Page 29 of Silver Brewer

Night sounds

[Letty]

We spend the afternoon on a short hike, and thankfully, Giant goes at my pace because my blisters have blisters. He surprises me by sharing more details about himself and his family.

His brother Charlie is the mayor brother.

Billy is the pub-owning brother.

James is the motorcycle brother.

“He’s the black sheep of the family. He used to be in search and rescue. He claims he has reasons for staying away from us, and I know those reasons, but they aren’t good enough to me.” Giant scoffs. “Now he’s mixed up in all kinds of things, and I don’t like knowing he’s up here.”

Giant reaches for my hand and draws it to his lips to place a brief kiss on my knuckles. To my surprise, he doesn’t release my hand, but holds my fingers as we continue to climb through the labyrinth of trees.

“Mati is my sister. Her husband died a year ago August, and she’s recently reunited with her best guy friend from high school. It’s about time he professes his love for her.” Giant chuckles. “Our mother was obsessed with Roald Dahl, and we are each named after a character from one of his books. I come from the BFG. Big Friendly Giant.”

I chuckle. It suits him. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s embarrassing,” he admits, and I’m about to disagree when he stops us on a large boulder, like a natural ridge. My breath hitches at the view. The valley is breathtaking as the greenery shifts to reds, golds, and oranges. Fall is in full bloom. It almost doesn’t look real, it’s so picture-perfect.

“Wow,” I mumble, scanning the sponge brush-painted landscape. My phone camera would not do justice to this natural image.

“Yeah, wow,” Giant says, and I turn to find him observing me. A grin grows on my face. Just his eyes on me have me giddy and all seems to be forgiven from this morning.

His brow pinches. “I haven’t kissed you.”

I lick my lips and bite the corner. “I’ve noticed.” I pause a second, reaching up for his jaw. “I’ve never been kissed by a bearded man,” I add, scraping my fingertips against the thickly covered edge of his face.

“Think I should fix that?” he teases.

“I think you should.” Giant lowers for me, cupping my cheeks in his large hands before taking my lips with a tender kiss. Even though it starts too slow and sweet, like all things between us, it heats within seconds, and our tongues collide. Giant draws me to him, and I melt against his large body, feeling the evidence that his desire matches mine. I want this man again, but I’m content to have him kiss me like he is, like I’m the air he needs to breathe and the color in his wind.

That night, Giant asks if I mind connecting the sleeping bags to make a double one. He slips in next to me in only his boxer briefs and a T-shirt. I start with my pajama pants and a sweatshirt, but he runs hot, so within minutes, I’m overheating, and I sit up to remove my pants. Giant tucks me into him when I’m only half-dressed.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he tells me, and I turn my head to look up at him. My hand rests on his chest while my ear listens to the beat of his strong heart.

“What stuff?” I question. When we returned to camp, he made dinner, stopping to occasionally kiss me before returning to the task at hand. He’s pretty good at a few things.

“Holding someone.”

My brows pinch. What about his wife? He spoke of her with such adoration and sorrow earlier, my heart broke for him. I turn to kiss his covered pec.

“You’re doing just fine,” I tell him, wondering how many women he’s been with since her. Has he treated them all with the same distance as he’s treated me? Did he eventually pull them close with unending kisses? I snuggle into him with the thought.

Clara was a lucky woman.

The idea of her doesn’t make me jealous, but the devotion of Giant’s love does. I’ve never felt such dedication, such passion. If love exists, and I believe it does, it must be for other people, not me. However, my sister’s wedding comes to mind, and I reconsider when I think of the farce it’s going to be.

“Where are your thoughts?” Giant asks, and I shift to glance back at him.

“All over, I guess.”

“When you’re quiet, I get nervous.”

“I thought you didn’t like my chirping.”

“As I said earlier, it’s growing on me.” He chuckles, and the rumble against my ear warms my insides. He’s on his back, and I’m pressed into his side, so I slip a leg over his. I’m not expecting any more sexual encounters with him. Thinking of his wife makes me raw and sad, despite all our kisses through the remainder of the day. I don’t want to compare myself to her, and I don’t want to feel like I’m filling a hole for him, but I do want to be close to him. It’s nice to be held. Hug therapy—it’s a real thing where a person holds someone for an hour. I might enjoy the experience. Then I chuckle. I couldn’t hug a stranger, yet that’s exactly what I’m doing. However, Giant Harrington feels anything but a stranger to me. Something about him sings to my soul. Maybe it’s the intensity of the sex last night. Maybe it’s the loneliness I heard in his voice when he spoke of his wife.