Waiting for the Sun (Waiting for the Sun #1)

by Robin Hill

  He takes a platter piled high with what looks like sugar-coated doughnut holes out of the oven and sets it in front of me on the table.

  “That smells like heaven.” I pinch off a piece and pop it into my mouth. Cinnamon and brown sugar explode on my tongue. “You made this. I mean, obviously you made this. It’s just…wow.”

  Darian backs against the counter with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes turning emerald beneath the overhead light. “It’s my mother’s monkey bread,” he says with a soft smile. His gaze shifts to the platter. “I haven’t made it in a while.”

  “Your mother would be proud.”

  He looks up at me then. “You know, I can make other things. Lunch things. Dinner things. If you come to Miami with me, I may just blow your mind.”

  “Blow my mind, huh?” I turn in my chair and poke my head inside the refrigerator. The chilled air prickles my cheeks as I scan the shelves.

  Miami. Why is this so hard? Rome or Paris? Red or white? French fries or tater tots?

  Stay or go?

  I close the door and slump back in my chair. No Diet Coke. I might as well go to Miami. Either that or go to the store.

  Are you seriously going to do this?

  “I’ll go,” I say, “but…when is your flight?”

  Guess so.

  Darian shrugs. “It’s open, so whenever you want it to be.”

  “Is tomorrow possible? I need to buy a ticket, which means I should probably do my banking. And I need to talk to Lucy. And do laundry. And what about your stuff?”

  Darian’s smile is infectious as he squats in front of me. “Don’t worry about a ticket. Company perk. We can go by the diner today; I assume you want to do that in person? Clean clothes are a plus, and my assistant has my bags.”

  My heart beats erratically. This is crazy.

  “Okay,” I say, running my fingers along his unshaven jawline.

  I bend to kiss him, and he kisses me back.

  “Okay.”

  The familiar bells ring loudly above my head as I enter the diner. Lucy’s perched against the counter, a pot of coffee nestled against her stomach. Her yellow fifties-style uniform is starched to perfection and her dyed auburn hair is pulled in a tight twist.

  “Who’s that?” she asks as the door closes behind me.

  I glance over my shoulder at Darian’s retreating form as he makes his way across the street to the resale shop. “Just a guy I met,” I say, turning around. “Nothing serious.”

  Lucy moves behind the counter and sets the coffee pot in front of Earl, one of our regulars and the only lingering diner from the Sunday lunch rush. He grunts under his breath, and Lucy waves him off.

  “Now, Earl, Frankie here just pulled up with a man. A very handsome man from what I could tell. Refill your own damn coffee.” Lucy pats the counter in front of her. “Come sit,” she says to me. “I’d suggest a booth, but if I sit down I’ll go right to sleep.”

  Lucy doesn’t look tired. She never does. Even in her late fifties she’s the liveliest person I know. Still, the after-church crowd is a force to be reckoned with, and I’m pretty damn happy to have the day off.

  “Diet Coke, dear?” she asks me as I set my keys on the counter.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Let me grab some clean cups from the kitchen,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

  I’ve been coming to this diner since I was a little girl, and barring a few new faces, nothing much has changed. It always smells like syrup and stale coffee, even during dinner. The clock above the register is always five minutes fast. And for as long as I can remember, Lucy’s been a fixture behind the counter. Rumor has it she went on a date once with my dad, but she’s never mentioned it and I’ve never asked.

  I take a seat three stools down from Earl. He gives me a nod before biting into his patty melt.

  “How’s Lois today?” I ask.

  Earl shakes his head as he swallows his food. “She’s takin’ to diggin’ up my garden, and if she doesn’t cut it out she’s gonna be buried in it.”

  Lois is Earl’s chocolate Lab and the love of his life despite his threat.

  “Oh, Earl,” Lucy says, handing me my Diet Coke, “you don’t even have a garden. You have weeds. Don’t listen to him, Frankie. He’s extra grumpy today.” She props her elbows on the counter and twines her fingers, her gaze aimed at the wall of windows behind me. “Spill it, kid.”

