Love in Due Time

by Smartypants Romance

  What am I doing here with him?

  I don’t go out much. I don’t have many friends. I work at the library. I come to the Nut House on Wednesdays with my sister. Otherwise, I’m a homebody and I don’t know how to converse with an extremely attractive man unless he wants to talk about books. Thankfully, Nathan breaks the silence.

  “How old are you?” His question surprises me.

  “I’m thirty-nine. Why?” I want to remind him I was twenty-one when we met and it’s been eighteen years, so do the math, but I don’t. I watch as his eyes travel over my hair, untamed and static-y in the dry heat of the doughnut shop. I answer him before he speaks. “It’s the hair. I went prematurely gray.”

  “It’s the clothes,” he adamantly states as if it isn’t hurtful to put down my attire. “And the attitude. It’s like a shield around you. You’re different now.” He pauses, roaming over my face, which I’m certain expresses my shock. “What happened to you?”

  My mouth falls open and then slowly closes. “I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

  “Really? I don’t believe it.” In many ways, he’s right, but I won’t justify myself to him. To the man who didn’t call when he said he would. To the man who disappeared, never to be seen again.

  My arms cross and I glare at him across the table. He isn’t the same either, but then I note his broader body and the twinkle in his wise eyes. His silvery hair giving away the years. He’s exactly the same in some respects. Hot. Smoldering. Tempting. And the way he’s looking at me …

  Deny. Deny.

  It’s suddenly warm again. Is this another hot flash? Maybe it’s the tea, but I haven’t drunk any yet.

  Then I remember that he borrowed books for a daughter. Is he married?

  I sit up. “I don’t think we should be here.” I shift right to look over my shoulder and then left to peer out the dark window again.

  “Why not?”

  “What if your wife sees us?”

  “That would be tricky, seeing as I don’t have one.”

  I blink at him. “But you have a daughter.”

  “Two actually. But no wives. No exes either, just to clear that up.” He watches me. “What about you? Got a husband I need to worry about? How about a boyfriend?” It’s almost as if his questions tease me.

  “No,” I choke. I’m not sure I understand his meaning. No exes. Has he never been married?

  “Is there a problem then? That I have the girls?”

  “No,” I reply a little too eagerly, my voice lilting. “Why would it be a problem?”

  Leaning on his elbows again, Nathan draws closer to me. “Because I’m finding I’d like to see you again.”

  My face heats and I’m literally fanning myself.

  It’s hot in here, right? Maybe it’s the doughnut machines causing all the heat.

  “Oh.” It’s astonishing I consider myself an intellectual with my lack of vernacular recall around this man.

  “That’s all you have to say?” He chuckles, leaning back and reaching for his coffee. He lifts the mug, slips his lips over the rim and sips. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so interested in the process of someone drinking. But I’m interested, so interested. I watch the roll of his throat as he swallows, and my tongue licks behind my teeth. I want to nibble his neck. Observing his lips curl over the edge of the mug for a second sip, I remember those lips sucking at my skin. Tugging at a nipple. Giving me kisses. I shiver.

  He gazes at me over the rim of his mug, and I realize I’ve taken too long to answer him.

  “Yes.” Again, stellar verbal skills.

  “Yes, to seeing me again, or yes, to all you have to say?”

  “Aren’t we seeing each other now?” I don’t know why I respond with another question or with such snark. I’m nervous. It feels like a date when it shouldn’t feel like a date because it isn’t a date. It’s just two people drinking hot beverages in the same place, at the same time, at the same table. My face heats further. Because it’s bloody hot in here.

  I don’t wait for him to answer and ask another question boring a hole in me. “Where have you been?” These eighteen years lingers unspoken. I have so many questions, but I’m afraid of the answers.

  “Go out with me and I’ll tell you everything,” he says, a hint of a lie in those words. He holds a secret, and I sense it when his eyes avoid mine. Instead, he focuses on my tea.

  Aren’t we out right now? I think but don’t say. This isn’t a date.

  “What’s in that? It smells like grass.” His nose wrinkles in a way that’s too cute for an edgy man as he tips his chin toward my tea.

