Page 111 of Seale the Deal

A soft sound escapes me before I can stop it, and Ruger’s hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck. The touch sends a shiver through me. I shift closer, and the movement earns a quiet groan from him. My stomach flips. The kiss deepens naturally, not rushed or desperate, but impossible to mistake for friendship. Every lingering brush of our lips seems to say the things we haven’t quite managed to put into words yet.

When we finally pull apart, I can still feel his breath against my lips. His forehead rests against mine, and my heart pounds so hard and loud I’m sure the neighbours can hear it.

There, he murmurs.

There what?

His thumb brushes my cheek. That felt so much better knowing than guessing.

I smile. It did.

My phone vibrates, breaking the moment, and I look down. It’s my alarm to start walking to the shop.

I have to go, I say, unable to hide my disappointment.

He nods, grabs a travel mug, and pours my coffee with the perfect amount of cream like he always does. When I reach for it, he pulls it back, making me step closer.

Once I’m within reach, his free arm slips around my waist, pulling me flush to him.

Have a good day, baby, he murmurs, kissing me again, slow and deliberate.

When we break apart, I smile.

I’ll see you later?

I’ll have dinner ready.

I kiss him gently again before heading out. On the walk to the shop, I touch my lips and smile. At least this hangover isn’t for nothing.

Chapter 22

Wrenley

DAYS LEFT ON VISA: 45

I pinch the little hole I made in the fabric, lining it up with its twin on the other piece. It’s crooked. I nudge it into place and grab my awl, wiggling it gently so the ribbon will fit through later without shredding the poor thing. My needle’s already double-threaded because sewing is the only place in my life where I’m organized. I flip the fabric right side out and push it through. One stitch, then another, slow and steady until the opening starts to take shape. I smile. There’s something ridiculously satisfying about watching a garment come together in my hands.

After our conversation, Ruger and I found our way into a new normal. And this normal has had a lot of kissing. I catch myself smiling all the time and looking forward to the end of the day because I know he will eventually wander into the living room and curl up on the couch together. I don’t have to overanalyze every look or accidental touch. I don’t have to wonder if Ruger is feeling the same thing I am because every time he pulls me into his arms and kisses me like he’s been thinking about it all day, I have my answer.

Even though I’ve found answers in this one area, there’s still uncertainty lurking in the shadows. Every incredible moment with Ruger seems to be accompanied by the things that haven’t been answered. What happens if this isn’t enough? What happens if I decide that my career is what I need to be fulfilled? Every day I spend with him makes the possibility of leaving more heartbreaking and the decision that much harder.

As if that weren’t complicated enough, there’s Remi.

She came up with this entire ridiculous scheme in the first place. Every time Ruger kisses me in the kitchen or slips his hand in mine under a blanket while we’re watching TV, a tiny voice in the back of my head reminds me that I’m being dishonest with her, and I’m not sure my reasons are enough.

Good morning! Beryl’s voice makes me flinch, and I stab myself with the needle. Luckily, it hits my thimble.

Morning, I manage once I gather my composure.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, child.

I shake my head, tying off the button, or I guess in this case, ribbon hole I made. It’s all good.

Beryl narrows her eyes and tilts her head. You look a little worse for wear today.

I chuckle nervously. Yeah. Got a little wild with Remi last night.

To be young again, she muses. It’s nice that you’re spending time with your sister-in-law.