“Wow.” She ran her hands across his chest. “You’ve filled out nicely.”
“I can say the same about you.” He cupped her breasts before moving his hands to the back and unhooking her bra.
She crossed her arms in front of her self-consciously. “It looks better on you.”
“Oh, I beg to differ.” He shifted their bodies so she was straddling him and moved her legs behind him. “You can feel my response to you, Jenna. Dressed, naked, dolled up, or wearing your artist smock. I want you morning, noon, and night. And I don’t just mean sexually.”
“We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” She scratched her short nails through his hair.
“If you’re not ready, I understand. I don’t want to push you. It’s only been a few months since we talked again, and days since we—”
“Kissed.” Jenna curled her bottom lip, a nervous gesture he’d seen many times before.
He gathered her hair in one hand and pulled it to her front so it draped over her left breast. Keeping his hands from touching her skin to give her time to be really sure, he stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.
“I’ll wait for you, Jenna. I’ll wait forever for you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
He closed his eyes and forced his hands still in her hair. “Okay.” He sighed in disappointment.
Shimmying closer, higher in his lap, she took his cheeks in her hands. “I can’t stay away from you when you do things like that.”
Opening his eyes, he met her gaze in confusion. “Like what?”
“Touching my hair. Kissing my forehead.” She pressed her naked breasts against his bare chest. “You’re too damn sweet, Tristan. You treat me like that fancy soufflé or plum pudding or whatever. Which sounds disgusting, by the way, but I appreciate the analogy.”
She ran her hands up and down his back, and he did all he could to stay still, to let her finish making her point.
“It’s your innocent touches and kisses that do me in. They make me feel ... special. Loved.”
“I do. I love you, Jenna. I never stopped, and I never will. I want you to believe that.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, and she blinked them away. The smile on her lips told him they weren’t sad tears.
He couldn’t hold back any longer and took her mouth with his. With a hungry passion, he devoured her. Like the cake in a plum pudding, he soaked in her scent, her touch, her moans. Everything that was Jenna.
With fumbling hands, he unbuttoned her jeans and stripped them off her legs before undoing his own. She gasped when he trailed his kisses lower, across her breasts and down her sides.
She covered her lower abdomen with one hand and pulled at his shoulder with her other.
“I’m not the same ... down there.”
They hadn’t made love after the accident. Not after losing Anna. She’d been unconscious, and the doctor’s had no choice but to do an emergency hysterectomy to stop the bleeding. To save her life.
He’d seen her scar when it had staples in it. When it was still red and raw. That was a long time ago. The pain should be gone, but the marking would be there forever as a constant reminder of what they’d lost.
Tristan moved her hand and kissed the scar. “I love you. All of you.”
There were no more words as they continued to explore each other’s bodies. And when they finally joined as one, it was like he was finally home.
Home to stay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“You’re bright and sunshiny this morning,” Honey, dressed in a flowing tie-dye dress and two long gray braids, welcomed Jenna at the door of The Honey Pot.
“I’m excited you want to sell my work at your shop.” Which was true, but wasn’t why she hadn’t stopped smiling for the past few weeks.
Tristan’s work schedule sucked. He even had to cater an event on Thanksgiving. She’d spent the day with Alexis’ family and actually enjoyed playing Barbies with Sophie. Knowing Tristan would be coming home to her in the middle of the night after work made the holiday less lonely, especially after losing Jerry.
With events six or seven days a week, and often two a day on weekends, they grabbed time together here and there, whenever they could. Thankfully her schedule was wide open, so he could visit between events.
He often worked late and apologized for waking her up when he slid into her bed in the middle of the night. She didn’t mind. Not one bit. They slept in most mornings since he didn’t need to be at his kitchen until closer to noon if he didn’t have a luncheon to cater.
Yesterday she hung out with him while he prepped for a wedding dinner. It was nice being together, watching him cook. Her kitchen wasn’t the best place to prepare a meal, which led to him tossing around ideas for a remodel. It was the first thing on her to-do list once she found a job to bring in steady income.
Honey’s boisterous voice cut through her thoughts. “I set up an area by the window for you to put your stuff. I don’t like to put the soap and candles there and have had trouble coming up with a good display.”
Wow. Prime real estate for her pottery. Nice. The bay window was about five feet wide and three feet deep. She could display an entire serving set there. And then some.
“Wonderful. I wasn’t sure how much room there’d be, so I only brought a few items with me today. I can bring in more if you want.”
Plus, she’d sold so many of her pieces at the craft fair and hadn’t had much time to make more. Or, rather, she had chosen to spend her time with Tristan and then rearranging the furniture in the upstairs bedrooms.
“To be honest”—Honey leaned against the wall next to the window—“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be staying open.”
“Are you going to close up for the winter?” Most businesses did in Crystal Cove. She tried to remember if The Honey Pot was one of them.
“I usually shut down in January and February to stay with my sister in Florida. I’ve been thinking of turning into one of those snowbirds. Summers in Maine and winters in Florida. I wouldn’t be able to afford the rent for the shop, though if it’s not open year round.”