  “Chamomile. Soothes the nerves. It will also help me sleep tonight.”

  “Do you not sleep?” His eyes shoot up to look at me.

  “Sometimes.” I am not about to explain how my lack of sleep lately stems from seeing him, which has brought back a ton of guilt, a wave of nightmares, and unexplained desire. Why am I drawn to him? It’s only been me for all these years, so I can’t explain why I’m reacting so strongly to Nathan. However, Nathan makes for good fantasy, as my inner goddess is a little underwhelmed with my self-soothing practices lately. The fantasy doesn’t compare to the reality in my memory, and I get caught up in the recall of his fingers on me. In me. Doing things to me.

  He leans forward again. The corner of his lips curl and the hint of a dimple teases me. “I know some other remedies to help you sleep at night.” His low, seductive timbre washes over my skin, and I hear my inner goddess yelp, Yes, please. She wants to indulge.

  Deny. Deny. My subconscious weakly warns, losing enthusiasm.

  A singular headlight beams across the restaurant front, startling us both, and a motorcycle parks in the lot. A man hastily hops from the bike and storms for the door.

  “Shit,” Nathan mutters. The door hinges open with too much force and slams back in place behind the customer. A lean, lanky man in his mid-thirties stands just inside the entrance. I can make out his outline from the reflection in the window behind Nathan. I also note the absence of the deputy sheriffs, Jackson and Wyatt.

  “You touch my kid?” he growls at Nathan, strutting toward our table. A stiff finger points in our direction.

  “Now, Dwight, calm down,” Nathan commands, shuffling out of the booth and holding up both hands to the irate father. The name raises the hairs on the back of my neck, and I realize I wasn’t paying attention when Nathan mentioned it at the gas station.

  “You don’t put your hands on my son, Nathan.” If a bull could be personified, this man would be it. His nostrils flare. His cheeks flame red. Smoke might whistle out each ear any second.

  “He was disrespectful and rude. Insulting of his elders.” Ouch.

  “What did he do?” Dwight snaps without losing steam.

  “He called her a witch, mocking her literally behind her back.” Nathan’s hand sweeps toward me and Dwight turns. His breath hitches. He recognizes me. And I recognize him.

  “You,” he murmurs so low I’m hoping Nathan doesn’t hear him. The shock on Nathan’s face tells me he didn’t miss it.

  “What does that mean?” The sharpness of Nathan’s tone forces Dwight to turn back to him. Dwight’s shoulders lower as he shakes his head.

  “My son’s just calling it like it is.” The image of his son in the Stop-and-Pump comes to mind and the familiarity falls into place. The spiky dark hair. The lanky build. The defiant smirk on his face. His child is the spitting image of him at that age.

  I’m working the corner of my lip, nearly chewing off the delicate skin. I need to get out of here. But Nathan steps closer to Dwight, closing off my exit from the booth and squaring off with him.

  “And what the hell does that mean?”

  “If the broom fits—”

  Scooting to the end of the seat, I interrupt the remainder of Dwight’s comments. I slip out of the booth and stand. I don’t need this kind of attention, and with Nathan inching ever closer to Dwight, I’m worried they’ll fi
ght right here in the Nut House. I don’t want any trouble for Daisy.

  Dwight takes a huge step to the side, widening the space between us, as if my nearness might singe him, only that’s not how he behaved when he was seventeen—not him nor his friends. The trembling returns, and this time it has a reason.

  Nathan steps to my side, his arm sliding around my back and a hand lands on my hip. Dwight’s eyes open wide, wheels of surprise.

  “What’s this?” he hisses as his lids lower to slits.

  “I’m watching you,” Nathan warns in response.

  “You making a statement?” Dwight counters.

  “And if I am?” There’s a threat in Nathan’s tone, and I don’t understand what I’m witnessing. The two men eye one another for a long minute before Nathan gently prods me to turn, ushering me forward to the door, with his arm securely around my waist. Once outside, we stand beside my car, as we wait for Dwight to exit. Nathan’s in bull mode as well, breathing heavily as he holds me in place—a hand at my hip, the other on the roof of my convertible caging me in.

