by Elise Faber
“Tempest.”
“This was the house you shared with your wife. These”—she waved a hand at the table—“were the things you probably did together.” Her bottom lip trembled. “And I just barged in here uninvited and made myself at home like—like I belong or—”
He stood, rounded the table, and stood in the way of her pacing.
Then when she got close enough, he snagged her arms.
“This was your place with Carmella,” she was babbling. “And it probably feels weird to have another woman on your couch when it used to belong to her, and it has to be—”
“Soph.”
“—uncomfortable, especially since you didn’t actually invite me,” she said, ignoring him. “I should go.” Her gaze darted toward the front door. “I should go and wait until sometime in the future when you invite me and—”
“Sophie.”
He kissed her.
Just wove his hand into those shining, luscious waves and let his mouth drop to hers—part to stop the flow of words, part to show her he knew exactly what woman was standing in his house, and part . . . well, perhaps part was to prove to himself that he didn’t feel guilty for finally moving on.
No angst or remorse swelled within him, nothing dark gathered in his mind or heart. The only emotions that filled Rob were need—because fuck, did he want this woman—and the sense of utter rightness.
He’d felt it with Carmella in kindergarten.
And he’d felt it with Soph on the sidewalk out front.
No way was he going to continue living in the past when such a glorious present had somehow fallen into his lap—or had nearly run him over, as it was. And he certainly knew that he couldn’t be too scared to live, too scared to grab on to this opportunity and find a way to keep Sophie forever.
He had to be in. All in.
Because he’d lost his other half once and understood how precious this was.
And . . . because Soph had lived through a past far darker than he and had found the courage to move forward.
So no, he wasn’t going to continue in that half-life any longer.
“Carmella isn’t here anymore,” he said when they broke apart, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes glistening with tears.
He cupped her cheek. “But you are, Tempest. You, who has survived so much more than anything I ever could, are.”
“If I could bring her back for you, I would.”
“No,” he said, drawing her closer. “Maybe for a long time I would have wished that, would have given anything to go back. But”—he brushed his lips over hers—“then I met you. I’ve been lucky to spend time with you, and I know that even though I can’t go back, can’t change things, I can have something else.”
She swallowed hard. “What?”
“I can have you,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”
Eighteen
Moving Beyond
Soph
“I . . . um what?” she sputtered.
Head spinning, she stepped away, pushed her hair off her face. He wanted her? Why?
What the fuck?
Not him. Her.
Because seriously, she’d spent so much time these last couple of weeks thinking about her past, making strides in not feeling shame for it, attempting to find the courage to grab on to something that wasn’t empty. For the first time since the bad had overtaken her life, since her teenage fantasies had been shattered, Soph wanted something more. More than work. More than just going through the motions. She wanted a full life.
And she knew she deserved that life.
Finally, she had hope for the future. Hope for a future that wasn’t what she’d always thought she’d deserved. Hope for a future that wasn’t a punishment for her family’s misdeeds and early fortunes.
She had hope for a future where she didn’t have to worry about burdening someone with her baggage.
And now, someone wanted to give her that future.
But . . . she was chilled to the bone. Her breathing became ragged, her pulse hiccupping in her veins.
So close and she was fucking terrified to grab on to it.
A soft hand on her back had her startling, had the hand pulling away.
“No,” she gasped, reaching behind her, clawing through the air until she felt Rob’s arm, and then clinging to it like a lifeline, even as she bent forward at the waist, trying to catch her breath.
But it wouldn’t be caught.
Each inhalation was short and staccato, jagged and painful, until her vision swam, and she felt like she was going to pass out.
She heard a curse, and then Rob’s hand was gone.
That panic seized her tighter, but only for a moment. Because it only took a moment for Rob to scoop her up, to carry her back across the couch, and cradle her close.
“I-I’m sorry,” she forced out, her throat still seizing. “I-I-I—”
He cupped her nape, ran a gentle thumb along the side of her neck. “Shh,” he said. “It’s okay, just watch me and breathe with me, okay?”
She nodded, her eyes locking with his.
“In, two, three,” he said, inhaling. “Now, out, two, three.” An exhale. “That’s it, Tempest, slow and steady.” Then he kept breathing, in and out, calm and easy, and she found that she was able to follow along.
And eventually, her pulse steadied, her muscles relaxed as the panic subsided.
“That’s it,” he kept whispering. “You’re doing so good, honey. That’s it.”
Exhausted, she collapsed onto him, her arms wrapping around his waist, burying her face in his chest.
All the while, his hands remained tender, his voice kind.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the wide breadth of muscle. “That was . . .”
His fingers tangled in her hair, tilted her face back. “Not unexpected.”
She frowned.
“You hashed up a lot of past—and present—things in the last couple of weeks, you told me something you’ve been holding inside for a long time.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “So, as I said, not unexpected.”
