And Fletcher …
While worry still needled my brain every five minutes I thought about my little brother, my heart tugged me in the direction of the kind, spontaneous woman who kept surprising me around every corner. I hadn’t heard from him in a week, and I was trying to be okay with that. I was his brother, not his father.
Like Presley had said … I didn’t have to be everyone’s hero.
And now that I thought about and had spent the past two weeks living my life the exact way I wanted to—tangled up with the girl who didn’t know yet that I was in love with her—I saw just how much my strength and responsibility were taken advantage of.
I wasn’t just a helping hand or the stoic leader … I was their errand boy. The fact that Forrest was complaining about mowing his mother’s lawn for the first time in five years that I hadn’t felt like doing it? It was pathetic. So was the fact that neither he nor Bowen had given me an update about Fletcher … which meant neither of them felt the duty to keep an eye out for him.
Same thing with my practice. Did Nelson really need to bring his cat in at one a.m. on a Thursday because she’d had a little spasm in her sleep and then went right back to snoozing? And couldn’t the wellness visit of a litter of puppies wait until Monday when I’d already gone to Gloria’s house on Saturday—a weekend day I might add—to check that they were all healthy and thriving?
I’d trapped myself in this role of servant instead of the one of volunteer. I’d offered to help so much that my friends and family just expected it of me now … they were abusing my kindness and caring.
And now that I had a woman in my life who was quickly becoming more than all of that … I didn’t want to get out of bed to serve the community who had been using me for a while now.
My hands slide down Presley’s naked ribcage, and she whimpers in delight as the silk of her skin caresses my fingertips.
“Your body … it was made for me to touch.” I breathe, bringing my lips to the curve of her breast.
“You are a total tease.” She chuckles on a moan.
My mouth hovers over her skin, never touching, but the hot air of my breath gets her worked up to the point that she’s arching up to follow my lips.
We’ve been in bed half the morning, what with both of us calling out of work. It was reckless and immature, but I’d never done it and Presley had been daring me to try it for weeks, so here we were.
I have to say, with my hard cock in my hand, poised between my girlfriend’s thighs, it was the best damn decision I’d ever made.
“What, no oral this morning?” Presley pants as I draw the head of my cock up and down her slit.
I press in, the tiniest fraction of an inch, making us both growl for more.
“You don’t need it, you’re already so wet for me,” I grit out, my teeth clamping together as pleasure shoots down my spine.
And without warning, I sheath myself fully into her heat. The move temporarily blinds me, my vision hot white, and when I’m finally able to regain composure, Presley has her tits in her hands, massaging her own nipples.
The sight almost makes me shoot my load right there.
“Fuck.” I pull out slightly and push right back in, the small movement sending dangerous vibrations to my balls.
“I love it when you curse. Something about that dirty word coming out of that good boy mouth …” Presley breaks off when I slam into her, her legs shaking as they tighten around my waist.
I drill her into the bed, my lips latching onto her neck, my intention to leave a mark. This woman of mine, she drives me to insanity. The springs of the mattress creak and her moans fill my ears, spurring me to move even faster.
“Get on your knees.”
I want her from behind so badly; I see red.
Presley rolls over like a cat in heat, a fox who’s being chased but wants to get caught. She positions herself for me, her red locks spilling over her back, and when those green eyes flash at me in challenge, I drive in to the hilt.
Holding her hips in my hands, I fuck her. There is no other word for what we’re doing. It’s hot, sweaty fucking in the middle of the day … and I’m so turned on by how not normal this is for my everyday life that every sense beside those connected to Presley is dulled.
Which is why I don’t hear it at first. Somewhere on the floor, probably under a pile of clothes, my phone starts buzzing. I ignore it as I’m … currently occupied.
“Do you … need to … get that?” Presley gasps, her fingers digging into the bedsheets.
I shake my head, using my teeth to scrape across her spine. She tenses up, letting out a sexy, guttural moan as my right hand reaches around to nudge her right leg out farther, spreading her wider for me.
“No,” I grunt, stroking harder now.
My hips roll every time I’m seated deep, right down to my balls.
Responsibility and worry try to claw their way to the forefront of my brain. Someone is calling me, and my phone won’t stop ringing. My family, Deirdre, a patient … someone is probably in need. But right now … I don’t care.
I’m in bed with a woman who has changed my whole life perspective, and I wouldn’t pick up that phone even if there was a gun to my head. That’s how much I’m willing to sacrifice to be with her.
“I’m going to come,” Presley moan-whispers, and it’s the sweetest sentence I’ve ever heard.
Not the sweetest sound, because that comes a moment later when she’s burying her face in the pillows.
“That’s it, baby, yeahhh …” I coax her, wanting to draw out her orgasm as long as possible.
And when I feel the last of it start to leave her, I let go, jutting up against her perky ass and feeling the come burst out of my tip as her cheeks slap back against my groin.
I lose my breath, flashes of pleasure rolling over me, drowning me. At some point, I collapse onto Presley, our slick bodies one on top of the other.
