I learned a thing or two from Jovie and lingered over goodbyes like a pro. I strategically left things on my bunk bed I had to run back to retrieve and handed out hugs to everyone who wanted one twice over. I asked Luke to explain the different paint finishes they offer at Bridger Hardware specifically to get a nice, long answer.
Nathan, of course is an absolute menace about our happiness. I’m a little worried he can see in the dark and knows exactly what went down between Reed and me when we said goodnight. Reed tries to silence him with his annoyed frown, but there’s no heat in it. I don’t think he realizes he’s been giving me hot looks all morning, acting like his job entirely consists of setting me ablaze with his eyes. Give that man a raise becausewell done.
But eventually, everyone has to leave the happiest place in the woods.
Reed’s got his hand on my knee again, his thumb tracing circles as he drives us through the pines. And yes, I’m wearing hissweatshirt again today. It’s forwarmth. And possibly because I never want to take it off.
He glances over, wowing me with that soft smile I can hardly believe is a regular event now. “They didn’t scare you off, did they?”
He’s checked on me several times as if he thinks a weekend with his family might make me run the opposite direction and not look back. I know he can find them overwhelming, but I don’t have that problem. If anything, they should be afraid of me moving in and claiming squatter’s rights on the whole bunch of them. They’re mine now. No apologies to anyone trying to prove lawful ownership.
“Not possible.”
He chuckles. “Not even the debate over breakfast about whether or not a hotdog counts as a sandwich?”
A group of that many people gets up to some interesting conversations, that’s for sure.
“I thought Graham’s position made sense, but Lucy’s argument was equally compelling.” I squeeze his hand, lacing our fingers together. “I liked it. It felt like?—”
Home.Youfeel like home. But I can’t say that yet. We’ve been a couplefor realfor approximately forty-eight hours—I might not know why most of my past relationships crumbled, but I’m smart enough to be aware that telling a man you’re head-over-heels in love with him this soon is a red flag.
An achingly true red flag.
Is it all that soon, though? We’ve only been official for forty-eight hours, but we’ve been getting to know each other for eighteen months. That’s a lot of time to learn someone’s character and see what makes them tick. Suss out their secret soft spots. Create a friendship where you can truly be yourself. But I’m pretty sure saying it out loud right now would still be doing too much.
“It was the best time,” I say simply.
“What are you doing the rest of the day?”
“I’ll probably keep looking at paint colors online. Maybe thrifta little to find things to go in the house to make it look more like my own.” I’ve redistributed some of the items from my bedroom, but the living room looks like I’m still moving in. Which I guess I am. Every time I move a colorful knick knack downstairs, I feel like I’m trespassing on someone else’s property.
“Do your parents know about your changes yet?”
Some of my delight at the prospect of thrifting fades, and my shoulders sag. “I haven’t mentioned it.”
I hate how pathetic that sounds. I can’t tell my parents I paintedmyhouse? But I’ve convinced myself I’m not hurting anything by waiting. They’re in Australia for three months at least, and then they’re spending time in New Zealand. I can explain everything before they come home for Christmas.
I’m still chewing my lip over taking the chicken’s way out yet again when Reed pulls into my driveway. He brings my bags up to the porch for me even though my luggage consists of a backpack and a toiletry bag. It’s on the tip of my tongue to invite him in, but I hesitate. With all the big feelings banging around inside me right now, if he did come in, it probably wouldn’t be for a casual hang-out sesh. Just like telling him I’m wild for him, some things need a little more time to simmer.
Probably. I’m on the fence about it at the moment.
It takes approximately forty-five seconds for desire to win out over caution.
“Do you want to come in?” I blurt out. So smooth.
“Yes.” He moves closer, and I retreat a step until my back hits the door. A shiver goes up my spine as he hovers over me, tantalizingly close. “But I’m not going to.”
“Oh-kay.” It’s hard to form words when my body’s got a severe case of hot-to-cold whiplash.
“I have to go into work later and get the prep done for tomorrow.” He trails his fingers along my hairline, playing with the loose wisps there. “If I come inside right now, I won’t want to leave again for a good long while.”
“It could be a quick visit.” Apparently, I get breathy when Ibeg. And grabby. My hands are clenched in his shirt, keeping him close.
His mouth curls, his gaze darkening as it sticks on mine. “There’s no such thing as a quick visit when it comes to you, firefly. I plan on taking my time.”
I am suddenly, desperately too hot to be wearing Reed’s sweatshirt. Tingles cascade over my skin, every inch of it singing in approval of this plan. He leans down, slanting his mouth over mine.
Reed kisses me like nobody ever has before and nobody else will again. Like I’m poetry, and he’s a scholar determined to learn every nuance and meaning behind my responses. Or maybe he’s the poet, writing sonnets across my lips.