An Unexpected Kind of Love (When Snow Falls)

by Hayden Stone

  “You weren’t a jerk,” Blake assures me. “I was off the radar longer that I meant to be and I left you hanging. And you were upset about the floor.”

  “I was,” I admit. Blake wraps his arms around me and I snuggle against him. God. Even with the heat, it’s comforting to be held like this.

  “I’m sorry for not being in better touch. That’s my mistake. By the way, did you get my mung bean?”

  “Is that what that was? I did get a gratuitous bean pic.” I relent into a smile, gazing at him. “I’m not up on my hipster beans.”

  He chuckles, taking my hand. “It’s a favorite.”

  “You realize it rhymes with dung.”

  “It’s nothing like dung, I swear.”

  “Promise?”

  “I do solemnly promise,” vows Blake.

  “That’s important to clear up.”

  I put the tea on a tray with some biscuits, cheese, and fruit to go along with it. My nerves continue, realizing I’m about to show him where I live.

  “Don’t expect anything posh,” I warn him when we go up to my tiny flat as he trails me upstairs. The wooden steps squeak.

  Luckily, I can’t see his face when we walk into the small room. I set the tray down on the desk and turn. He’s gazing at an excess of books everywhere, the desk that’s a mix of crafts and account books, the rumpled sofa bed in the corner, books on the other sofa.

  He’s gorgeous, flushed slightly with the oven-like temperature here in my flat, even with the windows giving a tease of a cross-breeze. And the way he looks at me makes me shiver, despite it all. “This is perfect.”

  If I wasn’t about to swoon like a Victorian heroine before, I am now. He thinks my flat is perfect? Probably he’s overcome with the heatwave. However, it’s in my favor and I’ll take it without question.

  “Would you come closer?” I whisper. “I need to show you something.”

  Obligingly, he comes closer, sliding those well-muscled arms around me, sending a series of shivers down my spine. And when he comes as close as he can, I brush my lips against his, a heat of our own between us. Of course he’s glorious. And we kiss lingeringly, till I draw him down on the bed with me to continue our exploratory kisses before I feel a bit dizzy again like I did downstairs. And stop.

  “Okay?” he asks gently.

  “Just…a bit spinny, having you so close,” I confess. Which is true, like the room won’t stop moving. Or that somehow I’m orbiting the dream of Blake in some alternate universe where meeting someone like him could happen to me.

  “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs. “If you had any clue.”

  Smiling into his neck, it thrills me to hear that. “Can you tell me more?”

  “I will. And I want you to tell me more too,” Blake murmurs against my skin, his breath tickling my ear. Held tight, close and safe, I feel cared for. Wanted.

  Chapter Twelve

  Later, it’s cooler. And I’m alone. Twilight hangs like a veil beyond my window, the curtains still left pushed back for airflow.

  Sleepily, I roll over. Something’s missing. Or someone. As my brain awakens, two things are obvious: Blake’s no longer in my bed, and in the distance, there’s some sort of metallic clanking and the sound of intermittent running water.

  Shit. What if the pipes have gone too? One of my fears realized, water damaging the books.

  That would be fucking perfect. At this point, I’d believe anything, including that having Blake in my bed was a fantasy in a fevered dream.

  Except I see a couple of books on the table next to the sofa that weren’t there before. The romance I’m reading, open facedown, half read. I scowl. And also facedown beneath it, I discover Ten Steps to Personal Growth. Two book atrocities in one go. I find a couple of bookmarks and place them, saving the books from their terrible spine-cracking fate.

  How long was I asleep?

  Sitting up, I push my hand through my hair and get out of bed. I find a T-shirt again before padding downstairs on bare feet, following the sounds to the kitchen…where I discover Blake at work, testing the tap, and a scatter of tools on the counter and floor. My eyebrows lift at the unlikely combination of Blake and my pocket-sized kitchen, and the fact that he’s in the throes of some manner of DIY project. The duct tape is noticeably absent from the faucet. And God, he’s distracting, with or without DIY, but it may have made him even hotter.

  “Blake?”

  He turns, his face brightening at the sight of me.

