Samhain dances differ from Beltane as it’s a private affair. Open to my interpretation, tonight I dance to remember my brother, offer gratitude for the past year, and open my mind and heart to a new year. Traditionally, I’d call forth my brother. Not that he’ll appear to me, but I’d reach out to him in mind and spirit. Tonight, I hope to let him rest. I hope he accepts my apology for the eighteenth year and one-hundredth time, and then set us both free.
I stand and pace around the firepit. I’m no longer a dancer, but I follow a simple set of steps, relaxing my body and attempting to free my mind. I also need to forgive. Forgive myself. Forgive my brother. He drank. He drove. Those were his decisions. Finally, I need to forgive Nathan for his part. I want to blame him for not reacting instantly to my brother’s crash, but I’m doing what I strive not to do—project action. I have no idea how I would have reacted in a situation similar to Nathan’s, and it isn’t fair to judge him for his response. It isn’t fair to hold against him decisions made so long ago.
From my sister Beverly I’ve learned bitterness hurts and takes so much energy to maintain. So much negativity. It’s easier to let it go. It’s harder to allow the hatred or guilt or shame to fester. And I’m tired. I’ve strived to be the person I want to be, but something has always held me back from fully embracing myself.
As I increase my pace, twisting and turning sensually with arms lifting and lowering, I release myself to the night. Let the inner goddess remain. The independent woman who knows her mind and body and spirit. Let the things which clog the growth of those counterparts disperse. Within minutes, I feel lighter. I feel braver to go after what I want. It hits me hard that the first thing that comes to mind is Nathan Ryder. He’s what I want.
I smile as I slow my steps. Taking one and two and three, and then stop. I almost feel giddy with decision, making new choices for myself, and I bow to the fire, which isn’t necessary.
I reach for a bottle of bubbles near the bottle of wine, swirl the wand in the sudsy liquid, and raise the plastic stick to my lips. Blowing gently, I watch the soapy bubbles drift above the fire and abruptly pop. Bubble-blowing is a practice I adopted at Bethany Winston’s funeral years ago, and I continue it each year as I remember those who have gone before me. I’m sending a message to the dead, willing their spirit to flow back to the heavens on this night when the portal of life and death is open.
One bubble. Bethany Winston, your friendship meant everything to me.
A second one. Jebediah Winters, your love and acceptance set me free.
A double bubble for my deceased parents. Mother and Father. I pause and take a large breath. I forgive you for what you said to me.
I’m hopeful spirit fairies will find them all settled in the afterlife. I follow the drift of the double bubble until a floating spark from the fire nears the edge of the suds and pops the conjoined circles. I smile as a tear falls and then I turn back for my seat. I lower to the ground, pulling the bottle of wine to me and pouring a second glass. Looking up through the haze of smoke flowing around the flames, an image forms and for a moment I believe I’m hallucinating. The outline of a man becomes clearer, approaching from the opposite side of the small fire. Our eyes find each other. Silvery orbs stand out against the backdrop of the dark trees. In a leather jacket, deep blue dress shirt, and dark jeans, he stands tall and imposing and delicious looking.
“Nathan.”
Chapter Thirty
Dewey Decimal Classification: 129 Origin and Destiny of Individual Souls
[Nathan]
“Nathan.”
My name whispers over the flames dancing in the small fire contained with a metal ring. The flame illuminates the darkness around us, and a strange sense of calm settles over me as I observe her. Her eyes glow like silver jewelry and remain fixated on mine as I slowly circle the firepit to stand before her.
“You’re drinking,” I say which isn’t really the first thing I want to tell her. I want to tell her she’s beautiful, and I’m so relieved she’s physically okay.
“It’s the one night I let loose,” she replies, charcoal eyes looking up at me. “It’s Samhain.”
“Sam who?”
“Samhain. It’s like Halloween. The original Halloween celebrated by the Celts. It’s the night when the realm between the living and the dead opens and souls run free.”
