Page 33 of Grouch-ish

With a kiss as soft as an owl’s feather, she’s claimed me. And I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier.

Day 5

Five rusty runners

December 30

Chapter 9

[Pear]

Our mouths press together with the softest of touch. Caught up in the moonlight and the moment, I worried I’d gone too far.

I’m staking my claim.

Did he mean me? With only four days of knowing him, he couldn’t possibly.

Still, when I lower to my heels and pull back from his mouth, he catches me by the back of my head, and our eyes lock a second before he leans forward to kiss me this round.

And Brock Scroggs knows how to kiss a woman.

After the open-mouth kisses and tongue licking on my neck two days ago, I already had a sense of how he’d kiss but this was different. Soft while insistent. Eager but patient. Tender while teasing. His lips caress mine, guiding them to follow his lead. His tongue doesn’t press forward. His teeth don’t nip. Only his mouth controls this moment and from the top of my head to the tips of my toes I feel him everywhere. I’ve never been kissed like this.

With purpose. With restraint. With care.

Brock is on a mission to melt my insides, or rather, heat them up. However, he takes things no further than this simplistic kiss before he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine.

“Thank you,” he whispers in the silent night.

“For what?” I smile, wanting to thank him for such a kiss, for igniting a flame within me. For waking me up inside.

“For giving me a chance.” His honesty hints that Brock hasn’t been given many opportunities to prove his worth. Or maybe he’s been trying to prove himself worthy too often.

“I’d give you a dozen,” I admit.

“Twelve days, right?”

That actually wasn’t what I meant, but I smile all the same.

His comment is a reminder that we only have twelve days together. Soon, he’ll go back to Chicago, and I’ll . . . still be here wondering what I’m going to do next with my life.

+ + +

On the fifth day of Brock’s stay, I have a difficult task for him.

“Five rusty runners,” I announce, after pulling back the giant tarp on one of two items in the old barn.

“Is that a—” He states the make and model number of the snowmobile so fast I don’t have any idea what he’s said.

I’m also not certain if it’s rust or just wear and tear on the sliders that propel the snowmobile like wheels on a vehicle, but they need to be cleaned or replaced.

“Can we take it out for a spin?” Like an eager child wanting to ride a new bike, Brock’s face is lit with excitement.

“Why don’t you inspect it first. I’m not certain it even has the proper gas.” I pause a second realizing I might have made an assumption that Brock would understand the mechanics of a snowmobile. Plus, if parts need to be replaced, I have no idea where to find them locally.

“I also have this project for you.”

Pulling back the tarp on a second item, which catches at first because of its height compared to mine, Brock gasps once more.