“Oh. Well, I appreciate you letting me put my work up on consignment while you’re still open.”
Once she got her website up and running, she’d tour some of the other shops along the coast to see if any would display her work as well.
“Now that Jerry has passed, are you looking for another job or are you a full-time artist?”
Living in a small town it wasn’t uncommon for everyone to know your business. Especially since Honey’s best friend was Priscilla, who seemed to know all the local gossip.
“I’m not currently a full-time anything. I’m sort of ... trying to figure out my future.” And not only with her career.
She and Tristan were back together and planning a future. Marriage hadn’t come up yet, nor had living together, but it was only a matter of time. They’d waited long enough for each other already.
“I need part-time help if you’re interested.”
“Here?”
“My arthritis has been gettin’ to me bad. Standing or sitting all day isn’t helping much. My doctor says I need to be movin’ more. Once the first snow falls, I’ll be movin’ even less. If I could find someone to run The Honey Pot for me while I’m out of town, I could keep the shop open. It doesn’t bring in a lot, but if I can bring in enough to stay afloat, it’ll pay off when summer and fall come around.”
“You’re offering me a job and asking me to run the shop for you? But you don’t even know me. I could be a terrible salesperson.”
“Rubbish. I saw you at the craft fair. You have a way about you. Plus, Jerry was head over heels for you, and Priscilla vouches for your character as well. You’re part of Celeste’s daughter’s book crew too, aren’t you? Hope, Lily, Alexis, Grace, all lovely business owners. I’d say you’d fit in better here than I do.”
“I don’t know about that. From what I’ve heard, you’re
a staple of Crystal Cove.”
“And as sweet as pie too.” Honey patted her hand. “Why don’t you work a few days and let me know what you think? The place could use a young woman’s touch. Maybe you have some artist friends who would like to sell their work on consignment?”
And just like that, she had a new friend and a job. She brought in her boxes of pottery and took her time with the display. She needed a logo and business cards fast.
The one person in town who could help her hadn’t talked to her in weeks. She couldn’t keep ignoring him out of guilt. He said he wanted to remain friends.
Tomorrow morning, after Tristan left for work, she’d call Carter and make her hobby into a career.
“WHERE TO THIS MORNING?” Jenna stretched against Tristan’s naked body, enjoying the heat that radiated from him.
“I have a Veterans luncheon in Bangor.”
“For real?” She propped herself up on an elbow and stared down at him. “My dad’s going to that today.”
“Why don’t you come with me?” He kissed her nose and pulled at her arms, so she lay on top of him.
“Can’t. Working at the shop today. I sold three honey pots yesterday. I really need to chart out some more time in the barn to throw clay.”
“Throw clay, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“How are you making that into a sexual reference?”
“Everything you do is sexy.”
“I highly doubt that.” She folded her hands under her chin and rested them on his chest.
“You make me feel like the king of the world.” Tristan played with her hair and twirled a strand around his finger.
“That’s very Titanic of you.”
“You’re my Rose, you know that, right?” His hazel eyes grew serious. “I’d do anything for you.”
“Let’s not get too carried away, Romeo.”
“Jack.” He winked, kissing her nose. “Actually, scratch that. I really don’t want you calling out another man’s name. Let’s keep it Tristan.”
“How about honey cakes?”
“If that turns you on.”
“Studmuffin.”
“Now you’re mocking me.”
“Loverboy.”
He pinched her sides, and she giggled, rolling off him.
“You can call me whatever the hell you want as long as you keep that smile on your face and that laughter on your lips.” Tristan covered her body with his.
“I’d rather have you on my lips.”
They strolled into the kitchen twenty minutes later, both completely satisfied and with smiles on their faces. She started the coffee and leaned against the counter, watching Tristan make French toast.
“Shouldn’t you be in your kitchen prepping for lunch instead of waiting on me?”
“I like waiting on you.” He leaned over and kissed her shoulder, keeping his eyes trained on the sizzling bread in the frying pan in front of him.
“I’m not going to lie and say I don’t enjoy it, but I hate to be the reason you’re behind at work.”
“I called Michael this morning and asked him to come in a little early to start the marinade for the chicken and shrimp and to start chopping the vegetables. As long as I leave by nine, I’ll be all set.”
“How long does it take you to prep a meal for a hundred people?”
“Depends on the menu.” He flipped two slices of thick bread, revealing a beautiful golden brown toast with the perfect amount of color.
“How do you do that? My French toast always comes out with white swirls from the egg.”
“It’s because you’re too impatient. You need to whisk the eggs and milk longer.”
“Patience is something I save for my work. Not for food.”
“Or the bedroom.” His sly grin tickled her well-loved parts.
“I have patience.”
He snorted and plated the toast. “Have any real syrup or only the fake stuff I saw in the cabinet?”
Ignoring his question and dwelling on his snort, she poked at his chest. “Are you saying I rushed you into ... this?”
“Hell no.” Again, he kissed her nose and nudged her aside to get to the cabinet. “Eight years was freaking hell. Don’t ever put me through that again.”
“So why the snort?”
Tristan turned, a bottle of Aunt Jemima syrup in hand, and smirked. “Ninety-nine percent of the time you’re chill.”