“And you’re blowing bubbles because?” I knocked on the front door but didn’t receive an answer. Then I smelled the faint scent of a campfire and worried another fire had been set somewhere on her property. Nothing could have prepared me for rounding her house to find her dancing around a flame, blowing bubbles in the air.
“The bubbles are like fairies, carrying the restless spirits back to their resting place.”
I stare down at her, my hands slipping into the pockets of my jeans. I’d like to think she hit her head, but I know she believes in what she’s telling me. I’m trying to understand her, and I know some of what she explains is similar to the original meaning of Halloween, not the trick-or-treat stuff we celebrate in the United States, but more a traditional festivity.
“Tonight’s a night to give gratitude for a hearty harvest and honor the dead. And celebrate a new year beginning. It’s my New Year’s Eve.”
My knees crack as I squat next to her, and absentmindedly rub at the gratitude bracelet she gave me. I need to give gratitude tonight as well. I’m so thankful she’s alive and unharmed.
“So, blowing bubbles and drinking wine is how you honor your brother and ring in a new year? Does he visit you on Sam-ham?”
“It’s pronounced Sam-ween, and now you’re just laughing at me,” she teases, her voice dreamy and rich. Is she drunk? “I’m not talking to the dead, Nathan.”
At her sharp tone, I lift a hand and rub my knuckles over the scruff under my chin. It’s a nervous habit when I don’t know what to say.
“You feeling okay?” I ask. My eyes drift to the wine. She lifts the glass and takes another sip. “You mind?” Without waiting for her response, I remove the glass from her hand and drink. It’s sweet and fruity, not my thing.
“I’ve been better.” She pauses and tilts her head. “Actually, I think I might be at my best.”
“Whatcha mean, sweetheart?” I ask, lowering myself to sit next to her. The flames at my back are making me too warm in my leather jacket and I remove it to place under me. I notice she’s only wearing some thin dress, draped over her raised knees. Are her feet bare? Where are her shoes? It isn’t that warm out here.
“I feel like I’ve been holding something inside me for a long time. Keeping it contained in a jar, but like the pumpkin you gave me, I’ve set the lightning bugs free.” Okay, I definitely think she’s tipsy, but I like what I’m hearing.
“So you liked the pumpkin.”
“It was very sweet.”
“I carved it myself.”
“You did?” She turns to look at me, her eyes glittering from the firelight. “All your gifts were very sweet.” She slowly grins at me, and although it doesn’t reach her eyes, it’s a start. “What are you doing here?” She looks around as if she’s suddenly realizing it’s dark and late and we are in her yard.
“I came to see if you were okay. It’s been a frightening night.” I bend my knees to sit like she is and wrap my arms around them as best I can. My gaze drifts to the flames. “I was frightened.”
“You were,” she states in surprise. I feel her looking at me, so I turn back to catch her eyes.
“I don’t know what they planned to do to you, but anything was too much. I don’t like to think of them manhandling you or tossing you about.” My eyes roam her bent body. “Did they hurt you?” I gaze at her mouth which was raw and red when I removed the duct tape. She lifts a wrist and shows me the pink, raised lines cut into her skin. Reaching for one wrist, I tug her arm toward me by her forearm and kiss the delicate skin, taking a liberty I’m not certain I deserve yet but wanting to offer comfort anyway. “I was afraid I’d
lost you forever this time.”
She tips her body to lean against mine and I wrap an arm around her, noting once again how thin the fabric of her dress is. Heat emits from her skin through the material.
“I’m not going anywhere, Nathan.”
I lean over and kiss her temple, lingering at her hairline. She smells like I remember: honey and almond and delicious.
“You sure you’re okay tonight? I mean … more than what happened next door. This …” I nod off at the fire. “It looked like you were dancing when I walked up.”
“You saw that?” she quietly shrieks, lifting her head from my chest and turning to look up at me. “It’s tradition to dance around the flames. Once upon a time, Celtic communities gathered to celebrate with feasts and drinking.”
“Sounds like foreplay to an orgy.”
She chuckles and I notice her feet shifting under her dress. “Drinking and cavorting.” Her eyes return to me. Are those … have her eyes returned to … lick-me eyes?