  I pull my soda toward me and bend the tip of the straw against my lips. The accelerated tapping of Lucy’s perfectly filed nails against the Formica syncs with my heart rate, and I stall by downing my entire drink in one exaggerated slurp.

  “Come on,” she says. “Cut it out. Who’s the hottie?”

  Her choice of words sends me into a coughing fit.

  Earl slides the napkin dispenser my way, and I mumble a, “Thank you.” I answer Lucy, “There’s nothing to spill. We met in Austin. We’re friends.”

  “Yeah, right,” Lucy says, squinting at me. “Then why are you here on your day off?”

  “Well…” I scoot back on my stool and slide the heels of my hands along the tapered edge of the counter. “I was wondering if maybe I could take a little more time off. He lives in Miami and—”

  Earl scoffs. “Miami? What’s gotten into you, Frankie? Miami’s full of nothin’ but white-collar pansy-asses. You need you a nice, hard-workin’ country boy. You know Jim’s boy’s livin’ here now. What’s his name, Lucille?”

  “Jim Junior? No, Earl. Jim Junior’s ‘livin’ here now’ because he just got out of jail.” Lucy refills my cup and slides it in front of me. “Miami, huh?” Her eyes soften and a smile warms her face. “Frankie, sweetheart, I’ve known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper, and except for that time old lady Higgins spiked the punch on bingo night, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have any fun. I know you didn’t come here to ask my opinion, but I’m gonna give it to you anyway. Do you like him?”

  “Lucy, it’s not like that.”

  She rolls her eyes. “In general, as a person, do you like him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then go, sweetie.” Lucy reaches across the counter and squeezes my hand. “You’re too young to be cooped up here in this tiny town with the likes of me and Earl.”

  Earl blows out a theatrical huff. “Speak for yourself.”

  “It’s only for a couple of weeks,” I say.

  “Oh, honey,” Lucy says, grinning, “a lot can happen in a couple of weeks.”

  Darian and I sit on the tailgate of my truck, munching on Dairy Queen french fries as our legs swing beneath us. The sun beats down on our shoulders, warmer than it’s been the last several days.

  I roll up the sleeves of my sweatshirt and take a sip of my shake. “Find anything exciting on your shopping adventure?”

  “I did,” he says.

  There’s a playful edge to his voice, and I toss him a suspicious glance. His lips curl into a devious grin.

  “I bought the original Friday the 13th. It’s supposed to storm later, and, well, cabin in the woods and all.”

  I peer up at the near cloudless sky. “What makes you think it’s supposed to storm?”

  “Rose at the resale shop.”

  I laugh. “Rose is a little on the crazy side.”

  “I gathered that when she tried to sell me a pair of heels,” he says, straightening his leg and flexing his foot. “They weren’t even my size. She seemed pretty adamant about her weather prediction though.” He feeds me the last french fry and stuffs the empty box inside the to-go bag.

  “Thanks for this,” I say.

  “Fast food?”

  “No, giving me this day. You know, before I throw caution to the wind and travel to another state with a total stranger.”

  And before I have a nervous breakdown midair, and we have to have that conversation.

  Darian picks up my hand and kisses it. “Come
on. Let’s get out of here.” He glances at his watch. “If Rose is right, we have about fifteen minutes to get home.”

  Rose is right. The weather does a complete one-eighty the second we pull in my driveway. What began as a single raindrop bouncing off the windshield is now a torrential downpour. The storm is loud and the metal roof of my cabin only amplifies the sound.

  Darian drops his bag on the kitchen table and moves to the sliding glass door with the DVD tucked under his arm. “It’s really coming down out there.”

  “I love it,” I say, glancing past him to the patio. I don’t have gutters, so when it rains this hard, it slides off the roof in a solid sheet. I wave my hand in front of it. “When I was a little girl, I used to pretend that was a portal to another dimension, and I’d run through it, back and forth, until I was completely drenched.”

  Darian shakes his head. “Your parents let you play in a rainstorm?”

