Chapter 14

The days were passing more quickly, and before I knew it, we'd spent two weeks together. After that first night when I'd cooked for him and we'd fallen asleep together on the couch, we'd kind of made a habit of it, and we'd been slowly but surely opening up to each other more and more. And as nice as the making out was, and as hot as Dillon was, we still hadn't slept together a second time.

I didn't know why; it was almost like we'd gone so far, so fast, that now we needed to walk it back about five thousand steps. In fact, we hadn't even mentioned it again, but I knew we were both thinking about it. I could tell that it was on his mind from the way he oriented himself around me, when I caught him peeking at my ass at random moments or following me with his eyes every chance he got.

The night before, I'd learned some particularly good information about him, and I was using it to my advantage by making dinner again. Unfortunately, the open concept living room made it hard to surprise him, but I'd made him promise to keep his eyes on his work, no matter what he smelled coming out of the kitchen.

It had been so worth it when six thirty had come and he'd shut down his computer and gotten up to stretch, allowing me to return the ogling favor for a second. Then, when he turned around and came to the couch, he'd given me the goofiest grin I'd ever seen on his face.

"Did you seriously make chili and cornbread?" he asked, coming over to look over the spread I'd put out on the coffee table.

"Yep," I said, pressing my lips together into the hard p as I took in his grin. "I guess you must really like chili. Do you know how many beans you have?"

"I know exactly how many beans I have," he said, grinning at me as he went over to the couch and took his seat there, pulling the bowl over to him. I took my own seat next to him, and we started eating our dinner.

Somehow, we'd fallen into a quick and easy routine together, and I hadn't even noticed when it had happened, but somehow… I was happy. The restrictions that he put on me—which I understood were for my own safety—still chafed, sometimes badly enough to make me a little nuts, but I was doing my best to compromise.

"This is amazing," he said, wolfing down his chili without reservation. "I didn't realize you were listening that hard."

"I'm a therapist, remember? Listening is kind of my thing," I said, dipping a hunk of cornbread into my bowl and ripping some off with my teeth.

"Yeah, it's hard to put away those well-honed instincts, isn't it?" he said.

"It is. You know, I can't believe I never asked you about this, but what kind of work do you do now? I see you at your computer every day, and I hear you typing, but I have absolutely no idea what it is you're working on."

He chuckled. "I do cyber security for different corporations. I'm a freelancer, but I've been doing it for long enough now that my name gets passed around, and I work pretty consistently. It's been good to me."

I took another bite of my dinner. "That's kind of a departure from being a detective."

He shrugged. "I went to the police academy right out of high school, but I was taking computer science classes at community college at the same time. By the time I made it into my third year as a patrol officer, I had enough units to transfer to U of Tennessee."

I chuckled. "I see that I'm not the only one who worked hard."

He shrugged. "Being a cop doesn't pay all that much, so I wanted the chance to do some other flexible gigs on the side to bring in some extra money."

"Makes sense." We ate in silence for a little bit before I asked quietly, "Do you miss it?"

It was the same question he'd put to me when he'd been asking me about my work as an art therapist, and I could tell I'd touched a bit of a nerve when he stopped eating completely. His fingers wrapped around his fork, and he took a deep breath before he finally answered, "Sometimes. Not really."

Time for a walk-back. "Sounds complicated."

"It is."

I didn't want to push any harder and ruin the gentle routine we'd fallen into, so I decided to ask him how he'd come to adopt Bucky. That had been the ticket, and he started telling me all about how he'd been back here for about three months and started getting antsy about being alone all the time. At the same time, he couldn't stomach the idea of getting some place in town, not when being around people—any people—sent him into such a tailspin.

It was a feeling I knew well, and the idea of being torn in those two different directions was certainly enough to drive you crazy. I told him so, and he grinned.

"Then," he said, "I went down to Hank's shop one day, and it turned out that someone had abandoned a German Shepherd mother and her puppies out behind the garage the night before. Hank had taken them to the local shelter. I don't know what made me go there because I wasn't really thinking about getting a dog, but our eyes met and that was it. I knew he was coming home with me."

I laughed. "Love at first sight, huh?"

He smiled back at me before reaching down to rub Bucky behind the ears. "Only time it's ever happened."