“Is this like an Outlander thing?” My ma watches the show and I’ve seen glimpses of it.
“What?” She laughs again and I swear it’s the sweetest sound.
“You know, those dudes in skirts in Scotland,” I say.
“Kilts. And I guess you could compare it to that, sort of.” Her voice remains playful, so she isn’t mad at me for asking and she sees I’m not teasing her. I’m trying to understand.
“So dancing around the fire …” My eyes drift back to the flames and I reach for the bottle near her toes. I take a swig right from it and then lean back to tug my shirt from my pants. I’m wearing a deep blue button-down and dark jeans, trying to clean myself up before I came over here to beg her forgiveness once I saw she was unscathed, or if she was scathed, ask her if I could hold her so she felt safe. Now I have another idea.
I stand up enjoying her eyes on me as I slowly unbutton a few buttons and then tug my shirt, T-shirt and all, over my head to remove it. I tie the arms around my waist and lower a hand for her.
“Pretend it’s a kilt. It’s the best I can do on short notice.” I wiggle my fingers at her.
“Nathan?” she questions, her deep eyes flaming from the fire.
“Dance with me, Naomi.” She doesn’t take my hand at first and I hold my breath as I stare down at her. “Let’s celebrate your brother together.”
Slowly her hand comes to mine and I tug her upward, watching her gracefully rise. Her hair is intricately braided like the night of our date at Genie’s and I want to wrap it around my fist and draw her to me. Then my eyes travel down her attire.
“Sweet Goddess,” I hiss. What in the name of all things holy is she wearing? The material is opaque, and I can see every detail of her through the thin fabric. She’s not wearing a bra and she’s not wearing … Mother Earth, as she says. I swallow hard at the sight of her. Dark nipples peak at the fabric. Her curves are on display as the dress hugs her hips and outlines her breasts. My mind instantly envisions her completely naked and my body wants to lay her under the stars and celebrate her, but I don’t want to cross a line I don’t think I’m allowed to pass. The racing of my heart behind my ribs is almost visible. I want this woman with every part of my being.
She slowly smiles up at me when my eyes finally return to her face. She knows what I’m thinking. She has to know.
“You’re so beautiful.” It almost hurts to look at her in this flimsy dress with the firelight dancing on her. Hurts, in the best way.
“Thank you,” she whispers as the color of her cheeks deepens. I hold up our collective hands and wrap the other around her lower back, drawing her against my bare chest. Her nipples crush against me, hardly contained with the thin material between us. Her breasts rise and fall against me, dragging slowly over my skin. Her hand tentatively comes to my shoulder, wrapping over the muscle, and the heat from her touch singes me. I’m so turned on I forget for a moment what our purpose is in standing here.
“Shall we?” she suggests, and I slowly lead us around the circle. It’s not the dance I witnessed earlier, twisting side to side, arms elegantly raised in some kind of praise, like she was reaching out for something, or someone. No, we have a more traditional dance happening, taking our time to move around the flames in a lazy sway. The crackle of the fire and the lofty mountain breeze is our music, and I concentrate on her lips as my thumb at her back forms soothing circles, absorbing the heat of her against me.
“Is there something I should say? Something I should be thinking?” Because all I’m thinking as we circle the flames is that I want her.
“We should be thinking of my brother.”
“I’m sorry about your brother.” My voice is quiet and the air around us suddenly feels cooler.
“I know you are, Nathan.”
“I want you to forgive me.” I won’t say I caused the accident, but I do harbor guilt over it happening, over witnessing it. Her hand slips from my shoulder, palm flat against my left pec. She must feel my heart racing underneath it.
“I’ve lived with regret for so long, Nathan. My sins from that night. Calling my brother, making him feel he had to come get me when he was clearly in no condition to do it. I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.”
Which means she may never forgive me, either. My shoulders fall, but I pull her a little closer. My lips come to her forehead.
“Why are you here, Nathan?”
