Chapter 19
nineteen
BECCA
For once, Will Clark wasn't wearing a hat. But if he had been, he would have definitely been holding it. Well, if not for all the Tupperware. He gave new, beautiful bearded life to the term "hat in hand."
He stood in my doorway, looking humbled and apologetic, and I wasn't entirely sure why. I knew things turned weird after I bolted from his house last night to go pick up Laramie. But he'd told me he had plans tonight, and I figured that had been a result of said weirdness.
Yet here he was, asking to come in.
"Hi, Will. Of course you can come in." I opened the door wide, doing my best not to be self-conscious in my avocado pajamas once again.
Carl raced to the bedroom, and Will stepped inside, pulling off his dark jacket and hanging it on the coatrack. His eyes caught on the mess I'd made in front of the fireplace. There was a long-handled lighter, some pages ripped from a magazine, twigs I'd collected from beneath the trees in the yard, and a beverage pitcher full of water . . . just in case.
"Were you looking to start a fire?" he asked, finally meeting my gaze.
"Yeah," I said. "It's pretty cold out tonight. I thought it would be nice to read in here with a fire going. "
He smiled and watched me for another moment.
"Fine," I blurted. "I was in the other room on my computer googling how to light a fire in the fireplace."
His smile grew, and he glanced back toward the firewood stacked, forming a neat base as per the web page instructions. "Would you like me to walk you through it? Or I could just watch if you've got it handled."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I don't really want you to watch me try to do something for the first time. I did get the flue open, though."
He nodded and then offered, "Maybe we could work on it together."
I smiled, feeling grateful. "That sounds good. Would you like something to drink? I have that IPA from Trailview that you like."
I was already walking the short distance to the kitchen as I spoke. I nearly jumped when I realized he'd followed me.
Will held the refrigerator door open for me as I reached inside. "Here are some leftovers from Mom. She thought you might like them."
"Oh." I frowned. "Is that why you came over?"
He shook his head. "No, I wanted to see you."
I traded his plastic containers for the bottle of beer and placed them inside the fridge. That was nice of Maggie to think of me. I guess that explained where Will was this evening. A tiny part of me felt envious. And then another part—a little bigger this time—recognized that I was sad that I hadn't been invited in the first place. But that was silly. Will and I were . . . whatever we were or starting to be. That didn't mean I should be included in dinner with his parents or whatever had gone on at Maggie's tonight.
Will eyed the bottle in his hands. "Did you end up liking this one?"
"No. Still not much of a beer drinker."
"So then why . . . " He trailed off, and my blush filled in the blanks.
But I made myself meet his curious gaze. "I got it for you. In case you ever ended up back over here. "
Will's gray eyes lingered on my face, soft and something else I didn't have the courage to name. But Carl trotted into the kitchen a moment later, drawing my attention.
I grabbed the dog bowl from below the sink and filled it under the tap. After placing it on the kitchen floor, I said, "I got some C-H-E-E-S-E for him, if that's okay?"
Will ran a large hand over his mouth and beard, but I could tell he was amused. Instead of answering, he reached for me, looping an arm around my waist and drawing me to him. His smiling lips met my own in a brief kiss, quick and sweet, before he pulled back to look at me.
"I'm sorry. That was just too fucking cute." He kissed me again, grinning all the while. "I'm pretty sure Carl would like some cheese. And I'm also nearly positive that he can't spell."
I raised a brow. "I bet I could say W-A-L-K right now, and he'd know exactly what I meant."
Will swooped in and pressed his lips to mine once more. "You're right," he murmured. "Don't do it. Then we won't have a moment of peace."
My hands smoothed over the soft fabric of Will's shirt, and I wondered what he had in mind for tonight and why he didn't want to be interrupted.
After one more soft kiss that lingered over my bottom lip, Will said, "Let's go make that fire."
I gave Carl his cheese snack, then followed Will into the living room. Kneeling beside him, I thought about everything I'd done today and how I wanted to share it all. I considered Laramie's words this morning, about how I needed to be honest and upfront with Will. Make a decision about staying and stick to it. Last night, I'd obviously given him reason to think I wasn't serious about staying in Kirby Falls. I didn't want him to see me that way—a person who doesn't mean what they say and doesn't follow through. Someone unreliable. The exact opposite of Will Clark.