  “What was all that about?” he demands, his temper rising, but not directed at me as he watches Dwight order a doughnut, exit the diner, and stalk to his bike. He takes two quick bites of his sugary treat before he peels out of the parking lot.

  “Let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  Nathan’s eyes search my face, the irises nearly eclipsing all the aluminum color in them. Two hands cup my face, fingers delving back into my hair. He leans forward and my mouth waters. I roll my lips inward and then back. I haven’t been kissed in eighteen years. I won’t know what to do if he kisses me.

  It’s like what they say about riding a bike, I tell myself. Only I always wonder who “they” are, and I haven’t ridden a bike in a long while either.

  It’s silly to think he’d kiss me. I mean, why would Nathan Ryder kiss me after all these years?

  My heart races. My thighs separate as his knee gently nudges between them. A pulse at my core thunders to life like someone opened a gate at the racetrack—sprinting and galloping forward hoping for a finish line.

  Sweet Goddess.

  His fingers dip deeper, fisting into the tresses by my ear, and then …

  “Ow.” One of his rings is stuck in my hair. He pulls forward, and the strands yank in response “Oh.”

  “It seems I’m stuck on you.”

  Our eyes meet, and we both chuckle. I’d shake my head, but I can’t move. Wild curls tangle in the metal accessory. He frees one hand to work at removing the twist of the other. When it doesn’t work, he slips his finger from the offending ring instead and then unravels my locks from the band.

  “We seem to have a history of jewelry malfunction,” I tease. His eyes leap to mine. The playful gleam of light silver returning. His fingers cup the edge of my chin and he steps forward, closing any space between us.

  “I think we have other history, and there was no malfunction in that.” Then, he kisses me.

  Chapter Six

  Dewey Decimal Classification: 160 Logic

  [Nathan]

  My mouth crashes into hers, desperate for a taste. There’s just something about her and the way she looks at me. I want to remember her, remind myself of her flavor, how she feels under me, what it feels like to connect.

  Lick me, those eyes say.

  But she isn’t licking me.

  In fact, her lips aren’t moving at all. No response comes from the initial connection of mouth to mouth, nor the softening sucks I offer after the hard contact. She remains frozen as if I’ve startled her, as if she’s never been kissed.

  Maybe she doesn’t want to be kissed by you, idiot. Shit.

  I pull back abruptly and stare down at her. Her eyes remain pinched shut, her lips rolling inward again.

  “I was bad at that, wasn’t I?” she says, and I fight the urge to bust out in laughter.

  Instead, I huff. “It normally goes a little better,” I mutter, scratching under my chin with my knuckles. I’ve really messed this up—misinterpreted her signals—and I take a step back to give her some distance. I’ll take her resistance as a big negative to seeing each other again.

  Her eyes widen at the inches I put between us. Then, her shoulders sink. Her head lowers and her fingers fiddle with the crystal near her breasts. Her body language says she’s a little disappointed, but I’m feeling a lot rejected. I’m so fucking confused.

  “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “It’s okay,” I say, cutting her off. She doesn’t need to explain herself, and I don’t think I want to hear her reasons anyway. “I’ll just follow you home to make sure you’re safe, if that’s okay. I don’t trust Dwight.”

  Dwight Henderson works with me. He talks big but basically, he’s an asshole. He used to be some bigshot Green Valley football star back in his day, but when he got his girlfriend pregnant, he lost his scholarship. Seems Notre Dame didn’t want to take a boy who got a girl in the family way out of wedlock. At seventeen, he had a kid—Junior, the name finally comes back to me. Dwight’s a thorn in my side on a good day. A full-blown pricker bush on a bad one. He’s lazy, inconsistent, and a bit dangerous, and I’ve heard rumors he’s trying to patch in with the Iron Wraiths. Seeing his reaction to Naomi has me wondering if something happened between them.