Soph sighed and shook her head. “Why are you so wonderful?”
Half of his mouth ticked up. “I’ll take the compliment.” A kiss to her cheek. “Also, I’m a man who both knows what it’s like to feel like the world is closing in around you, to be smothered with past memories, but also . . . I’ve emerged from the other side.” He stroked a finger down her nose. “Because of you.” A full smile now. “Because of you and your speeding through residential roads.”
She growled. “You jumped out in front of me.”
His lips pressed to the base of her throat. “A fact I’m beyond grateful for.”
“You—”
He kissed her, long and sweet and tender. Then long and hot and passionately. And when they broke apart, chests heaving, he said, “I’m also a man who’s lost and lost big, which means I’m a man who knows he’d be a dumbass to not grab onto a fantastic, beautiful, smart, funny woman when she’s right in front of him.”
Heart pounding, hope singing in her veins, a lightness in her soul that she hadn’t felt since she was thirteen had her saying back, “Especially, when she tries to run you over.”
“Exactly,” he said, laughing as he helped her sit up on the cushions next to him then plunked her plate of pizza in her lap.
His smile, his laughter was everything.
All those feelings inundating her, the hope for a future, the pleasure in just being with him.
Because she wanted this man, too.
And because she was going to let him in deep.
Oh shit.
Squee.
Shit.
Squee.
“One step at a time, Tempest.” He picked up the remote from where it had gotten smooshed into the seam of two cushions and handed it to her. “I now give you permission to torture me with all your Star Trek-ness.
She grinned, th
at squee taking over, making her forget all about the oh shit feeling.
Then she hit play, began the so-called torture, and took a giant bite of pizza.
The perfect trifecta.
One made even more perfect when Rob slid his arm around her shoulders and cuddled her close.
Nineteen
The Night Before
Rob
By all rights, he should be the one asleep.
And he was exhausted, but he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes, even though the DVD had long finished playing, long after Soph had relaxed against him, sleep tugging her under its tender embrace.
She’d lasted long enough for him to well appreciate her love of all things Star Trek, telling him fun facts, quoting dialogue, shushing him at the “important” parts.
But then her eyes had drooped, and she’d slumped against him.
And he’d gotten to just hold her.
And reflect.
And be forced to listen to the rest of the episodes.
Star Wars was still better.
Laughing to himself, Rob shifted on the couch, tugged Soph closer against his chest as he reclined back against the cushions, then closed his eyes against the glare of the TV.
Her sweet scent on his nose, he followed her into oblivion.
Movement woke him sometime later, shifting along his torso, a whispered curse.
He tightened his arms when Soph went to slide off his chest. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She startled, going stiff in his arms. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.”
Running his hand up and down her back, he asked, “You need to go home?”
“I—” She nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “I should probably go and leave you to your rest.”
“Do you need to go?”
Hesitation. Then, “No,” she whispered.
“Do you want to go?”
Her tongue darted out, moistened her bottom lip. “No.”
“Okay.” He pushed to sitting in one abrupt movement, one arm swooping around her shoulders, the other under her knees. His back was aching, and he was too damned old to be sleeping on the couch. So, if she didn’t want to go, didn’t need to go, then he’d rather adjourn this to some place much more comfortable.
“Rob?” she asked as he strode up the stairs.
He paused. “Too much?”
A shake of her head. “I just . . . I’m not—that is, I don’t think I’m ready.”
His heart squeezed, another piece chipping off, offering itself up on a silver platter to this woman. “Just to sleep.”
Wide eyes on his.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
He kept walking, carrying her into the bedroom and placing her on her feet, then moving over to his dresser and pulling out a T-shirt. “In case you want to be comfortable.” A kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll go lock up.”
She nodded and he moved to do that, but her words stopped him when he was almost in the hall. “I thought you didn’t lock doors in this town.”
“True,” he said. “But I definitely lock up when I have a beautiful woman in my bed.”
Blushing, she ducked her head.
“Soph?” he asked, worried for a moment that she was uncomfortable.
“Go on then,” she said. “And hurry back. I like it when you hold me.”
Cock twitching at the sight of that sweet smile, he headed downstairs, gathering up the plates and mugs, placing them in the sink, then shoving the pizza into a container and putting it in the fridge.
He peeked in the bag she’d brought, just to make sure it wasn’t something that would spoil, and smiled when he saw the bagels inside. She might not be ready for anything more intimate than kisses, but she’d definitely had sleeping over somewhere in her mind, bringing over both dinner and breakfast. And she was letting him hold her.
So yeah, his plan to keep her was gaining steam.
He turned off the TV, locked the front door, and headed upstairs, his heart stuttering when he crossed the threshold.
