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“Want another beer?” I ask over my shoulder, catching him leaning against the kitchen island, his eyes roving over my butt. Blushing, I bend forward a little more, reaching in and pulling out a beer and one of the fruity wine spritzers I keep in the back. If he’s enjoying the view, who am I to stop him?
When I walk by him leading the way outside to the paving stone path, I add a little extra swing to my steps, loving how sexy it feels knowing that his eyes are on me. For the first time I can remember in ages, I’m just a girl hanging out with a guy I like. It’s a nice change.
The lights are already on, illuminating the oasis that Mama has been building since I was a little girl. She and Dad used to work on it together, now it’s something she does alone so she can keep his memory close to her. It’s my favorite place in the world, our fenced back yard. In the center there is a large, circular stone patio that Dad put in with a fire pit in the middle of it. It’s already set for a small fire, so all I have to do is light the kindling with the long matches that are in a container on the small table that sits between two of the wooden Adirondack chairs. I set our drinks down and pull off the lid, withdrawing one of the matches before bending to strike it against the stone.
Blake drops to his knee beside me. “Here,” he offers, “let me.” His big hand closes carefully around mine, stilling it before I can strike the match, and plucking it from between my fingers to light the tinder. The dry wood flares to life quickly, and with little effort he coaxes it into a big enough flame that he can add a couple of pieces of split wood to it before sprawling out in the seat beside me.
“Here you go,” I say, passing him the cold bottle and scooting my chair close enough to prop my feet up on the stone barrier around the fire. The heat soaks through my thin sneakers, warming my feet and making me smile.
“This is nice,” he says, looking around at the strings of fairy lights strung from the wooden pergola that covers the entire patio area. In the summer the whole area is bursting with pots and baskets of flowers, but Mom has already moved them into the small greenhouse that sits along the fence on the far side of the yard. The days are warm enough, but the chillier nights can kill her flowers and she doesn’t like when that happens.
“Yeah,” I agree, “It really is.”
“I’ve never actually been to anyone’s house where they have a yard like this,” he tells me, putting his feet up beside mine and leaning into the soft cushion behind him as he pops the top on my spritzer and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I murmur, our fingers brushing as I accept it from his hand. I want him to understand about our yard and why we have put so much effort into it when our house and neighborhood are so humble.
“Mama’s family came from money, she grew up in a fancy house with beautiful gardens and when she married my dad, a simple mechanic, her family didn’t approve. He knew he would never be able to give her everything she left behind, so they bought this house and for their first anniversary he put in the firepit so they could sit outside on cool evenings and toast marshmallows together and drink cheap wine out of a box.” I can’t help my wistful sigh, even though it’s part of my life’s story it’s still the most romantic thing I can imagine. All I’ve ever wanted was a love like Mama and Dad’s, like Lizzie and Dan’s, and both of theirs ended tragically. The thought of loving so much and losing it scares me.
Blake sips his beer and waits quietly for me to finish the story, and for once I don’t feel awkward in the silence.
“So, from that day on every time there was something to celebrate, an anniversary, a birthday, Cinco de Mayo, he would bring her a plant, or build her a chair. Something to make this their little piece of paradise. Then Lizzie and I were born, and with more birthdays to celebrate the tradition continued until…” I wave my free hand, indicating everything around us. “This.” I give a little laugh, hoping he understands everything that I mean by that one small word.
“Thank you for sharing it with me,” he says, his voice deep and low. “I can feel how special it is.”
My heart swells, tears prickling behind my eyes, but I blink them back. He gets it. I didn’t know if anyone outside of my family would ever feel how magical this place is.
“I’m glad.” I whisper, settling back against my own cushions I close my eyes with a long exhale, letting go of tension I didn’t realize I was holding onto. “What about you? I feel like all we’ve talked about is me.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” he shrugs. “My mom died when I was a kid and I was in the system until I finished high school and joined the Marines. It was the first time I ever felt like I had a family. That’s where I met Travis.” He closes his eyes briefly and for a moment I regret asking him to talk about what I can tell is a painful past.
“I’ve never seen anything like what you have with your family,” he admits in a reverent voice. “It’s amazing.”
“They like you,” I whisper, and the smile he gives me is bright enough to light the night sky.
“I like them too.”
The silence between us is comfortable while we sit, sipping our drinks. I feel like even though we aren’t talking, we’re still getting to know each other in the quiet evening with the sound of the crackling fire as our soundtrack. When my drink is empty, I set the can on the ground beside me and rest my hands on the arms of my chair. Blake’s hand finds mine across the space between us, twining our fingers together. It feels so right.
Neither of us say anything. I’ve never been good at making small talk, so finding someone who doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with idle chatter makes me more at ease than I can ever recall being around any man. Not that I’ve had time for dating recently, but even before everything happened, it was rare that I met someone who appreciated the quiet like I do. I sneak a glance at his profile and hold back my twitterpated sigh, forcing myself not to stare too long.
When the fire burns down to coals Blake squeezes my fingers gently in his and turns to look at me. “What time do you have to work in the morning?” He asks.
“Seven.” I know it’s getting late. I don’t want him to go, but I know he’s going to.
“I should let you get some sleep then, angel.” He stands, keeping our hands entwined and pulls me to my feet before gathering up our empties. I know he’s right, dang it! I wish I had tomorrow off work. I wish I didn’t have to be up before five to make sure that everything is ready for the day so that Mama can get in a few hours of work before Auggie and Lizzie wake up and take all her attention until I get home. Just once, I wish I was free to do what I want without having to put everyone else first. Immediately I’m swamped with guilt for thinking that way. This is my family and I love them. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for them. It’s just so hard sometimes.
“What just happened there, Ellie?” Blake questions, tipping my chin up with a careful finger until I’m looking into his serious eyes. “What just went through your head that sucked the joy out of you?”
I think about denying it. Telling him that he has an overactive imagination, but I don’t want to lie to him. I don’t actually think I’m capable of doing that.
“Just wishing that things could be different for me… and feeling guilty about it.” I admit, hanging my head and breaking our connection.
“Poor girl,” he murmurs, setting down our empties and stepping close, enclosing me in the circle of his muscular arms, my cheek tucked against the hard expanse of his chest. I relax into him and return the embrace, listening to the steady thud of his heart beneath my ear. His big hand strokes my back in a soothing rhythm, and the negative feelings float away on a cloud of feel-good hormones flooding through me.
He smells of fabric softener and man, with the faintest hint of wood smoke from our fire. It’s comforting and arousing at the same time and unconsciously I snuggle closer, my hands exploring the ridges of muscles I can feel under his shirt. His heartbeat quickens while I listen. Somehow, I made his heart beat faster. Me. I did that.
Not moving an inch away from him, I tilt my head back and look up into his smoldering eyes for one long moment before he lowers his face and brushes his soft lips against mine in the sweetest, gentlest kiss I could ever imagine. There’s no urgency, only the slow stroke of his tongue as it urges my lips to part and grant him admission. I surrender with a soundless moan, relishing in the slick slide of our mouths, the soft clack of our teeth as we try to reposition without creating space between our bodies. I didn’t know kisses like this existed. It’s magical.