  And I realize I don’t want to follow her home. I want to understand what just occurred here.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she says, keeping her head lowered, her eyes avoiding mine. She dismissively waves away my suggestion and then tucks her hair behind her ear. Her eyes shift up to my lips and then drift to the side.

  What’s going on here? I don’t want to press her, question why she didn’t kiss me back, but I’d like an answer. Then again, her body language tells me not to ask. I exhale heavily in frustration.

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll just see ya around then.” I don’t want to walk away. I don’t like how this is going down. I want her to say something. Explain her reaction. Explain what happened.

  What did I do wrong?

  “Yep,” she sharply replies. Her face lifts and a mask makes her expression unreadable. Was she even remotely affected by our lips connecting? “Next time you need a vagina …” Her eyes pop up to mine, horror filling them. Mine might actually mirror the surprise in hers.

  “I mean a book about vaginas.” She coughs, covering her mouth with a fist. “I mean—”

  “I think I know what you mean,” I say, sparing her by holding up a hand. I also know it means she won’t be wanting my penis.

  Reaching around her for the door handle, she steps to the side and I get a whiff of her scent—herbal and sharp and addicting. I open the door and wait for her to settle into the seat. Instead, she steps forward. Both hands raise, and my breath hitches with anticipation.

  “Nathan, I …” She pauses before swallowing back whatever she wanted to say and lowers her hands without touching me.

  I nod, pursing my lips. “I misread the situation. I apologize.”

  “No, Nathan, that’s not it …” Her voice trails off again. It’s not you, Nathan. It’s me. I’ve heard it before and decide to let her off the hook again.

  “I get it. It’s okay.” There are a number of reasons why she shouldn’t be with me anyway. Although I’m certain she doesn’t know anything about what happened to me after I left her. Guilt. Exile. Loneliness.

  It was a long time ago and I’ve paid my penance.

  “Nathan, you’re not letting me explain.” Her tone turns sharp, frustrated. Her hands fall to the open car door and I stare at her. Her eyes are so unusual, sparkling brightly despite the dim light. She looks exotic and I want to unveil her. I got lost in those eyes one night. One night which changed everything for me.

  “Explain,” I tease, lacking humor. I brace myself for excuses.

  “I don’t know how to explain myself. I just … I don’t kiss strangers.” She swallows and something tells me it isn�
�t the truth. Not that she does kiss strangers, but she isn’t telling me her real reason for not kissing me back.

  I want to point out we aren’t exactly strangers. We have carnal knowledge of each other, but then again, that was a long time ago. Instead, I decide to let her go. I don’t need her excuses.

  “Don’t worry about it. Be careful driving home.” It’s a hint to get in the car and end my misery. While she hesitates another second, she finally acquiesces and lowers for the seat.

  I close her door and step back as she starts up the engine. Waiting until she pulls to the highway, I hop on my bike and fire it up with one aggravated kick.

  I’m an idiot. I moved in too quick. What was I doing here anyway? Charlese is waiting for me and now I’m over an hour late, but I find myself following the taillights of her little bug of a car. I don’t care what Naomi said about seeing her safely home. I trail her as best I can without drawing suspicion, because I don’t trust Dwight. Plus, I need the time to clear my head, and then I do the most unexpected thing. I go home on a Friday night without visiting Charlese.

  Chapter Seven

  Dewey Decimal Classification: 306.8754 Sisters

  [Naomi]

  I didn’t kiss him.

  Why didn’t I kiss him?

  This question plagues me, preventing me from sleep as I lay in my bed, staring up at the dark ceiling.

  I froze up.

  Although that isn’t really true as every part of me tingled like when you turn the gas on the stove and hear the tick-tick-tick before the flame ignites. I was seconds away from bursting forth—all orange and blue and bright—crackling to life when he pulled back. It all happened so fast.

  His lips crashed onto mine. Then they softened. Then he stopped.

  And I’m a fool.

  I don’t kiss strangers.

  Really? Really, Naomi, that’s your excuse? He was a stranger when I met him and gave myself to him. Obviously, I’m not fast on my feet for thoughts, but the truth is my greater fear is opening myself up to him.