  “You’re up,” he says, pleased, like I’m the best thing he’s seen all day. Meanwhile, I’m at a loss about how much time I’ve missed where he could half read two books and play repair man.

  Except he’s obviously not playing.

  “Check this out.” He turns on the tap. Water pours as it should. When he shuts the tap off, it doesn’t drip. Clearly, I must be standing in someone else’s kitchen and not mine. “You had everything I needed under the sink to fix this.”

  “Witchcraft,” I remark. It’s the only reasonable explanation. Who knows what sorts of incantations and rituals are needed to repair aging plumbing without divine intervention? I’ve ordered bits and bobs from internet searches, but I would always get overwhelmed about actually going through with the repair.

  “And this.” Turning the faucet from side to side, it moves smoothly, even with the water running.

  “Show-off,” I tell him, matter-of-fact as he crows with delight. I give him a wry smile. “You’ve probably put two and two together and figured out that fixing things isn’t exactly my specialty.”

  Blake flashes that grin that melts my insides like ice cream left out, a bit squidgy. “Well, your secret is kind of out of the bag.”

  “Mm. I didn’t realize you could fix things too.”

  “Not just another pretty face for your roster. I have skills,” Blake says lightly, coming over to slide his arms around my waist and giving me a kiss. And God, I’ve never felt so turned on about plumbing of any sort before. Or maybe it was the witchcraft. It’s so hard to tell when I’m, in fact, hard.

  “My roster is…” I manage between increasingly urgent kisses, “surprisingly short with the number of pretty faces. Show me what else can you do?”

  “Oh, plenty of things,” he growls, cool hands sliding against my belly. I shudder with the shock, then lean in as his hand snakes lower to cup my balls. Groaning, I lean my forehead against his shoulder. “If you want.”

  “Believe me, I want.” Pulling him into greedy kisses, my reformed kitchen fades from my awareness into a new reality that only has Blake in it, along with his teasing, which leaves me weak-kneed. “Let’s…take this upstairs.”

  “You’re sure?” he murmurs against my ear.

  “Very sure.”

  And we go upstairs before my legs buckle. My go-to would be clothes off and a hasty dive under the covers, safely shielded from view. Except it’s way too hot for even a sheet. Very soon, I’m standing in only my boxers and cuff watch. Blake traces the tattoo over my shoulder, the dates inside my other forearm of my father’s birth and death. His fingers trace the map of my body, tweaking a nipple ring as I shudder.

  He pauses long enough so I can help him out of his T-shirt, and my God. The man is built like something out of a magazine. Not like everyday people. But then again, film people aren’t everyday people.

  “Are you a unicorn?” I manage, gawping with plain admiration.

  “No, you shameless letch,” he teases, drawing me into a kiss that only makes me hunger for more. Then it’s a stream of eager kisses and we’re both impulsive and desperate. “But…I see you’re a dragon.”

  “Possibly,” I breathe as he presses me down onto the bed. His mouth works up my inner thigh, making me shudder, to breathe hot through the fabric of my shorts, already tenting with the strain of my hardness. Because my bo
dy doesn’t miss a chance to respond to him.

  And then he pulls my boxers down, and I’m entirely naked before him. Self-conscious, I gulp, daring to gaze at him. Blake’s admiring me most appreciatively, much to my surprise, because I’m definitely no actor, just ordinary me with an ordinary body.

  Blake teases my cock with his tongue and then I’m definitely floating outside of my body, because he feels so damned good, and his mouth should definitely have some kind of Interpol ban or watchlist at the very least, leaving me all quivers and gasps. I go from clutching the bedsheets to gripping his shoulders, my fingernails digging into his skin, my animalistic urges imprinted on his body.

  “Holy…shit…” I reel, unable to take the all too heady combination of the day’s heat and Blake’s nearness and care and the absolutely incredible way he’s working me with his hand and mouth like there’s a million ways to tease me, and let up, and on it goes till at last I can’t stand it anymore. With a shudder and moan, I erupt hot and fast into the sear of his mouth.

