Page 57 of Silver Brewer

“There is one.”

I don’t recall seeing it, but I didn’t get a good look at his place. In fact, I haven’t even seen the inside.

“That place is special to you.” He’s already explained the inheritance from his pap.

“The house was so dilapidated when Pap gifted it to me. I think he knew I’d need the project when I got home. I’d need the solitude of the woods and the work with my hands. Idle minds are not good for those with dark memories.”

My eyes fall to the wound on his shoulder, and my chest aches. I can’t imagine him not in the world. Not in my life either. I want to keep him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“You really miss it?” he teases, but there’s something more in the question.

“It was more than I expected. Peaceful. Serene.”

“That’s what the brochure would say.”

I push water at him. “That’s what I’d say. I found a little of myself that I didn’t know was missing.”

His lips crook in the corner. “Really?”

“I’ve been a little lost since Hudson. Not that I miss him. Lying, cheating bastard. Then I missed another opportunity with a baby.” I chuckle, but my voice saddens. “I just thought I was moving in one direction, and then I wasn’t. It’s the story of my life. I thought I’d graduate college and go one way and ended up where I’m at.”

“And that is…?”

“I sell real estate when I wanted to write books.”

His brows pinch, waiting me out. “I was an English major eons ago. What else would I want to do besides teach, which I didn’t want to do. I wanted to read and write. Period.” I chuckle at myself and my twentysomething dreams.

“And you can’t do it now?”

I stare at him, his big brown eyes questioning me with sincerity. “I-I never thought about it. I mean, I work all the time and travel.”

“Do you like that?”

“No,” I offer a little too harshly and a little too quick. “It’s a job.”

“Could you do it anywhere? Sell real estate?”

“I wouldn’t want to.” The words rush out again, and his eyes widen. Why is he looking at me like that? “I mean, I wouldn’t want to sell real estate somewhere else because I don’t really want to sell it at all.” I can’t believe I’m admitting this to him. I don’t think I’ve even admitted it to myself. I’m miserable at my job, but saying it out loud makes me feel guilty. It’s a decent job, and I need the money for a baby.

“If you could do anything, anywhere, what would you do?”

“Write books,” I say a little more confidently. “I’d write a book.”

“About romance?” he teases, wiggling his brow.

“Well, I certainly have good material lately,” I flirt.

“Sex god.” He pats his large chest.

“Among other things.” I giggle. It’s so much more than sex. I feel connected to him in a way I can’t explain. Maybe it’s because of the mountain and our experience up on the ridge. I proved to myself I could camp, and he opened me up to an adventure I didn’t know I needed.

After covering his face with bubbles, he pulls himself from the tub. “I’m too warm.”

He’s hot, actually. So hot. His broad chest. The patch of hair. The trail leading lower. His dick, which isn’t extended but still large. His arms. His hands. I love this man.

Even if it seems too soon, I love him.