He passed me the loosely balled-up magazine pages. "Let's put those between the logs at the bottom. "
Then he put two more logs on top, perpendicular to the two I already had in place. "Now the kindling goes in the middle."
We worked together to pile the small branches I'd scavenged from outside. When I didn't think I could hold it in anymore, I spoke, "I wanted you to know that I talked to a real estate agent today. Your dad recommended Trudy Caswell, and we've been emailing for a bit. We spoke on the phone this morning, and I'm going to look at some places she thinks might be a good fit this week. Some are long-term rentals that she manages." I focused on the kindling and took a slow breath. "If you'd like to come with me, that would be great. But if it's too weird, then?—"
"It's not too weird," Will interrupted. He touched my chin and drew my attention away from the fireplace. "If you want me there, then I want to be there. And I'm sorry I was irritated last night after you left. I talked to Larry. She told me what happened. But even so, I shouldn't have acted like a jealous asshole, jumping to conclusions and assuming you weren't serious about staying."
His expression was severe, but he spoke softly.
I tried to match his tone. "I am staying, Will. I'll have to go back to Detroit to pack things up and rent out Mrs. Walters's apartment, and to—to talk to my sister. But this is what I want. And it feels right." Biting my lip briefly, I admitted, "Well, it feels terrifying, but also right."
"You're scared?" Will asked, face pinched with concern.
Moving on to the last step, I took the lighter and lit the paper in the bottom, watching it ignite and burn. "Of course I'm scared. But I'm also brave." It felt easier to confess this truth to the catching fire. "Some part of me thinks, what's the worst that could happen? I've been rejected by the people who were supposed to love me. I endured watching the person I cared most about waste away, claimed by a horrible disease. So what if I move here, and maybe you get tired of me? I'll survive. I'll still have this town, and I'll still have friends. I'll still?—"
"No," Will said urgently and then swallowed down the harshness in his voice. "No, that wouldn't happen, Becca. Couldn't happen. You are . . . home to me. The same way this place is home. It may have taken me time to see it, but I feel it in my bones. Have felt it every time I look at you. "
Being the center of Will's attention was an intense experience. His gray eyes were focused, fixated on me. It felt like being in the eye of a storm—the one solid place amid swirling turmoil.
His words made me brave, made me strong. Being home for someone else, when I'd never even expected to find it for myself was a feeling I couldn't name, couldn't even place. It seemed too big and too wonderful. I wanted it too much. But I knew Will meant what he said. He was the one I could count on.
As the fire burned in the grate, I thought to myself that it was probably weird to already love someone you'd never even slept with. But the strangeness didn't make it any less true. I did love Will Clark. He was faithful and dependable, and he'd made the concept of belonging a reality for me. Maybe it was early days, but I knew it was right. The same way I knew that Kirby Falls was home, I could feel it in this man.
"That's, maybe, the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," I admitted.
With aching slowness, Will leaned over and cupped my jaw. His thumb was gentle as he stroked my cheekbone. Then he lowered his head and kissed me. It was a promise—a vow—exchanged between two people on the altar of honesty and truth.
I let him set the pace and guide our movements, but I knew where I wanted us to end up.
Will's other hand wrapped around my waist, urging me onto his lap. I went willingly, eager to be nearer. I felt surrounded and safe within the hard confines of this man. His firm thighs supported me, and his warm chest pressed flush against mine. I wanted to be consumed by his heat.
Sifting my fingers through his dark hair, we kissed for long minutes until Will's calloused hands skimmed beneath the hem of my shirt. Fingertips dragged up and down my spine, and I relished his touch—skin to skin.
But I was eager for more.
Breaking our kiss, I reached down and lifted my shirt over my head. Now, I was topless on the floor, straddling Will's thighs in my avocado pajama shorts.
Will's eyes stayed locked on mine before dropping down to take me in. In any other situation, with any other man, I might have felt a pinch of fear, the uneasy twist of self-consciousness in the pit of my stomach. But with Will, it just felt like one more truth being revealed amid breathless anticipation.
"So beautiful, Becca." His gaze came back to mine as his hands settled warm and heavy on my back, drawing me closer, pressing me tight to his chest. "You are . . . sunshine, starlight—the brightest thing in any room. And I couldn't look away if I tried."
I smiled against his lips, loving his words—so stark and honest—and the feel of his soft shirt against my bare skin.
He kissed me again, deeper and harder this time. And maybe I poured out some of my frustration, too. For all the weeks I'd wanted him. For all the times I'd reminded myself we were friends and nothing more.