  Then the room spins and blood pounds and Blake’s kissing me and kissing me and I don’t want him to ever stop. And I’m clumsily helping him out of his jeans and boxers, still far too clothed for my liking, and his cock is magnificent when sprung from its confines. I stroke him as he murmurs into my ear words that are only for me to hear.

  And I’m begging him to continue, his hands skimming my body, like there’s a thousand sunsets in his fingers, and he pauses just long enough for a condom and lube.

  “Please, Blake,” I beg, unable to wait any longer. Like I’ve been waiting since the dawn of time for this, quite frankly, and I kiss him fierce, biting his lip.

  Then, he’s pressing inside me and I’m truly undone, my arms and legs around him as I sob with the weight of him on my body, the press of him inside. And he keeps saying my name in my ear and how can I be hard again so soon, his endless teasing.

  It’s incredible, being together like this, a tangle of limbs on cotton, the sunbeam creeping up the wall. There’s a universe inside this room, the ecstasy of him and me and our rhythmic union. And God, he’s so hot, all sleek muscles under my fingers and against my body.

  There’s no way to describe this feeling, our shared lust, but it’s becoming more than that, like there’s some kind of promise being made, like there’s a future beyond right now. Like there’s a day beyond this one for us, and maybe a day after that. It’s hard to know, but for once, I see possibilities.

  “God, Blake—”

  “You’re so fucking hot—”

  And then there’s quite possibly begging between kisses and a lot of groaning and I clutch desperately at him as I urge him on for more, uttering complete nonsense.

  He pins my wrists down and I groan with the thrill of him, lost in a sea of pleasure as he finally comes with a cry. He moves with me and that’s about when I come too, drowning in his nearness, the way he’s holding me down, watching me with obvious desire. When he collapses half on me, we’re sticky, and God I’d do this all again in a second.

  We gasp together.

  Blake eventually lets up on my wrists, shifting just enough so he can unfasten the cuff of my watch. And then he discovers the heart tattooed beneath, a legacy from a lifetime ago. And he gazes at me and kisses it reverently before catching my jaw, kissing me so thoroughly like we exist only to kiss each other.

  And we lie there kissing till exhaustion’s claimed us again.

  After I awaken again, it’s proper night. The curtains and window are still wide open. Coolish air washes over my skin, a sheet around my waist. Blake traces my shoulder, with the small bedside lamp casting a soft glow. He’s backlit, in shadow.

  “Hey,” he whispers.

  “It’s some unholy hour, I know it,” I mumble into my pillow, all crinkle and fluff. He’s taken away my watch and who knows where my phone is at—God knows what time it is, but it’s definitely a time meant for sleeping. That is, sleeping for the sensible, which clearly he isn’t. It’s every man for himself. I can’t save him but I can try to save myself. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut.

  “I have to go before long. I have a six o’clock call. I was torn about what to do, to let you sleep or not, but I didn’t want to sneak out either.”

  “Mmmph.” I press my face deeper into the down pillow. Reluctantly, I soon shift to look at him, curling my body around his. He draws me into his arms and this is so perfect I could live in this moment forever, skin to skin. It’s been so long since I’ve been held like this. Since—

  Not going there. Not now. Don’t ruin the moment, brain.

  He kisses me lingeringly. “I want you to know I had the best time.”

  Sleepy, I smile into his shoulder. “For the record, I’m mortified that you’ve seen how I live but…I had a great time too.”

  And I really do mean it, against all odds of letting myself have any fun. He’s been entirely delicious and I’m not sorry for indulging in some vegan dessert.

  “Does that count as a second date, fixing your sink?” he asks, nipping my ear.

  I hook my leg over Blake’s. “I think that’s the natural progression. Vegan restaurant and meat snacks straight to sink repair. Seems about right. Imagine what date three will be like.”

  Blake laughs with delight. “Can’t wait.”

  His fingers continue to trace my skin, the pale freckles, the outline of the dragon that lives in indigo on my shoulder. Goose bumps rise. “Tell me about this tattoo. It’s great.”

  I shift slightly, better to look at him over the pillow. “It’s a dragon,” I say lightly.

