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“A tree?” He repeats, arching a black brow.
“Yeah, a Christmas tree. I mean, Sage and I don’t have one either, but you should get one. You have the perfect spot.” I point to an open area near the windows.
“Why don’t you have one yet?” He leans his hip against the counter, angling his head down.
I give a small shrug, pulling off a bite and sticking it in my mouth. “Sage is busy with work. He ends up having to do stuff from home a lot when he is around.”
“That must suck.”
I arch a brow, licking avocado off my finger. “Don’t go all shrink on me, Mr. Taylor.”
He lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “It was a statement.”
“It is what it is.” Those five words should be my life motto. “He has to do what they say. I know he hates it, even though he tried to convince me for a while he loved it, but he won’t quit.”
“Why?” Lachlan looks puzzled, a wrinkle forming in his normally smooth forehead.
“Why won’t he quit?” He nods as I exhale a breath. “Because we Meadows are a stubborn bunch.”
“No, seriously, what does he do? He probably could find something else fairly easy. It’s a big city.” He swishes his fingers lazily.
“Stuff with computers. I swear he’s a secret genius.” I finish my piece of bread and pull off a sheet of paper towel to wipe my fingers on. “And I’m sure a lot of places would love to have him, but I’m not kidding when I say he’s stubborn. It’s like he thinks he has to tough it out to prove a point.”
“To who?”
“Himself?” I let my arms fall to my sides. “I really don’t know. I keep begging him to leave, but he won’t.”
“Hmm.” Lachlan presses his lips together.
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head and reaches out, placing a hand on my waist. His touch is gentle as he tugs me closer until I stand between the halo of his arms. With his other hand he cups the right side of my cheek. “Why do you feel like a dream?”
“A dream? I’m more like a nightmare.”
He tosses his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing with laughter.
When he stops, his teeth dig into his bottom lip while his eyes bore into me. He looks like he wants to say something, but holds the words inside.
Tell me, Lachlan, I silently beg. Give me all your thoughts, your words, your fears, dreams and ambitions. Give it all to me. I’ll cherish it, I promise.
He swallows and instead takes my hand, tugging me into the living room.
Zeppelin lifts his mighty head, watching us from the floor as Lachlan sinks onto the couch and pulls me down with him, fitting my small frame between his legs so I collapse on top of him with my front to his. The dog settles back down, clearly used to my presence now.
I cross my hands on his chest and rest my chin on them. Blinking up at him I wait for him to do or say something. He stares right back at me. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.
Do I look as broken as I feel most of the time? Does he see the hopelessness beginning to fade from my eyes? Is it plastered all over my face how fucking enamored I am with him?
“You know,” he begins, clearing his throat, “when I figured you’d show up yesterday, I told myself to tell you that you had to go back home, that you couldn’t be here with me. But then, I opened the door and saw you. All those words … they no longer existed. When it comes to you, I’m incapable of common sense. I don’t understand it, but I think … I think I’m tired of fighting. I think about you when I shouldn’t, I have dreams of you that are immoral, I worry about you, I wonder what you’re thinking, and more than anything I want to make everything better for you and I’m so fucking torn up inside because I’m terrified I never can.”
He rubs his thumb over my cheek. I’m not even sure he realizes he’s doing it.
“You already are.”
His blue eyes lighten at the same time he smiles—and that smile?
It’s like a brand across my heart, a fiery piercing feeling as he signs his name across it in ownership.