“So, you happy you cut class now?”
Her mocking voice is granted a rough laugh back.
“Playing hooky is starting to grow on me.” I roll off of her but take her hand and keep it in mine.
She plants a kiss on our joined hands. “I’ve created a monster.”
In more ways than she knows.
27
Presley
“Oh, fudge!”
Grandma’s words follow a crashing sound that comes from the supply room.
I rush around the counter and across the store, into the back.
“I’ll be right back!” I yell to the two customers checking out books in the fiction section.
When I get back there, a dozen boxes have spilled onto the floor and Grandma is kneeling among them.
“Oh my God, are you hurt?” Bending, I check to see if there is any blood or broken bones.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She swats me away. “Just the damn box that was stuck.”
Taking her elbow, I help her up and keep my hold on her just in case she’s shaky. “What were you trying to get?”
“The damn box of packing envelopes,” she replies crankily.
My heart stills. “Grandma, the packing envelopes are on the bottom shelf over there by the duct tape.”
She’s silent for a moment, and I know she either couldn’t read the boxes she’d just knocked down, or she’d forgotten that’s where we always kept those envelopes.
“I know that, don’t tell me something I already know!” Her voice is ornery and aggressive.
But she didn’t know that … or at least she couldn’t see it. And my heart breaks for her at that moment. It was probably terrifying not recognizing the shop you’d worked in for years. It was probably even more aggravating that your brain or body was failing you, and there was nothing you could do about it.
“Okay, why don’t you go up front and check those customers out? I’ll clean this up.” I don’t hug her, not wanting to make her feel more of whatever she feels right now.
I hold my breath unti
l she leaves the stockroom and then release an emotional exhale that threatens tears at the tail end of it. She’s getting worse by the day, and I don’t think there is much time left until we have to make a decision about the store. About her life away from it.
After cleaning up the mess of boxes, I collected myself to face Grandma with a soothing smile. I found her in the empty store, skimming over the books in the historical fiction section.
“Did you know that your grandfather’s favorite writer was Steinbeck, but I can’t stand his books?”
She held a brand new copy of The Pearl in her weathered hands, staring down at the cover.
“Honestly, I was never much of a reader myself. But working here, hearing your stories about the pages Grandpa snuck while he was on the clock, it makes me want to be.”
“You’re a real good kid for coming here and helping your old grandmother out.” She looks up at me, her eyes giving away the lump of emotion that must be sitting in her throat.
“Of course.” I take her hand in mine, mentally preparing to be slapped or something. “Grandma, I think it’s time you made some decisions about retiring. About what’s going to happen to the store.”
But instead of shrugging me off or talking back, she just nods her head.
“I know I do. So let’s make them right now.”
“Me?” I say in surprise.
“None of the rest of our family has bothered to bring their asses home to deal with it, so you get half of the say. For starters, I want to retire. Goddammit, I’m old. My bones ache and my back hurts from standing all day. I’ve already lost my partner, but I think I could still sit in a rocking chair sipping lemonade.”
My heart thuds against my chest. “What is going to happen to the store then?”
“Do you want it?” Her question was point-blank.
This was it. Stay or go. She was asking, and I’d avoided answering it myself for two months.
“I … I’m not sure.” I was sure, but I wasn’t.
This was all too fast. Was my life goal to go into owning a post office slash bookshop? Sure, I didn’t mind working here, but forever? I’d barely come to grips with the fact that I wanted to stay in Fawn Hill, let alone run my family’s shop all on my own.
“Well, maybe someone else can take over this shop.” Grandma looks at me from over her glasses.
I stop stacking certain size envelopes on the shelf behind the counter. “What do you mean? This store has been in our family for decades.”
“And now this old bird can’t hack it anymore and maybe my family needs a new start.” She clucks her tongue at me.
“What are you talking about, Grandma? You want to sell the store?” I’m thoroughly confused.
She sets the book back on the shelf. “You don’t want to run this shop. We both know it. This isn’t about staying in Fawn Hill, because even though you haven’t said the words out loud, we both know you’re staying here. But this shop isn’t for you … and that’s okay. You’ve gotten that fresh start. Look how amazing your yoga classes are going. You’ve been running them for the past two months, and they’re only growing. Hell, you have women from surrounding towns coming out to take a class from you. I think it’s time you put your money where your downward dog is.”
“Grandma!” My laugh is hysterical. “Where did you learn that phrase?”
She shrugs. “I listen to you sometimes when you’re planning your classes.”
“So what are you saying? I should start my own studio?”
The idea strikes a chord so deep in me that it vibrates through my entire body. It felt so … right.
Grandma nods. “And you have your first investor right here. I’m going to put this place on the market tomorrow, how about that for a decision?”
“Grandma … I can’t ask you to do that …” My skin crawls with anxiety.
She places her hand on my cheek and scoops it under my chin, tilting my head so that I’m looking directly into her wise, cloudy eyes.
