direct your life for you, sugar. You can’t let them. Hey, I know, when you get off Saturday afternoon, we’ll go back up to the winery, have dinner, and then we’ll stay up there. You don’t have to go far to find some pretty cool stuff, and I’ll have you back in time for your Sunday shift.”
Elated, Hope beamed at him. “Okay, if you’re sure? That sounds great.”
“I’m sure, and we made good headway today. The store roof should be finished by Saturday. We can go out and celebrate.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, and the weather’s supposed to be perfect this week. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I guess I’ll re-open Monday then.” She tried to sound enthusiastic, but knew she’d missed the mark. Brock’s brow furrowed as he cleared away the plates, grabbed another beer out of the refrigerator, took her hand, and guided her to the sofa.
“What’s that all about? You love your store.”
“I do love my store. Well, I love books, and I love seeing people’s faces light up when they get a new book. The business part of it is just so hard. I think I originally bought the store so I wouldn’t have to venture out and try to get a job somewhere else. It was safer to do things my way. I mean, I’m not likely to fire myself, but another long winter with Ms. Meecham and Ramen Noodles twice a day because that’s all I can afford isn’t sounding too appealing right now. I sometimes worry that I let my stupid fears run the show again with the store, and that I made another mistake.”
Brock wrapped his right arm around her shoulder. “Would you please let me help you through the winters? I’ve offered every year for the last decade. It’s okay to ask for help when you need it, you know? I have a lot in savings, not to mention that Ryan pays me even more once the weather turns.”
“I know, and thank you. But I’ll be okay. I have the library.” He started to object. She held up her hands in surrender. “But I will gladly let you help me occasionally.”
A gruff sigh was his only response.
Fourteen
Saturday morning, Brock’s body gave a hungry shudder of delight. He grunted out his pleasure as his eyes sprang open. “What’cha doing there, darlin’?”
Hope grinned up at him with her head positioned at his hips. “This.” Her tongue made another hesitant exploration up his shaft and then around the head of his now fully erect cock. “It was hard, and you keep putting off teaching me, so last night I re-read my favorite oral scene from one of Arley Copeland’s books. I’m going to do it myself.”
His chuckle readily blended into a ragged moan as she softly kissed his sac. “I wasn’t putting you off. Trust me. And I was hard because I was probably dreaming about you doing this.” Her warm breath whispered over his painfully swollen cock. He gripped the sheets to keep from wrapping her hair up in his fist and begging her to take more. His hips lifted in a hungry thrust. She moaned against him, and he was certain he was going to lose his mind.