Eventually, our movements grew restless. I ground over Will, eager for touch and friction and just . . . more. And Will must have had a thing for my tiny shorts because his hands were busy making a path over my thighs to my backside and then back again. Tugging me near, keeping me close, and urging me on.
My body was too small—too inconsequential—for the savage beat of my heart. I felt it in my fingertips, in the violent thrumming against my ribs, and in the tremor of my voice when I gasped out brokenly, "Will."
He got to his feet and pulled me along with him, but I felt his hesitation as we stood in the living room staring at one another. So I reached for his hand and beckoned him to follow. The bedroom was dark, but I didn't mind. I drew back the covers and then turned to face Will.
With bravery guiding my touch, I reached for him, unsnapping his shirt from the bottom up. He slid his shoes off, and when I got to the top button of his jeans, he helped me out and pulled them the rest of the way off.
It was a relief to glide my hands over his skin. The firm rounded tops of his shoulders, over the scar on the right, down his strong biceps and forearms. I explored his chest, lightly dusted in dark hair and molded from hard work on the farm. My nails scratched over the lean muscles stacked deliciously down his abdomen. Then my curious grip traced the edges of the vee tapering into his boxer briefs.
When he'd spent the night earlier in the week, I'd wanted to touch him. Of course I had. But I'd stopped myself from doing more than cuddling myself against him.
Now, I had the freedom to look, to touch, to taste.
And so I did. I pressed my lips to the center of Will's chest. I brought my hands to his firm back and scraped my nails down either side of his spine.
He groaned out a needful sound that had me hiding a grin against his shoulder. And then Will's fingers hooked in the sides of my shorts and slid them down my thighs—along with my underwear—until I stood before him completely nude and utterly ready for him to be the same.
But when I reached for his waistband in turn, he urged me to lie back on the mattress.
Soft lips pressed open-mouthed kisses from my neck to the tips of my breasts, across my stomach and to the tops of my thighs. I watched Will kneel on the floor and spread my legs wide before bringing his mouth to my center.
White-hot pleasure seeped throughout my body at a languid pace as he urged me higher and higher. His relentless effort and determined touch had me clutching the sheets for dear life. And when he leisurely slid a finger inside me, my body locked tight around him before releasing all that pressure he'd slowly been building. All at once, my breath rushed out, his name among the exhale, and I didn't think I'd ever felt so cherished.
When he slowly kissed his way back up my boneless body, I loved the scrape of his beard—rough and soft at the same time.
Boldness and a recent orgasm had me reaching for him, using my feet and legs to push his boxer briefs all the way off. His erection settled against the very heart of me, hot and hard. But Will wasn't in any sort of hurry.
His big hands were still moving over my body, touching and caressing every part of me, lingering in the sensitive dip behind my knee and feeling the weight of my breasts. His lips ghosted along my shoulder and up to my ear before he memorized the jut of my collarbones, tongue tracing and making me shiver.
I was squirming again, searching for something I couldn't name. I was ready. I wanted to feel this connection. I wanted to erase the space between us and banish the ache of his absence .
"I'm on birth control," I whispered, adding a little nudge with my heels to Will's backside.
When he raised up on his hands to hover over me, I caught the glint from his amused smile. "Are you in a hurry?"
"No." I rolled my hips, feeling his hardness touch along all my sensitive spots.
"I think you are." In answer, he thrust against me, once again grazing a place that had me trembling in response.
"Maybe I am in a hurry," I huffed out. "But not to get it over with. Just to get started."
Slowly, Will lowered his body more fully to mine. I could feel him from my chest to my toes, absorbing his heat and his weight—every delicious inch.
He pressed a quick kiss to my lips before saying, "Honey, I'm just getting started. And it won't be over anytime soon."
But he did move then, angling himself and inching forward and then inside as we both breathed through the overwhelming surge of connection, and finally— finally —reaching this moment and this place together.
A million thoughts flooded my head, but I couldn't grasp a single one. I was too focused on the here and now and the way it felt to have my body accept his.
Our movements turned from questing and searching to utter harmony.
Through it all, Will never stopped seeking my touch and touching me in return. The press of his lips to the inside of my wrist. The drag of my thigh along his hip. He held me tighter, but I didn't think I could ever get close enough.
