“They’re delicious.” I grin. “Like, look at the height on these things.” I hold one up to highlight the two-inch height. “Grandma knew what she was doing. What was she like?”
He leans his heavy weight up against the back of the couch in the dim light of the living room. Shadows pool in the corners, warm and quiet, our private world hidden beyond them. We could’ve sat at the dining room table, but we opted for a blanket on the floor of the living room instead. A house picnic is what we’re calling it, and so far, it’s lovely. We’ve eaten our steaks and now we’re having both biscuits and cake at the same time… not a vegetable in sight.
“Grandma was like no one else. She had this quiet certainty about her.” He strokes his hand down over his beard, tugging at the gray bits on his chin as he talks. “Whenever a day was tough or life got hard, everything somehow felt better just being next to her. She’d have liked you a lot.”
“Yeah?” I grin. “Which part, ‘cause lately I’m feeling like a complete train wreck.”
“Why do you feel like a train wreck?”
I shrug and stare at the man that kidnapped me from my wedding twelve hours ago. The much older man I’ve since let finger me, drive his cock into my throat, and then offered me homemade biscuits. “Oh, I don’t know… just all the randomness of the day, I guess. Plus, all the stuff going on with my mom lately has been making life a lot more complicated. I mean, if it were up to me, I’d buy her a brand-new house that’s handicap accessible and I’d live next door, so I was always there if she needed anything. How did you manage when your grandparents got older? That must have been hard.”
“I lived with them in their farmhouse so I could take care of them. It’s how families should be. One big house, everyone caring for each other.”
My chest warms, and I divert my gaze to the fuzzy, deer blanket sprawled out on the floor before looking up again. “I wouldn’t have expected a comment like that from you. You seem so… big and tough.”
“Probably wouldn’t have said that twenty years ago, but getting old is rough. Having family around keeps you human.” He hands me a fork as he talks.
“So, who’s going to take care of you when you’re old and crazy? Do you still want a family?”
“I’d have loved a family, but I’m a little intense for most people, and I don’t know, life feels over now.”
“Over? You’re notthatold.”
He grins and digs into the cake, nodding toward me to take a scoop as well. “We have to feed this to each other, right? It is a wedding cake after all.”
“Right.” I grin, sinking my fork into a soft, chocolaty slice. When I lift it, he shifts closer, and without thinking, we move at the same time, his hand lifting, mine rising, our arms crossing in the space between us.
We pause there for a second, tangled in this quiet, little knot, his mouth opening and closing again before he finally speaks. “You’re perfect.” His fork hovers near my mouth, mine near his, the faint brush of his wrist against mine as we lean into each other and take a bite.
The chocolate is smooth and creamy, the sponge soft and moist, but as we toss our forks to the side and lean into each other’s arms, the cake is the last thing I’m thinking about. For some reason, I’m thinking about the future, about what it would feel like to be in his arms for good.
“Tell me more about your farmhouse,” I say, leaning my head against his shoulder like I’ve been lying it here for years.
“Okay, well,” he clears his throat, “it’s this three-story monster of a place with worn, wood siding and a wraparoundporch. It’s rustic and weathered, but it sits in the middle of acres and acres of pastures with a big red barn in the distance.”
“Sounds like a dream,” I hum, lost in the timbre of his voice as he speaks.
“It’s peaceful, like nothing else exists up there except the land and the animals.”
“What kind of animals? Do you have those little, tiny cows? The ones with the horns?”
“Highlands?”
I nod.
“No, but I have a few horses, some goats, loads of turkeys, and Charlie. I board horses too, but that is few and far between. Thankfully, I’ve got good neighbors who help out while I’m doing jobs like this.”
I grin. “Jobs like kidnapping women from their weddings or jobs like the lake house?”
“Both.” He smiles and I swear my heart actually expands.
“I always had this fantasy that I lived on a farm. I don’t know why, I don’t have any real experience with it, but I think it’s the idea that everything is real, ya know? Like you work with your hands, creating something tangible. That’s why I like painting too.”
“It’s real alright.” He laughs under his breath. “A lot of work, but it’s what I was raised on, and it feels like home.”
I’m quiet for a moment, the words he’s said resonating somewhere surprising inside of me.
“Where’d you go?” he says, his calloused fingertips circling my bare thigh.