  “Just my dad,” I say, my throat growing thick with the memory, “and he didn’t care as long as there wasn’t lightning. Sometimes he’d play with me.” I pull a container of Hershey’s Cocoa out of the cabinet and set a pot on the stove. “Hot chocolate?”

  Darian eyes the Hershey’s and his face brightens. “From scratch? My mom made it that way.”

  I swallow hard. “Mine too.”

  I whip up the hot chocolate, and we take our mugs into the living room. I set mine on the coffee table while Darian holds his tightly in both hands, flinching with every clap of thunder.

  “Maybe you should set that down before you burn yourself,” I say, freeing the DVD still wedged beneath his arm. I peel off the cellophane and pull out the disc.

  Darian places his mug beside mine and sits on the edge of the couch. “How does this not scare the hell out of you? It sounds like we’re inside a drum.”

  “I’m used to it, I guess. It’s comforting to me.” I wave the movie in front of him. “And isn’t scary the point?”

  Darian glances at the ceiling. “Will we even be able to hear it?”

  “Oh, you actually want to watch it?” I slide the DVD into the player and crank up the volume.

  The familiar digital sound effect roars above the storm and Darian’s eyes light up.

  “Surround,” I say, chucking off my Converse and plopping beside him on the couch, “and killer acoustics.”

  We sit back, and Darian hands me my hot chocolate. I settle into the hollow of his body with the mug cupped against my chest and bask in the warmth of his arms.

  It’s easy and lazy and perfect.

  But three gory deaths later, I’ve changed my mind. A horror movie at top volume in the middle of a raging storm isn’t any of those things. I’m a ball of nerves with my hand in front of my face, watching through an opening between my fingers. Thunder crashes overhead and I let out a surprised yelp. Lightning strikes fast and close, killing the power. I jump, showering Darian with a full mug of untouched chocolate.

  He lunges forward. “Oh, man, that’s cold.”

  “Shit. I’m so sorry.” I set my empty cup on the coffee table and turn toward him, blindly feeling for his clothes. I grab fistfuls of the saturated cotton clinging to his stomach and hold it away from him. Chocolate drips through my fingers and onto his already soaked jeans, making an even bigger mess than the one we started with.

  “Let me help you,” Darian says, amusement coloring his voice. He pulls his shirt over his head and hands it to me. “You know, if you wanted me naked, all you had to do was ask.”

  “I was going for subtle,” I say, my gaze snapping to the sound of his shoes hitting the floor.

  Lightning flashes and the room floods with light. I catch a glimpse of his smiling-taco boxers and it makes me laugh.

  “Admit it, you think they’re sexy.”

  He pushes his jeans down his legs, and I bend to pick them up.

  “Fine. I think they’re sexy,” I say, standing. I ball his clothes against my chest. “But you might as well take them off so I can wash them too.”

  As I turn toward the utility closet, Darian grabs my hand.

  “I think laundry can wait,” he says, curling his fingers around mine. His tone is suggestive and makes my cells tingle. “At least for a little while.”

  He pulls me toward him and guides me onto his lap, my back to his chest. He slips his fingers just inside the wide neck of my sweatshirt, and I let out a weak moan when he starts kneading my shoulders.

  “God, that feels incredible,” I say, my body turning to jelly beneath his touch. My arms go limp, and his clothes fall to the floor.

  “There’s no power anyway.” He rakes his fingers down my back and then edges them under the hem of my sweatshirt.

  “Power?”

  “For laundry.”

  “Oh right. Laundry.”

  I lean against his chest as his hands snake around my waist to the front of my jeans. Pinching the denim between his fingers, he unfastens the button.

  “Hmm, I wonder what we should do then,” I say.

  “I bet I can think of something.” He slowly slides my zipper down, and I stop breathing until he speaks again, “Charades maybe?”

  “Won’t work. Too dark.”

  “Good point.” His fingers dip into my panties, and I push against them. “We could build a fire…roast marshmallows…” He teases me with soft, careful strokes.

  “No marshmallows,” I say, almost breathlessly. “Wet firewood.”

  “Let me think. What about…” His voice is reduced to white noise as I close my eyes, my body tuned to his. “Shit,” is the next word I hear him say and only because his hand stills.

