CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE STORMwas every bit as bad as they’d said. We got almost two feet of snow that was blown into huge drifts. It was okay, though. The light powder gave me the perfect opportunity to introduce Charlie to one of my favorite things. I went outside, armed with the down comforters I had in storage. I placed them on the swing, then shoveled away what snow had accumulated on the porch to make room. Afterward, I went back in, took Charlie by the arm, led him out to the swing, sat down with him, and covered us up.
“Shit,” he whispered, looking at the tens of thousands of refractions of sunlight sparkling off the fresh snow. “I’ll admit, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen something so beautiful.” He turned to me. “Well, except you.”
I nudged him gently with my elbow. “Stop that.”
“Never going to happen,” he promised. “I’m going to make sure that every day of your life, you know exactly how important you are to me. I was stupid for not telling you about Clay, but to be honest, once I met you, it didn’t really come into my head again. All that was there was you.”
Little feathers tickled my stomach.
He waved a hand toward the horizon. “Your land is amazing. It’s so much like you. There are things you can see with your eyes, but the important stuff isn’t on the surface. You need to look deeper, see beneath it all. Dig up the things that lie hidden underneath.”
“My mother always says, ‘butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.’ She must have been talking about you.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. I think.” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Is that a compliment or an insult?”
I laughed, and it felt good. The tension that had bound my chest eased slightly.
“We’re going to have to talk to your brother,” Charlie said. “I don’t want him coming out here again and upsetting you.”
Resisting the urge to squint at him, I said, “Him? You both pissed me off. I can’t believe he set this whole thing up.”
Charlie gave a one-shoulder shrug. “He gave me a little push in this direction. Believe me, if you hadn’t intrigued me so much, I wouldn’t have kept coming back.” He reached his hand out and cupped my cheek. “And yousovery much intrigue me.”
I found myself pressing into his touch. His hand warmed my cheek, even in the bitter cold. He rubbed my cheek for a bit, then leaned against the swing.
“Do you want to go back in?” I asked.
“Not unless you want to. I want to sit here and soak in the peace and tranquility. If someone had told me something like this would call to me, I’d have said they were crazy. But it does. I want to see the seasons as they change. To watch as the snow melts away and the blooms of spring burst up from the ground. I remember seeing your flowers when I would run by. Their gentle scent filled the air, and after a while, I noticed I went slower as I passed.
“After a few weeks, I desperately wanted to meet you. This tract of land showed that someone loved it, gave it form and beauty. When I saw you hiding in there, watching me, I felt some strange connection to you. I thought about coming to your door and knocking, but remembered that you had to come to me. And the day you did? After I got out of sight, I pumped my fist, I was so damn happy.”
When I coughed and looked away, he tapped me on the leg.
“What are you thinking?”
No way did I want to do this. “I only came out to talk to you because Clay blackmailed me. He said if I didn’t, he would see about getting me consigned to a hospital.”
Instead of being angry, Charlie laughed. “I’m grateful for it, then. He knew you needed a push, and he did it in a way that still gave you the power.”
“He pissed me off,” I snapped.
“But it got you to talk to me. And believe me, it was worth it.” He nestled closer and put his head on my shoulder.
I took in a deep breath and found myself at peace. “I love you.”
He moved slightly and kissed my neck, which caused goose bumps to pebble on my skin. “Love you too,” he murmured.
WE DIDget a second weather wallop a few days later. Another storm from Canada pushed toward us, dropping six more inches of snow. The thing of it was, neither of us minded being in the house. Charlie sat at his computer, typing away, while I did my chores, and after I was done, I read another one of his books. Every so often, I would peer up and see him thoughtfully biting the end of the pen he’d use to jot down notes, his computer receiving his full concentration.
Or so I thought.
“You know, it’s not fair,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“You’re sitting there licking your lips while you look at me, and I can’t take you to bed.”
