George laughed brightly when Darren’s beanbag overshot the board by a good ten feet.
We’d spent the last few weeks figuring out what life looked like, moving forward. The orchard was open four days a week for lavender season now. We’d shift into u-pick mode for berries in the coming months before apple season began in earnest in late August.
Ian and George had moved in with me, and my quiet cabin wasn’t so quiet anymore.
Sophia had decided to stay on as a nanny for George. She’d found her own place in town, and I figured her relationship with Alex had a bit to do with her decision to stay. We were happy to have her, and I knew George would adapt more easily if some aspects of his life remained consistent. The kid was actually pretty excited to start third grade in the fall after Bonnie had taken us on a tour of the elementary school and a visit to her classroom, which included a pet rabbit named Oreo.
True to his word, Ian made me coffee every morning, and I really thought he was getting the hang of it. It tasted a little better every day.
We still ran together and joined my parents for breakfast. George helped take care of Ralph, and Ian and I had plans for our chicken coop. We were in the process of putting in security around the cabin and expanding to make everything more private. Ian had made Buck Adams a generous offer for his land, and now, our closest neighbor was several miles away.
Darren would be heading back to California to find a more permanent position, but he was with us in the interim until the cabin and the surrounding area met his security specifications.
Ian was excited to spend the summer in Kirby Falls. He wouldn’t need to leave for work until September, when filming was set to begin for an action film he’d been contracted for over a year ago. The schedule had him in Ireland for three months, but I wasn’t worried. We’d make it work.
He was keeping the beach house in Malibu for the future. For when hewould be filming in LA, and for when I needed an escape to the ocean. To all that wide-open space.
We were in the middle of weaving our lives together, making plans and promises, and allowances for mistakes.
There were challenges and revelations as newness gave way to familiarity. The sound of George galloping up and down the staircase never failed to make me smile. I didn’t even mind stepping over his little shoes that never seemed to make it into the entryway closet.
Ian loaded the dishwasher like a possessed toddler. But fresh wildflowers ended up on my bedside table every few days. And I never had to wonder if he missed his old life, the one with countless luxuries and indulgences. Ian showed me every single day how grateful he was to be home.
He may have been a famous movie star with the best smile in Hollywood, but here, in Kirby Falls, he was just Ian. He did laundry and made dinner. He worked out with my brother and played poker with my dad. He cooked with my mother, and he was helping Mercer paint the nursery.
Ian had a life where people accepted him and relied on him for more than his money and his fame. That, more than anything, had shaped his wonder over this small mountain town.
“Georgie has been invited to a sleepover with your parents tonight,” Ian whispered into the shell of my ear.
I felt his hand settle around my waist, fingers finding their way beneath the hem of my shirt. His skin, warm from a day spent in the spring sunshine.
I raised an interested brow. “Is that so?”
He nodded slowly, a smile twisting his lips.
We didn’t even bother saying goodbye to everyone. I touched base with my parents and made sure they had everything George needed for an overnight stay. Then we hugged the kid and told him we’d see him in the morning.
The drive home was a lesson in torturous anticipation. True alone time was precious and rare these days, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands onIan, to see his body in the waning daylight, to be as loud as I wanted when he touched me.
We left a trail of clothing from the back door, through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the bedroom. My back hit the quilt at the same time Ian dove for my center.
“Oh God,” I moaned as he licked my pussy with abandon.
His hair was longer these days, and I was grateful. Because it meant I could slide my fingers through the dark strands and hold on while he fucked me with his tongue, like he was doing now.
I’d been so worked up on the drive over, imagining his hands on me, that I was about to come, embarrassingly fast.
I must have said that last part out loud because Ian lifted his head long enough to say, “Good. I’ll make you come again.”
With renewed enthusiasm, he went back to work, two thick fingers filling me as he sucked mercilessly at my clit.
“Fuck,” I breathed, the curse muffled from beneath the arm I’d thrown over my face.
My hips rolled, eager and a little impatient as Ian’s fingers pumped in time with my thrusts.
Gasping breaths accompanied my urgent movements, and a moment later, I was rewarded. My orgasm moved through me, a slow and steady spread of heat and pleasure from my center outward.
Ian pushed inside me while I was still coming, my muscles contracting deliciously around the invasion.