“Chill?” She couldn’t help the quirk in her eyebrow. She didn’t feel chill right now.
“You were amazing with Jerry. You spend countless hours perfecting your craft, molding a mound of clay into an amazing usable piece of pottery. You concentrate so intently when painting you don’t even realize anyone is in the room. But when it comes to sex...”
He trailed his words and shrugged.
“When it comes to sex ... what? You think I rush it?” How completely mortifying. Tristan thought she was a terrible lover. While she didn’t have a great deal of experience, he’d never complained before. Nor had the few men she’d had brief encounters with. “Was there something I didn’t do right?”
Tristan set the syrup on the table and reached for her, holding on to her shoulders. “Fast, slow, somewhere in between. You, my love, are perfect.” This time she was the one who snorted. “Perfect for me. You’d make a terrible partner for anyone else, though.”
Always one to end things on a joke, he squeezed her shoulders and gave her a pat on the butt.
“I can’t say I’m fond of your choice in syrup. If I had time, I’d make a blueberry sauce. Next time.” He carried the plates to the table, and all she could do was watch. What a wonder he was.
They ate quickly, and she didn’t let him help with the dishes, knowing he was already running behind. She waited patiently for him at the door and gave him an extra-long kiss goodbye, not wanting to rush things along with them anymore. At least not when it came to saying goodbye.
After he left, she took a quick shower, dressed in her usual attire of leggings and a long, comfortable shirt, and headed to The Honey Pot.
TRISTAN SHOULD HAVE planned better, but he didn’t regret a single minute with Jenna. It was worth rushing around like a bat out of hell to be with her. Michael was a godsend taking care of the prep work Tristan would have normally done himself.
They were cruising down the highway only five minutes behind his schedule, which would still land them at the VA ten minutes ahead of when he said he’d be there.
A small luncheon he could handle on his own. It was the more extensive dinners with multiple courses that required more hands.
The soup, sandwich, and salad buffet was easy enough to transport and would require little set-up once there. Between him and Michael, they had it all down pat.
“I appreciate you coming in an hour early today.”
“Not a problem,” Michael said from the passenger seat, his cell phone in hand, as it had been the entire drive. That was fine. Tristan wanted to be alone with his thoughts, even though he enjoyed Michael’s company.
They’d met in Portland a few years back when Michael came into Maestro looking for a job. His credentials were stellar, but they hadn’t needed anymore help. Still, Michael had been a regular and had befriended Tristan.
With his busy schedule, he didn’t get out much, but they would talk at the restaurant when there was time. Michael was an eager student, fresh out of culinary school from Johnson and Wales in Rhode Island.
When Tristan decided to open a catering business, Michael was the first person he called. Twenty-four and single, the crazy hours worked just as well for him as they did for Tristan.
Until now. Now he wanted to take days off. To be able to whisk Jenna away on a romantic weekend. That wouldn’t be happening any time soon.
“So this is where you grew up?” Michael asked, putting his phone down.
“Pretty much. Bangor’s a good-sized city for Maine. Nothing like the coastal communities.”
“Your folks part of t
he VA?”
Who knew where or what his dad was. “My, um...” He wasn’t sure how to introduce Jenna to him. He wanted to keep his new relationship private until they’d had time to talk about their future. Their long-term future. “I have a friend whose parents are.”
“Cool.”
He pulled into the lot and drove around back to the kitchen door. He and Michael made fast work of unloading the food, setting the soup on the stove to keep warm, and then lining up the chafing dishes on the designated tables.
He hadn’t lied completely. There were a few men he knew who came in for lunch. His hockey coach, one of his friend’s father, and even a college professor.
“I heard we had a famous chef catering today’s lunch.” Frank Snyder reached his hand across the buffet table, and Tristan shook it.
“Frank. Good to see you again.”
“I was wondering what brought my daughter by unannounced and with a smile as wide as the Atlantic.”
“Jenna’s here?” His heart skipped a beat as if he hadn’t just made love to her a few hours ago, and he glanced about the room.
“Guess I ruined that surprise.” He hardly looked upset about it. “She got stopped by Gary and Nate. They haven’t seen her in ages and nearly tripped over their feet when they saw how grown up she is now.”
A twinge of jealousy stabbed at his heart. He didn’t want Gary or Nate or anyone looking at Jenna the way he did.
Again, he glanced about the room, this time with more intensity, trying to locate his competition. He heard her before he saw her. That loud laugh that rarely escaped her lips. Tristan looked to his left and relaxed—a little—when he saw Jenna’s arm around a whipcord thin man leaning on a walker. The man to her right sat in a wheelchair, his hair thin and balding, resembling Jerry in a way.
“Jenna was their favorite when she was a little girl. The last time they saw her was right before your wedding.”
Since they couldn’t afford a fancy wedding, her parents held a backyard barbecue the night before. Tristan had met many of her family’s friends but hadn’t cared at the time to remember their names. All he wanted was to make Jenna his bride and put his ring on her finger.
Finding Our Way Back (A Well Paired Novel) Page 24