Page 74 of The Sweetness of Life

Anything to ease my guilty conscience.

“Okay,” she whispers.

Her hand trails from my waist over my back and finds the hem of my T-shirt. She easily lifts it up and off my body, allowing the sun’s rays to warm my back as they slip through the branches of the tree.

All around us, the sounds of the hills float by, and not once do I hear the telltale signs of another person. There’s just the buzzing of the bees, the chirping of birds, and the leaves waving in the passing breeze. We are alone and lost to the world. This moment feels stolen, but as I sit back on my heels, I intend to take it anyway.

Removing her clothes, I start with her boots. It’s like unwrapping a present I’ve waited my whole life for, and as my eyes peruse each newly bared section, her soft ivory skin flushes pink.

“Hmm, where should I start?” I tease her, rubbing my thumb on the inside of her thigh.

“With your clothes,” she says, her voice a little labored.

Smiling at her, I strip down then slowly begin worshiping every inch of her beautiful body. Her sounds, the expressions on her face, and her fingertips as they dig into my hair, shoulders, and back—all of it lets me know she’s as lost in the sensations as I am. I could live a thousand years and never tire of touching her.

She whispers my name as I trace my tongue over her hipbone and travel up to her breast. “More,” she says on an exhalation. When I glance up to her face, I find her eyes filled with desire and yearning.

Not needing to be asked twice, I lace my fingers through hers, seal our lips together, and push home.

Home.

Her.

Her breath rushes out on a gratified sigh, and I breathe her in as her fingers tighten around mine. My eyelids slip shut as I’m hit with a fervent onslaught of tingles racing from my groin up my spine. Being inside Shelby, being connected to her—nothing I’ve experienced in my life even comes close to comparing. It’s a feeling so strong that as I start to move, with each stroke in and out, I feel like her body is holding on and taking a piece of my soul, and I freely give it.

Time stills as we lose ourselves to the emotional and physical act of making love to each other. Light and shadows dance behind my eyelids and leaves all around us blow in the wind, but all I see, feel, and hear is her. I would give anything and everything to be able to relive this intense, exquisite, incredibly euphoric feeling every day. That’s what this is for me . . . love.

Smiling to myself, I think these are the kinds of moments that artists are constantly chasing. Words aren’t needed, but many different sentiments are radiating off us. I know this is new, and I know we got off to an unconventional start, but I can feel the way her heart is drifting in every touch, every kiss, every look. It’s the way she stops breathing when I come near and the way she breathes me in at the same time.

“Tell me,” I whisper some hours later.

Her eyelids flutter open and she blinks against the brightness of the late afternoon sun.

“Tell you what?” she asks, her eyes sleepy and satiated as she rolls to face me. Her lips barely move as she speaks, but they still draw me in as I commit to memory each curve, freckle, and eyelash.

How do I explain to her what I’m asking for? How do I tell her she’s what I need? There’s so much to say, so much to do. I want it all. I want . . .

“Everything.”

Homemade Biscuits

ZACH STAYED WITH me the rest of the day and all through the night. If we weren’t tangled up in each other, we were drinking his wine, eating, and laughing. As serious as he has been and can be, I’ve never laughed with one person as much as I did with him.

I think what surprised me the most was how tender he was with me. Maybe it was because we moved past that initial must-have desperation or maybe because we weren’t limited on time, but he was different yesterday, and it was noticeable. There isn’t anything wrong with the difference, but I almost wish his movements were still filled with lust and less warm, less loving. It all adds to the vision of what I think a life with him might be like, and considering I have one day left here, it makes me long for something that just won’t be.

Deciding I need to stop thinking about him and start thinking about leaving, I move from room to room in the cottage, picking up the mess we made last night and setting my things off to the side for packing. At some point, I glance outside, and my breath catches because the black crow is back. The world around me blurs as I narrow my gaze on it and my heart rate picks up. It can’t be coincidental. It must mean something, and dread slips in under my skin. Closing my eyes, I turn away and do my best to forget about it.

Stopping next to the kitchen island, I run my fingers over the lavender flowers and then lean in to smell the plant. Lavender is supposed to have a calming effect; if only it would work on me and my anxious heart.

The problem is, Zach isn’t what I expected. There’s this gentleness in the way he looks at me and touches me that I’m not used to. As blissful as my heart feels, it’s because of this that there’s an unwanted nervousness sitting deep within me, a nervousness that seems to be growing the closer we get to the assignment ending. Maybe that’s all it is—I’m anxious about saying goodbye and not knowing what happens next, or maybe there’s a reason for this gut feeling . . . I haven’t figured it out yet.

From across the room, my cell phone starts ringing, and my heart jumps. Thinking it might be Zach calling, I move across the room and see it’s Meg. I let out a sigh of relief; she’s the person who can calm me down.

“Hey!” I answer on the third ring.

“One day left!” Meg squeals. “I’m so excited for you to get back home. I don’t think we’ve ever gone this long being apart.”

I can almost see her bouncing around in the kitchen at OBA, and I can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “I miss you, too.”