Chapter 16

[Pear]

I was starting to feel cooped up. Sure, we’d been on the snowmobile trail and visited Mr. Renshaw’s farm, but I wanted to go out- out . I needed a break because my thoughts were getting too comfortable with Brock. The romantic gesture of a sleigh ride was my tipping point. For such a grouchy man, the request felt out of character. Then again, he’d brought me flowers, made me French toast, carved me a wooden snowflake and given me some amazing orgasms.

Were orgasms the only thing he’d give me? Could I have his heart?

On the ninth day, after Brock completed another list of menial tasks around Dad’s place, I made a decision.

“We’re going out,” I announce as the heavy darkness of a winter evening fills the sky.

The closest town was a touristy place on the waterfront of Lake Michigan where we took the Polar Plunge. Just outside of town was a large barn-like country bar hosting a ladies’ night.

The theme did not mean men could not attend. In fact, tons of men were present to scope out the large collection of women gathered with their friends for a night out. Some women I imagine were moms, looking to let lose a little after weeks of being cooped up with their school-aged kids. Other women might be single ladies on the prowl, hoping to turn ladies’ night into one-night stands.

I’d taken myself out of that crowd a while ago. I wasn’t a one-night kind of gal, which made whatever I was doing with Brock special.

He was special.

“Whatcha think, fireman?” My body vibrates with excitement. I love to dance, and I’d promised Brock a burger and a beer. We sit at a high-top table, our knees touching since he pulled my stool closer to his when we first took our seats.

“I’m not dancing. ”

I pout. He’s such a spoilsport. However, the great thing about line-dancing is you don’t need a partner. And when the ladies are called to the floor, I hop off my stool, eager to shake off this weird energy humming within me with some honky-tonk boogie.

A little to the left, to the left, and the right, and the right, then slide was doing wonders for my mood until I see a brunette standing close to our high-top table, laughing at something Brock said and placing her hand on his forearm.

I don’t like it. Not one bit. I’d been a jealous lover with Reggie which was something I didn’t like about myself. I should have felt confident in our relationship that he wouldn’t cheat on me, and for the most part, money had been his mistress, not another woman. However, that didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of times when I felt inferior around Reggie. How women looked at him. How he watched them. How he eventually viewed me.

He’d told me I was fat. That alone should have told me his true feelings.

He didn’t respect me or my body type.

He hadn’t deserved my jealousy.

Still, a pinch of envy ripples through me as Brock leans toward the woman, speaking closer to her ear. I could write it off as the music being loud, but I refuse to make excuses for any man. For too long, I’d made them about Reggie and his issues.

Stepping away from the dancing ladies, I strut back to the table. Brock glances up at my approach. His smile curls the corner of his mouth before instantly falling at something he reads on my face.

“Snowflake?”

Don’t fucking snowflake me . I’ll burn this place down if he’s flirting with another woman in front of me.

Brock chuckles roughly before introducing, “This is Anna. Anna McCaryn.”

The woman’s face blushes. “It’s actually Anna Becker now.” There’s a story behind the brightness in her face but I don’t ask, too busy seeing red thanks to his hand on her back as he introduces her .

“Anna and I went to high school together,” Brock explains.

How convenient .

“And my family owns a house in Lakeside. Lakeside Cottage,” she states as if I’ve heard of the place.

Sounds lovely .

“We’ve been kicked out for the week as my sister is in town from Chicago and using the place with a group of friends.”

“Her younger sister, Amelia, went to school with my younger brother Zebb,” Brock continues with this little reunion. His hand remains on her back.

“There you are.” A devastatingly handsome man saunters up to the table. With brown wavy hair that curls around his ears and tickles the back of his neck, plus deep-set eyes, he’s mouthwatering good-looking, but I’m still seeing violet because of Brock.

The man slips his arm around Anna’s waist and tugs her into his side.

Anna and Brock repeat their shared history. I’m introduced to her husband, Mason. He doesn’t seem any more excited to witness Brock touching Anna than I am.

Maybe it was all innocent. Maybe Brock is just a touchy-feely kind of man, but I don’t care for it. His hands belong to me.

The thought is ridiculous. I can’t be jealous. Envy is petty, confounding, and inconvenient. I don’t even know if Brock would consider being all in with me. In just a few short days, we’ll have only known each other for twelve days. That’s not a lifelong relationship. That’s a winter fling.

The thought sours my mood further.

“It was great to see you again,” Anna eventually offers, lifting a hand and timidly waving at me. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.”

Mason reaches out a hand to shake Brock’s before stepping over to me and kissing my cheek .