Will was gentle and worshipful. His gaze made me feel cherished. For some reason, I thought he'd be shy, but he wasn't. He watched me, coveted me. Led one moment and then begged with his next breath. He was comfortable, I realized, in a way I'd never seen him—content in the push and pull of our bodies. Confident in his affection and mine.
I'd never felt so surrounded and engulfed—so very cared for.
I cheerfully thought someone would have to collect all the pieces of me afterward because I was sure to break apart when this was all over with. But that shattering to nothingness never came .
When I came apart at the seams, Will was there to gather me up, to hold me close, and stitch me back together.
Later, with the sweat cooling on our skin and a blanket of star-speckled darkness outside the window, I breathed in the faint scent of wood smoke. And I let myself enjoy this moment.
Will pulled the sheet up to cover us and then propped himself up on his elbow. I looked up and met his gaze in the darkness as his fingers traced a path from my elbow down to my wrist and then back again.
"What is it?" I asked, worried that he was having regrets or second thoughts.
"Is it okay if I stay the night?"
I frowned. "Of course, Will. You can stay all the nights as far as I'm concerned."
His smile was small, just a suggestion beneath his beard in the dim light from the hallway and the shadows from the moon. "Just making sure you wanted me here, in your space."
"Is this all some elaborate ploy to get the tiny house back for yourself?"
I felt his chest shake with laughter from where it rested against my arm. "Yeah. This was my evil plan all along. The hardest part was getting Carl to fall in love with you too."
Too .
I thought that might be my new favorite word. The unintentional implication of what Will had said made me giddy. I could feel my smile threatening to overtake my face, but I didn't want to embarrass him or let on that I'd noticed. It didn't feel like the right time for me to blurt out, "I love you too."
I managed to say, "Well, no backsies. Hope you don't mind that I talk in my sleep and use all the hot water."
"I know. I heard you the other night."
"Wait." I gasped. "Do I really talk in my sleep?"
The fingertips gliding down my forearm slipped easily into my hand, lacing our fingers together. "Yeah. You kept saying ‘lumbersnack' over and over again. "
I growled and laughed at the same time, reaching over to swat at him, but he already had one hand subdued. When Will grabbed the other, he used my momentum and simply rolled me on top of him as he laughed, low and delighted into the skin of my neck.
"That's not funny," I grumbled, contradicting my words with the huge grin still on my face. Will was being playful and silly, and it was hard to resist this version of him. And we were still naked in bed together, so lying on top of him wasn't a hardship.
I breathed in his scent, and asked before I could think better of it, "How do you even smell this good? It's like butter and pancakes and maple syrup and campfire all rolled into one."
"Oh, um. It's my beard oil. You like it?"
I nuzzled against his chin. "Yes. Goodness, I love it. I want to roll around on your face."
"We can do that," he replied straight-faced and squeezed my butt.
Then I realized what I said and groaned, lowering my head to his chest. His laughter rumbled against me again, and I loved the intimacy of it, naked and vulnerable with nowhere to hide. "Let's just add that to the list of embarrassing things we're never going to bring up again."
Will nudged my chin up so he could see me. "Wait. What's on this list?"
"Well, the tree incident, obviously."
He was already shaking his head. "No way. That tree has a lot of history. You getting stuck in it only improves it. Besides, it's where we met. I'm not forgetting it. What else is there?"
His words about the tree were casual, but they still had my heart tripping all over itself. "The, um, marshmallow incident."
Will snorted. "I call that one the failed B and E in my head."
That made me grin.
"It's not going on the list either. That was the first time I spent the night."
"That doesn't count," I argued .
"Fine. It was the first time I saw you in those avocado shorts. Definitely memorable, and I'll never recover."
Warmth and something a lot like love filled my chest. I hoped Will couldn't see the gooey way I was looking at him. "Okay, so the corn maze incident."
He gave my backside another squeeze. "First kiss. No way is that going on the list."
I nodded, relieved. "How about the pageant wave?"
Will was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I thought it was stately and distinguished."
I groaned again, but I was laughing, and so was he.
As our amusement trailed away, Will said softly, "I think that's when I knew that I wasn't going to be able to keep you in a box labeled untouchable tourist ."
My stomach swooped at his admission, something quiet and honest that was all the more meaningful for it. "That's when you knew?"
He nodded.
"When I waved at you like a dork?"
Leaning forward, he pressed a slow kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering against my skin. "Something like that."