Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
She grins. “Yes. I’m okay.”
I touch the side of her face. The connection, the contact, melts whatever reservations remain between us.
“Does that maintenance plan require routine servicing?” she asks.
I smirk. “I’ll give you the premium package.”
A wash of hesitation clouds her eyes. I stroke her cheek with my thumb, afraid to press my luck. At the same time, all I want to do is take this woman in my arms and start making up for lost time.
“What do you need from me, Lo? Ask for it. Let me love you like you want to be loved.”
She runs her palms around my waist, peering up at me with a love that makes it hard not to just kiss her.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she whispers.
“I promise.”
My lips lower to hers, but she meets them in the middle. They press together simply, sweetly—for a moment. The kiss deepens immediately.
A warmth floods my veins, bringing me back to a place that feels a whole hell of a lot like home. Like the way things should be.
How did I go without this for so long?
I wrap her in my arms and pull her into my chest. She sinks against me as if she needs the contact as much as I do.
Her fingers go to my hair, urging me to kiss her harder. Deeper. Like she thinks I might pull away.
I straddle her feet with mine, tilting my hips into her so she can feel how hard she makes me. She breaks the kiss, moaning as I press kisses along her jaw and down her neck.
Blood pours through my veins. I can’t think about anything except how badly I want her. My cock is so hard it hurts.
I need to fuck her. Reclaim her. Promise her.
Love her.
“What if the kids come back?” she asks, panting as I lift the hem of her shirt.
“They—”
“Mom! Whoa,” Maddie says, giggling. The door snaps behind her. “Sorry to interrupt. Kind of.”
I rest my forehead against my wife. Lauren laughs.
“What’s up, Maddie?” she asks.
“Pops and Snaps are sharing a bag of beef jerky, and I wanted to see if we had any granola left because, well, I don’t trust that Pops’s fingers don’t have Snaps’s drool on them.” She makes a face. “Cross contamination isn’t my jam.”
Lauren steps away from me and helps our daughter find a snack.
I watch them dig through the pantry and listen to their laughter fill the cabin.
This.
This is what I would’ve missed if I’d left.
Conversations with Lauren. Kissing her. Listening to my family’s laughter while they make memories, just like the ones I made with my mom when I was growing up. One of the things I can never replace.
If I had gone when Tommy called, Lauren and I would be in the same place we were when we got here. Bitter. Angry. Complacent.
Is that the problem? That I’ve become so complacent? Proud of my work, but not invested in my family?
Maybe I have to be the change to facilitate the change.
A smile tickles my lips.
“I’m making burgers, Maddie. Do you and Pops want one?” I ask, coming into the kitchen.
Maddie balks. “Did you just say you are making burgers?”
“Yup.”
She gives her mom a look. “Is he okay?”
Lauren leans against the wall and rests her gaze on me. She bites her bottom lip, a brightness on her face that makes her look ten years younger.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “But I hope so.”
I smile at her.
The sun has nothing on the smile she gives me in return.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LAUREN
The sun sits on the horizon, putting on a spectacle. The most vibrant oranges, brightest reds, and richest streaks of purple light up the sky in what can be described only as nature’s artwork.
Jack holds a beer bottle as he flips burgers on the grill just outside the kitchen window. The pepperiness floating through the air is concerning. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was overseasoning the meat. Nor did I mention that salt, pepper, onion powder, garlic powder, and seasoning salt were overkill. He was so proud of himself while making our dinner. I didn’t want to be a know-it-all . . . even if it means we’ll probably not be able to eat it.
I give the pasta salad I whipped together a final toss. At least we’ll have something edible.
We’ve worked in the kitchen shoulder to shoulder this evening, sometimes talking but working quietly too. It was nice having him next to me and wanting to help. But it was just as surprising how easily he managed to find his way around the kitchen.
A knot formed in my stomach when he fired up the grill.
Did it take me calling an attorney for him to want to do these things? Or would he have come around if I hadn’t blocked him out of my life? Because I haven’t exactly offered to be a part of his world, either, and I might have if he’d asked.