  I jerk up. “What? What’s wrong?”

  Laughter rolls off his tongue like an afterthought, and he drops his forehead to the back of my neck. “It’s dark as hell, and I have no clue what I did with the condoms.”

  My face splits into a wide grin. His concern is adorable, like he must have me right now, storm be damned.

  I turn my head to speak over my shoulder. “Hey, that reminds me. If it’s been so long since you’ve had sex, why did you just happen to have condoms in Austin?”

  I feel his smile form against my skin. “I was drunkenly attacked, if you remember. I bought some in case you tried it again.”

  “Fair enough,” I say, standing up and turning around.

  “You think you can find them?” he asks.

  “Yeah…” I peel my sweatshirt over my head and unhook my bra.

  Lightning flashes outside the window, just long enough to illuminate my naked chest as the straps fall from my arms. Darian’s eyes narrow and one corner of his mouth quirks up.

  “They’re in my medicine cabinet,” I say, “but…” I push my jeans down my legs and step out of them.

  “But?”

  “But…we don’t need them.”

  Another flash of light as I slip out of my panties. Darian’s gaze sweeps over me until darkness steals his view. I step forward and straddle him.

  “We’re covered. I’m covered…just—”

  “Just what?” His voice is a sultry whisper that spreads through my veins like a shot of courage.

  I dip my hand inside his boxers and take him in my fist. I stroke him up and down and around, tightening my grip with each rotation.

  His breath comes out in short gasps, and his fingers dig into my hips as he rocks into my hand. “Just what, Francesca?”

  “Just fuck me.”

  A growl stirs deep in his chest as he throws me down on the sofa. His body swallows me, its sudden weight driving my back into the cushion. Without warning or preamble, he pushes into me, and I take a gasping breath. He pulls out, and my breath leaves with him. His thrusts aren’t gentle or careful; they’re aggressive and hungry.

  “Look what you fucking do to me,” he says, but no sooner do the words leave his lips than the power returns, sucking them out of the air.

  Darian’s expression softens. He lifts onto his elbows, holding his face just above mine.
His fingers dig into my arms, and he watches me with curious eyes as his rhythm slows to the natural beat of the storm.

  Whatever’s changed—whatever’s happening now—it’s unexpectedly intimate. Maybe it’s the feel of him naked inside me or, more likely, the idea of him naked inside me. Maybe it’s his slow, measured movements, his fixed gaze as he slides in and out. His breath, warm against my lips, or my name, a whisper on his. Whatever it is, I want more of it.

  I stare into his unblinking eyes and dissolve into an orgasm that’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s more emotional than physical. It’s foreign and amazing and fucking terrifying.

  And as I lie there trying to make sense of it, I feel him come.

  “Darian.”

  At the mention of his name, his gaze cuts away, and he pulls out of me. He rolls onto his side and I press against him, a grin creeping over my face, a giggle rising in my throat.

  “Mmm, that was different. Really different. Good different.” I trail my fingers down his chest, but his hands stay at his sides, his stiff body unyielding. “Darian?”

  He clears his throat and sits up, and I have to pull in my knees to accommodate him. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and then looks at me without expression.

  I prop myself up on an elbow, my other arm draped over my chest. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” he says quietly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just beat.” He bends forward, reaching for his boxers. He picks them up and slides into them. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

  “You’re going to bed? It’s…early. You sure you’re okay?”

  He leans over me and kisses the corner of my mouth. “I promise, I’m fine. Just tired. You want the TV back on?” he asks, standing. He reaches for the remote, but I wave him off. “Let me get you a towel then.”

  My voice quivers as it leaves my lips. “It’s, um…it’s okay. I think I’ll just take a shower.”

  I don’t though. As soon as Darian goes to bed, I clean myself up at the bathroom sink, pull on my underwear and sweatshirt, and curl into a ball on the sofa. The same hollow feeling I felt in Austin gnaws at me.

  What the hell just happened?

  I play the last hour over and over in my mind. I know it wasn’t me. I know it. But that doesn’t make me feel any less rejected.