“All your life, you’ve taken a back seat to other people’s successes. Somewhere along the way, someone told you that you weren’t good enough, and you believed it. In my time of need, you uprooted your whole life to come help me. And you’ve done it without complaint, you’ve not pushed me or taken advantage. Your nature is sweet and your spine is steel, and I know that I’m backing a truly good horse when I say I want to invest in you. I want to invest in making your dreams finally come true. No more taking the back seat, kid. You get to drive.”
Tears spill onto my cheeks, but not at her offer to fund my dreams. She’s right about it all but truly right about her first statement. I have always been told I was never enough. Even if it wasn’t those exact words, the actions and neglect of those around me cemented that idea to my soul.
The fact that Grandma is so sure of me, proud of me, and willing to help me reach a goal I didn’t even realize burned so passionately in me until this very moment?
It was the only thing I’d ever asked for coming true.
28
Keaton
Seeing the for sale sign in front of the home my father built for my mother was somewhat surreal.
Having Presley here to see it, and to meet my mother as my official girlfriend for the first time, felt even more like I was living in a fantasy world.
“Mom?” I called as we walked in.
The house looked … different. Where the overstuffed furniture and farmhouse charm had once existed, were now clean lines and the scent of a sterile, model home. Anyone who lived in Fawn Hill would walk in here and know that this was the Nash home, but it no longer held traces of little boy’s school pictures lining every available surface or the advent calendar my father had carved for my mother that she kept hanging on the wall year-round.
“Wow, this place is …” Presley breathes beside me, her head extending all the way back on her neck to look up at the cavernous ceilings and exposed wood beams. “You grew up here?”
I chuckle. “That I did.”
“This is something out of a Georgian plantation.” The smile on her face is goofy.
“Want to buy it? Only a cool five hundred thousand.”
I really hoped Mom got the asking price for the house. It was the highest listing in the area, but this house was worth it, and we were hoping someone from out of the county would come in and scoop it up. There had to be a family from any of the nearby cities who had been considering a move to the country and would see my parent’s home and fall in love.
My heart beats a nostalgic, sad rhythm when I think about someone else growing up here. When I think about other little boys hiding in all of its nooks, and about a mom rounding them all up to sit at the dinner table until they’re excused. This house deserves that, and I know my own mom won’t rest until a buyer of that caliber makes an offer.
“Oh, Keaton, good! I need you to—”
Mom is a ball of energy as she comes barreling down the hallway toward us with stacks of boxes in her hands. And the minute she sees the gorgeous redhead standing next to me, she shoves them into my arms.
“Presley! Oh gosh, my son didn’t tell me you were coming over! I would have mixed us up a nice couple of glasses of my strawberry iced tea. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” She hugs my girlfriend.
I bobble the boxes, peeking inside as one of the lids almost clocks me in the jaw. Photos, hundreds and hundreds of them, are stacked inside. She must have gotten these down from the attic … which is a good thing because it means she’s finally taking my advice to clean house. Literally.
“Oh, there was no need, really. I’m just glad I got to come over here before it sold to see the place where Keaton grew up.”
“And I’m glad that my son finally got his head out of his butt and asked you out.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Didn’t you practically force me to ask her out by sending us up alone on a Ferris wheel?”
She waves her hands at me and motors past us into the kitchen. “I n
eed to clean out a couple more things before the open house this weekend. Keaton, honey, could you get the boxes of China down from the upper cabinets? You know I never could reach those.”
Presley sits at the counter as my mother uncovers the boxes I just set down on the island, and they’re thumbing through pictures while I struggle not to drop priceless antique dishes. Being up here, cleaning out these cabinets, it reminds me of when my father would reach into the high places and take things down for my mother. How he’d tease her for living among a hoard of gangly giants, also known as her sons. And then she’d swat him and he’d wrap her up in a hug.
Looking back, my parents had their own language of love that I’d never noticed as a kid. The grief that always resided in my figure sighed with weariness. It lived in the ache in my chest, the set of my shoulders, the clenching of my jaw. After you lost a person so essential to who you were, their passing and the sadness of it took hold of your bones and muscles.
I know I was the one who finally convinced Mom to put her house on the market, and it was for practicality and her own sanity. But I hadn’t understood what it would mean for me. Every time I walked over the floorboards, I thought about how it would be my last. The scratches on the walls where my brothers and I had knocked them playing tag, the creaky step we avoided when sneaking out … the memories hit me full force. It’s the end of an era, and I’m not manly enough to hide the sadness I feel.
Not that I’d ever admit that to my brothers. They’d probably punch me in the arm and tell me to grow a pair.
“Oh. My. God. Who is this cute little Dalmatian?” Presley squeals with laughter as she holds up a picture to show Mom and me.
“That would be Keaton. It was his first Halloween, and oh, he was just as cute as a button.” Mom takes the photo, covering her smile with a hand. “You loved animals even then.”
I have to smile, too, because I was pretty freaking adorable. “I was the cutest baby of all your boys. Admit it, Ma, don’t worry, none of the rest of them are around to hear.”
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