Page 51 of More Than My Hometown

14

EWAN

“Tab A goes into slot B.”

Fuck, yes, it does…

Aluminum poles clatter against each other as they hit the ground, slipping out of my hands. The beautiful, melodic giggle that accompanies that borderline dirty innuendo sends a shiver ripping up my spine, almost making me forget I just dropped what I needed to erect this tent.

Erect. Ha.

Walked right into that one. Because thanks to her, that’s exactly what I am.

“In this case,” I say, picking up the pieces I let fall to the ground. I turn to look at Maisey, locking my gaze with hers. “It’s more like the pole slides into the sleeve, nice and easy, and fits perfectly.”

Maisey swallows hard, the muscles in her neck contracting, her eyes never leaving mine, as she saunters across the camping showroom floor toward me. I’m at work, and I know I should behave, but that’s not easy, watching a shudder course through her when she stops in front of me. Licking her lips, she lets out a long exhale, and I can’t help but smile.

“Oh.”

I toss the partially built tent to the ground, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in for a kiss. She melts into me, kissing me back like it’s been years since we’ve seen each other rather than days, letting her lips linger against mine.

To be fair, we have been like two ships passing in the night over the last few days. Thanks to her taking on the new shift with the EMTs, plus my gearing up for Reel Madness and the summer in general, it’s been a busy week. It’s almost closing time though, and I’ve been counting down the minutes until I get to go home to be with her.

Guess I don’t need to do that anymore.

“Hi, beautiful.” I press my lips to her forehead, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo. I’ve missed having that on my pillow the last couple of nights, and need to get her back in my bed. “To what do I owe the honor? I can’t imagine you’re here to help me set up the new camping display.”

“Is this your way of telling me you need help getting it up?”

Ugggggh….

I groan, simultaneously proud of her pun and unable to believe she went there. Gotta admit, though, it was a good one.

“When it comes to you, baby, I promise you, that’s not a problem.”

My comeback is thankfully locked, loaded, and landed almost without thinking. Because if I took the time to think, then all the same insecurities from this past weekend would creep back up. Actually, that’s not true. They never went anywhere. They’ve been front and center in my brain since Sunday dinner. Leaving me wondering if she was as satisfied as I thought.

Or worse, if I’m going to live up to her expectations. Small-town life can have its charms. But small-town sex? What if that isn’t what she’s after?

Maisey crouches down, reaching for the tent, handing me the set of poles that I dropped. I take them from her, continuing to slide them through the fabric, as she picks up another set, starting to snap them together. I smile, loving how natural this feels.

“I know we’ve had a busy week, and we haven’t really seen each other, but you’ve been all up in that head of yours since Sunday. Wanna tell me about it?”

Just like it comes natural to her to call me out on that.

I glare at her for a second, taking half a heartbeat to consider telling her that there’s nothing going on up here and that it’s all in her head. But she’s known me long enough to know that’s a lie. I could tell her no, I don’t want to talk about it, but then she’ll opt for what I call the tornado tactic—where she holds an entire conversation with herself, rambling on and on, winding herself up like the Tasmanian Devil until you finally break down and spill whatever it is just so she will stop.

Looking down at the gear in my hand, I make sure everything is secure, trying to buy some time, and find the right words before proceeding. My insides tense, a knot forming in my chest as I work up the courage to say this.

“Was it Anton’s comment?” she asks, trying to prompt me.

“Fucker…” I mutter, taking the set of poles from her.

Grabbing the other side of the tent, I start to push them through the fabric, my heart banging against my chest. I need to tell her. I know I do. It’s not like any of this is a secret. Or anything I’m ashamed of. I just want everything to be perfect for her.

“His comment wasn’t entirely accurate,” I defend. “I’ve been on the pub crawl. I’m not a…”

I arch the last two poles, snapping them together with a loud click. Feeling triumphant, I hold up my arms like I just won a gold medal.