  “I can see that. Don’t make me tickle you,” he teases with a growl.

  “Oh God, please no. I’m not into that.”

  Blake grins. “’Kay. No tickling, but I’m curious. It’s really nice.”

  “Thanks. It was a splurge,” I admit. “Before everything with the shop. I used to read a lot of dragon books. Especially when I was a teenager. And so did my dad. He got a matching one, because he read dragon books too. Actually, he got me into them. And now whenever I see that tattoo, I think of him. He…he died a couple of years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry you don’t have him anymore,” Blake murmurs, his gaze soft.

  “Me too.” I sigh, reaching to trace his jaw, the comfort of stubble beneath my fingertips. “He was a brilliant dad. Cool. Funny. I miss him a lot. I just wanted him to be proud of me, you know?”

  “Of course.” Blake kisses me then, and I don’t feel alone. Comforted. Like I can be vulnerable in front of him and it’s okay. “How could he not be proud of you? You’re amazing. Funny and cool too, by the way.”

  I give him a wry smile, thinking of the shop struggles. And a wash of earnestness that I had to admit I rather liked. “I try my best, but sometimes I’m not sure it’s enough, you know?”

  “Life has ups and downs,” Blake admits. “And family can be complicated. I don’t know what I’d do without mine, though. I totally hear you about wanting your dad to be proud of you. I’m the same with mine. And sometimes it’s complicated. But they mean everything to me.”

  We share a smile, another kiss. It’s scary how easy it is, talking with him like this. Like it’s something we’ve done before. Something we might do again.

  “Your family must have some fancy house like we see on the programs from America,” I say at last into the silence.

  It’s his turn to laugh. “Oh no. I grew up poor, in the south, on a small farm that probably costs more to run than it’s worth. My dad raised us, or tried to. Me and my two younger sisters, Lexi and Leah. They’re still home. It was the hardest thing I’ve done, leaving home and leaving them. I’m working to help support them too. So I get when you’re talking about how family’s so important to you. ’Cause they’re everything to me.”

  “No mum?”

  The corners of his mouth tur
n down and twist sour. “She took off a long time ago. And she hasn’t been part of our lives since.”

  “I’m sorry…”

  “Don’t be, gorgeous. It was her choice. For the longest time, I thought maybe if I’d been better—a better kid, better student, better worker on the farm—maybe she wouldn’t have gone. It took me a long time to figure out that it was all her and not me.”

  “You were only a kid when she left?”

  “I was nine, the girls six. Twins.”

  “They’re lucky to have you, though.”

  He gives me a sad smile, unexpected. “But, you see, I left them too. To follow my dream to perform. So, all of this doesn’t come for free.”

  What he’s saying makes sense, all things I didn’t know or couldn’t imagine from looking at him, or his sleek Instagram photos. “But you seem so glamorous.”

  Blake smiles. “Thanks. That’s just styling, though. Marketing. Really, I’m just a simple guy, trying to make things work. I’ve been lucky enough that it’s worked so far. This was my biggest break yet, as a supporting actor. So I had to take the chance. And I don’t regret it. Especially not since it’s given me the chance to meet you.”

  “Me?” Imagine, Blake Sinclair excited to meet me. What a mad idea that is. “I’m sure you could find men having a lark with bookshops closer to home.”

  “Yes, but”—he draws me into a lingering kiss—“they’re not you.”

  The kiss is bliss, meaning more after making myself vulnerable before Blake by talking about my past. He didn’t run, didn’t bolt. Hearing a little about his background with his family makes him more real, like we’ve discovered some common ground between us. And now I’m literally tongue-tied and twisted with Blake, and I’m grateful.

  “Any luck in the camera shop?” I ask eventually. “I never asked.”

  “Finding you there was lucky,” Blake says affectionately, which leads to more kisses. He grins as I shake my head, laughing. “I was just in getting a couple of filters, no new camera for me either. Sometimes I take a few shots while we’re waiting between scenes or on breaks. Beats sitting around all of the time. When I can, anyway. It’s not always so simple. Depends on the shoot.”