Soph was coming out of the bathroom, her hair long and gleaming, her feet bare. Well, more than her feet. His shirt only covered her to the tops of her thighs, so there was a lot of glorious bare skin on display.
“You okay?” she whispered.
He nodded, crossing over to her and taking her hand. “Let’s sleep,” he said, coaxing her over to the bed and peeling back the covers.
She crawled in, he covered her up, then went back to his side.
It should be awkward, him crawling into bed with a woman who wasn’t his wife. The blankets and sheets had changed—he’d bought new ones the day he’d packed up Carmella’s belongings—but he hadn’t ever had another woman besides her in this bed.
So, it should have been awkward.
But it wasn’t.
Just as everything else with this woman . . . it felt normal. Comfortable. Not the least bit strange or uncomfortable.
This was right.
She rolled over onto her side, facing him, her expression just visible between the moon’s rays drifting through the curtains and the soft glow of the nightlight in the corner. “Hi,” she whispered.
He chuckled. “Hi.”
“I’m not tired.”
His lips twitched, and he twined a strand of her hair around his finger. “Well, you just did wake up from a nap.” A beat. “Should I go get your world-traveled DVD?”
Soph giggled. “No,” she said. “I’d rather—” Her words were cut off by a yawn.
He ran the back of his fingers over her jaw. “You sound tired to me.”
“Maybe.” She inched closer, tracing circles on his chest.
“You should sleep.”
“I’d rather just talk to you,” she said, closing the distance between them and resting her head on his shoulder.
Love—love—for this woman bloomed in his heart, and he wanted to stay up for hours, talking to her, finding out every like and dislike, learning everything that made her tick. But they were both tired and needed their rest. “I can expound on the gloriousness of different varieties of nails if you need help falling asleep.”
Another giggle, her snuggling closer. “No, thanks,” she murmured. “I want to hear more about you.”
“More about the boring small-town carpenter?” He laughed. “That’ll definitely put you out.”
A light swat on his shoulder. “Stop.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you like to travel?”
He nodded. “Love it.”
“What’s your favorite place to visit?”
“I really enjoyed New Zealand,” he said. “Carmella and I honeymooned there. And Japan was pretty epic, though I was not a fan of the humidity.”
“Don’t you get that here?” she asked.
“Inland, yes. But on the coast and with the sea breeze, we’re spared the worst of it.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “What about you? Do you like to travel?”
“When it’s for me, yes,” she said. “When it’s for work, it depends.”
“Why depends?”
Her lips pressed to the base of his throat. “Depends on where I’m going. Sometimes it’s really cool, and the schedule means I can visit places I’ve always wanted to see. Other times, I feel like I’m in these awesome locations and I see nothing more than my hotel room and the shooting locations.” One shoulder lifted and dropped, her head tilting back so he could see the amusement in her eyes. “Oh, the humanity. Poor little rich girl complaining about having to travel the world.”
He snorted. “So tough.” He brushed his lips across hers. “But seriously, there are always going to be things about your job that you don’t like. Even if it’s a fancy one like yours.”
“What’s yours?”
“My fancy job?” he asked.
“No, what don’t you like about yours?”
“Besides sewer lines that need replacing?�
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She smirked before dropping a kiss to his jaw. “Besides sewer lines.”
“Ah.” He tapped his finger to his chin. “I actually really like my job. It’s decidedly not fancy, but I like to fix things, to make them look nice for my clients.”
“Those all seem like good things.” She poked him lightly. “I want to hear the bad.”
“Well, the plumbing, sewer-related or not, is definitely not my favorite part—though I have a sub who takes care of most of that, thankfully,” he said. “But if I was going to pick the most tedious, odious, and whatever other -ious adjectives that fit with those other two, I would say trim.”
“Like cutting things?”
His lips twitched. “No. Well, yes. But it’s the baseboard and crown molding, the tiny fiddly pieces that go around windows and doors.” He shuddered. “God, that’s the worst, and always at the end of the job when I just want to be done and moving onto the next shiny thing. Which is probably bad. I should enjoy the process. But there is something exciting about looking ahead.”
“I feel you,” she said. “Why do you think actors are constantly jumping around into new roles? We’re the ultimate”—a yawn—“look squirrel! crew.”
“Hmm.” He held her close again, running his hand up and down her back.
“You’re trying to coax me into sleep with all that hand-rubbing, aren’t you?”
It was his turn to yawn. “I’ll neither confirm nor deny.”
“Well, confirm or deny all you want,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist. “It’s working.”
“Sleep now,” he whispered, letting his own eyes slide closed.
“Oh”—another yawn—“‘kay.”
Then there were no more words, just slowing breaths, sleep creeping closer, and complete and utter rightness in his arms.
Twenty
The Morning After
Soph
Slowly coming awake, she yawned and stretched.
Or attempted to anyway.