27
Nikki
Rain pelts down outside, but I don’t hear the roof leak, the wind as it rattles windows, or the creaks of the old cottage. Instead, I’m snuggled in tight to a Hollywood movie star in his bed, which, at a guess, is made up with fine Egyptian cotton and maybe even some cashmere.
“Where did you grow up?” His fingers run up and down my bare arm, my back flush with his chest. We showered and fell into bed, him pulling me close immediately. Now, as the moonlight filters through the crack in the curtain, we’re up late, talking.
“Manhattan,” I whisper the truth, no longer scared to share it with him.
He huffs a laugh against my bare shoulder. “I grew up in the Bronx.”
“No way?” It’s probably a fact I should’ve known, but unlike most girls my age, celebrities were never my thing, and I don’t spend my time looking at gossip news or social media. I prefer a good book instead.
“We were practically neighbors.” His lips brush my skin, pecking kisses, not able to stop touching me.
“I’ve never been to the Bronx.”
His kisses stop abruptly. “Never?”
I shake my head slightly. “Nope.”
“Like not even for a Sunday afternoon stroll?”
“No. We had a house in Connecticut. Mom, James, and I used to stay there most of the time. School and other commitments were in the city, and then we’d rush back to the home and gardens we all loved so much.” I remember it all like it was yesterday.
“So you loved nature as a kid, then?” He smiles against my skin. I like this. We’re a tangle of naked limbs, his hands not leaving my body. I feel safer here in his arms than I’ve felt in forever.
“I guess. I took after my mom.”
“Was it something you studied at college?” His fingers draw small circles across my shoulder.
“It’s my passion. I love working the garden, growing herbs, vegetables, fruits. I like building things that compliment nature, not take from it.” I refrain from mentioning my father is the opposite, in almost every way.
“I see that. I watch you go through the rubbish at the diner, sorting it into recyclables.”
I love that he noticed that. “I’ve done that since I was a kid,” I tell him, huffing a laugh.
“I think the fact that you can make your own turbine is insane… It’s good that you have something you’re passionate about.”
“I guess it’s a little odd. I mean, most girls my age are shopping, out dancing, maybe traveling the world. And here’s me—”
He cuts me off. “Smart. Sexy. Genuine. You are ahead of them by leaps and bounds. You’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
I turn my head a little, looking back at him, my heart stuttering.
“Both inside and out.” His nose nudges mine, and our lips meet briefly as his hand slides down to my hip.
“What about you? Have you always acted?”
“Struggled a bit initially. Left school. I wasn’t studious; Sawyer got all the brains. Rolled around, working blue collar jobs for a while until I moved to LA.”
“That takes courage.”
“Or desperation. I could see Sawyer making it, and I wanted to make something of myself too.”
I nod in understanding. “Well, I think you succeeded, although…”
“Although what?” he asks curiously.