“I told you, I wanted to check on you and see that—”
“No.” She stops moving. Her hand hasn’t left my heart. “What are you doing here? You could have called me. It could have waited until tomorrow.” Her deep chrome eyes look up at me, all shiny and silvery and questioning in the firelight.
“I don’t want you to wait anymore for me. I want to be here. Now, in this time, in the present.” I pause a moment, something she said a second ago still bothering me. “I don’t want to forget the past. I’ll never be able to let it go either, but I need to move on. I want you to move on, too. You mentioned sins from that night and regret. Do you regret being with me? Can we not think of your brother for a moment and only think of us?”
Her forehead furrows and her eyes drift down to her hand on my chest. Her fingers splay open across my skin.
“I don’t regret you. Then or now.” I tug her a little tighter in my relief, but then she adds, “But if I hadn’t been with you …”
My arms drop and I step back a little. If she hadn’t been with me … I look over at the fire, my hands slipping back into my jeans, so I don’t drag her to me.
“You know, Nae, we can’t live with what-ifs. What if you hadn’t ever shown up at the bar in the first place. What if I’d never met you. What if I hadn’t returned to Green Valley. Those are questions we will never have answered. We can only live with what we do.” I turn back to her. “Can you accept what happened between us? Between you and me and that night?”
Her breath hitches. She understands I’m talking about us and the physical chemistry we had. “I think about it all the time.”
My hands instantly come to her cheeks and I lower for her lips, drawing her into me. Her hands hesitate as they return to my skin, spreading over my shoulders and around to my neck. She tugs me to her as the kiss deepens, and I release her cheek but not her lips. I slip an arm around her back, pressing her against me again.
“Do you feel this, Naomi?” I say, pulling back but holding my forehead against hers. “Do you feel something happening to us? Now. Here.” She nods against me and my hand slips from her other cheek to the swell over her left breast. Her heart hammers like mine, rapid and wild.
“Here’s a what if, Naomi. What if I fell in love with you? What if I never stopped thinking of you? What if I always wondered what happened to you?” Her breath hitches, and she pulls her forehead back from me. “I’m stuck on you, Naomi, and I think that means I’ve never let you go. I’ve been waiting as well. Waiting to find my way back to you.”
“Nathan,” she moans.
> “Forgive me. Forgive yourself. Let’s move on, Naomi. Together.” This is my plea. A prayer. A spell.
Her lids lower and my shoulders fall with the hesitation. She’s going to walk away and I’m going to let her go this time. I have to if she doesn’t want us. My hand skims up her back, memorizing the curve of her under my touch. The hand on her heart stretches up to her shoulder until both of my hands meet on opposite sides of her, cupping her shoulders. My chest suddenly aches, and I feel like I’m going to be ripped in two. I prepare to step away and leave her to the night.
Then her lips press at my chest, just over my heart. She lingers and my breath hitches forcing my pec to flex under her tender lips. She smiles against me, pebbling my warm skin in an opposite reaction. Goosebumps.
Her eyes lift to mine, and I recognize the look. She tips up on her toes, and kisses me, reminding me of the time in the library when she caught me off guard. Everything she does surprises me, and a new thrill runs through me. The tip of her tongue comes forward, sweeping into my mouth, and I moan as pleasure shoots down my abs and settles below my belt. She giggles as she pulls back. She must have noticed the twitch in my jeans.
“What if … you come inside with me?” she shyly asks, but she’s not going to be shy with me if we cross her threshold. I’m going to show her how I feel and take away all her regrets and remind her how good we were. Together.
“There’s no turning back if I do,” I gently warn her. I’m going to want her again and again.
Her lips slowly curl up and her eyes sparkle.
“What about Samhain?” I want to be respectful of her night and her rituals. I won’t rush us, if we need more time out here.
“I think it’s time I let the spirits rest and awaken my heart.”
Sweet Mother.
She steps back, dragging her hand down my arm until she lands on my wrist. Her fingers toy with the beads of the bracelet she gave me. Then her fingers circle my wrist, and she tugs me forward. I’m under her spell again, and I don’t want her to ever let me go.
Love in Due Time Page 27