I watch as Mason’s hand possessively lands on Anna’s lower back, and he leads her away from our table. When I turn toward Brock, his eyes are laser focused on me.

“Care to explain what that was all about.” He lifts his hand and waves a finger in a circle around my face.

I smack at his pointer, and he chuckles hard. “She’s pretty. Former girlfriend?”

“Old friend. I took her to a dance in high school.”

“Sounds fun.” What I sound like is a bitter, jealous girlfriend who sees a beautiful woman aging well in her forties. Not that I’m aging poorly, it’s just that she looks so good. Fit. Trim. She’s lovely. And all fresh-faced and beaming with love for the man who proudly called himself her husband.

Brock runs his hand up my spine, but I stiffen beneath his touch. When his hand reaches the back of my neck, he holds still, squeezing at the spot. “What am I missing here?”

“You’re a flirt, aren’t you? I bet you go to bars and easily pick up women, don’t you?”

His brows lift with shock before his eyes narrow. “Are you jealous?”

Standing taller, I shake out my shoulders and lift my head. “I have nothing to be jealous of,” I counter with more confidence than I feel.

“Damn right you don’t.” Brock sighs, removing his hand from my neck, then slipping his fingers through mine and bringing my knuckles to his lips. “Look, we both have pasts. But that’s where they should stay. Behind us. I’m not innocent but I have not been reckless, despite what the guys think of me. Despite what Cap has thought.”

I watch as his eyes soften in the dim light of the country bar.

“I’m here with you , snowflake.”

“But you were touching her,” I remind him, sounding petulant and irritated.

Brock sighs, watching me. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have touched her.” His tone turns serious. “I’ve been cheated on and I know how that can make you question yourself. Make you feel unwanted and insecure. Unloved and discarded. And I would never, ever want to make you feel that way, Paradise, even if inadvertently.”

He softly chuckles. “I’d go apeshit if the roles were reversed.”

His reassurance settles my simmering blood a little.

“Anna and I were old friends, and you and I are new.”

One is silver and the other gold?

“Friends?” I scoff, my blood slowly heating again.

Brock tugs me closer to him and I stumble against his thigh until he spreads his legs and moves me between them. His hands fall to my hips, holding me in place while my gaze lowers to the buttons on his flannel shirt.

“Baby, look at me.”

Slowly, I lift my head.

“What do you want us to be, Pear?”

I don’t have a definition. I don’t have a label. I just didn’t want him to be with someone else. Not yet. We still have three more days before he will be set free. Before the truth will come out.

I have no right to play the jealous lover card.

“I . . . I don’t know,” I finally admit.

“Yeah, me neither.” However, the corners of Brock’s mouth slowly hitch up. “Still, is it wrong that I kind of like that you were jealous?” He inhales deeply, puffing out his chest. “Mama bird all ruffled over daddy. Like swans who are possessive of their mates. Feels good to be wanted like that.”

While he jostles my hips, I weakly laugh, smacking at his firm pecs. “You’re ridiculous.” But I’m the one whose face heats, embarrassed by my behavior.

“Now, about me flirting . . . want me to flirt with you?”

“Lay it on me, fireman,” I tease, relieved that we’re back to being playful.

Brock eyes me a second, making a show of lowering his gaze, roaming up my body like he’s tracing the outline of my solid thighs, my wider hips, and my firm breasts. I shiver beneath his assessment .

“You’re a real fireball. Take a shot with me. Then take a shot on me.”

“Weak,” I chuckle, toying with the collar of his shirt.

“Give me a chance, snowflake. I bet I can make you melt. On my tongue.” He sticks out his tongue.

“There is no way that line works on anyone.”

“I don’t need it to work on anyone. I only want you.” His tone shifts to serious. The flirt is still present in his eyes, but the cheesy pickup lines are erased. He leans forward to kiss me, tantalizingly slow and sweet, simmering and making me melt after all. He’s good at this.

“Gonna dance with me, cowboy?” I ask coyly, pulling back from him.

“Does milking cows once make me a cowboy?”

I laugh again while running my hand down his chest. “I doubt it. Besides, I prefer firemen.”

Brock catches my hand dragging down his midsection and flattens it over his racing heart. “Fire man ,” he emphasizes. “Singular. Me.”

My laughter deepens while my eyes remain focused on his. “Fine. You’re the only one.”

“Better,” he grunts. “Now, let’s dance.”

Standing, he takes my hand again and leads me to the dance floor where Taylor Swift sings about lovers and Christmas lights in January.

I wish the holidays would never end.