"Why'd you name him Bucky?"

"After Bucky Barnes," he said, scratching the dog under the chin.

Interesting. If he was an Avengers fan, he'd certainly picked a specific and unique choice. I would've thought someone like him would've gone with Rogers and played up the whole Captain America thing. Although…

"Do you see yourself as a Winter Soldier?" The words came out before I could help them, and his eyes snapped up to mine in surprise. Surprise, but no recrimination.

I kept going. "Someone who's been irrevocably changed—some say damaged—but still worthy of redemption?"

He swallowed. "I wouldn't have taken you for an Avengers fan."

I shrugged. "Cooking, Avengers… I'm a woman of many layers. I'm like Shrek—peel back a layer of my onion and you never know what you'll find."

The shock and borderline anger faded from his face at that, and I was rewarded with a smile at that. "Like early 2000s cartoon references?"

"Exactly."

He grinned at me, reaching forward to pull me on top of him for our usual make-out session, pressing a deep kiss to my lips as if he was dying to taste me. "I can think of something else that I'd rather peel off." His hands reached for the hem of my shirt, and he met my eyes carefully to make sure it was okay with me. My heart gave a painful thump at that, as if he'd jump-started it, and I smiled down into his mouth. The fact that he was being so cautious with me, despite the fact that we'd already gone as far as we could go…

"Go for it."

* * *

When I woke up the next day, I felt satisfied and replete… and more than anything else, I was quite disconcerted by it. I was getting extra comfortable here, and as I sat up in bed, the thought suddenly struck me that I could actually see my life unfolding here, every day, as it had… except for the fact that I wouldn't be waking up in this bed, but in the one down the hall, with Dillon's big hands wrapped around me and coaxing me awake in the morning.

I pushed back the covers and stood up, pulling out the knot that I always kept my hair in while I slept to keep it off the back of my neck, thinking about everything that we'd talked about the night before and how I was starting to feel so comfortable with him.

I'd lived in my crappy apartment for about two months, and the two months I'd spent there had never felt like home. But the two weeks I'd spent here had started feeling more like home than anywhere I'd ever lived, and that scared the crap out of me.

I'd never been with anyone as good in bed as he was, but that was only part of it. Last night, after he'd peeled off my shirt slow enough to drive me completely insane, I'd almost begged him to fuck me, but instead, he'd fingered me on the couch, teasing the reactions out of me slowly, maddeningly. Then, when I'd gone to take it further, he'd shaken his head, getting up and taking the dishes to the sink to clean up.

I had to look after him as he walked, and I could just tell that that man was so smug over my reaction, but I wasn't going to let him win. I got up, shook off the aftershocks, and went to go help him with the cleanup. When we'd finished, I clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a cheerful goodnight before walking down the hallway to my room and shutting the door. I hadn't looked behind me as I walked away, but I'd felt his eyes on me the whole way.

I walked out of my room and into the living room, where Dillon was already sitting at his work terminal. The warm feeling that I got in my gut when I saw that was disturbing; I didn't think that I was in a place to start a relationship with anyone, much less to fall for someone new who definitely had some issues of his own.

And yet… it didn't stop me from checking to see whether his mug was empty, picking it up and refilling it with coffee.

Why? Why was I acting like a girlfriend when it wasn't my intention to enter a relationship?

When I set down the coffee next to him, he smiled up at me, a much softer and sweeter expression than I was used to.

"Thanks," he said. I saw his hand reach out for a second, as if it was going to land on my hip before he thought better of it.

"What would you say to driving me out to the trailhead again today? I'd really like to talk to my mom."

His face fell, and I could tell that he was about to give me an answer that he wasn't excited about.

"That's not a great idea," he said, looking back at his computer screen. "It's still too soon since the last time, and we don't want to draw too many eyes or attention to where you're calling from."

"It's been a week," I said, annoyed. "And Alex knows where I am. He's still in town, right?"

"As far as I know, yes, but we're trying to get him to move on. That's not gonna happen if you keep calling her from a number with this area code."

I was dying to yell at him and stomp my feet like a petulant child.

But I didn't want to fight with him again. And even more than that, I didn't want to do something, or say something that would finally be enough for him to ask me to leave the cabin.