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“It’s just a hobby. For fun. You know, to unwind.”
“You write songs about drowning fishermen to unwind?”
He laughed. “How do you know he drowned? Just because the ship didn’t make it to shore doesn’t mean he didn’t.”
“Huh.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Did he live?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t write that far.”
“What? How can you just leave it like that? Don’t you have to know what happens?”
“No.” He smiled and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Hungry?”
She gaped at him. “How come you don’t have to know? Aren’t you curious?”
“There are tons of roads surrounding Turnbull. Add in nearby Crescent Cove and Kensington Square and there are even more. Some I’ve never driven down. Some I’ve never even heard of. And I’m okay with that. I drive the ones I need to, and when I come to the end of one road, I turn onto the next.” He shrugged. “I took Pete through as much of his story as he wanted to tell me. The rest’s up to him.”
“Wow. You’re so Zen.”
Laughing, he tapped her nose. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Right on cue, her stomach growled. “I guess that’s a yes.”
“Good. I was starting to wonder where that big appetite of yours had gone.” He laid his lips fully on hers before drawing back and getting to his feet. “Why don’t you take a shower, then come downstairs? I’ll throw something together.”
She rolled her eyes as she scrambled off the bed, trying not to think about exactly how domestic the whole scene between them seemed. It also wasn’t as…urgent as the previous morning. Lust hummed, but it didn’t override quiet conversation and affection.
And God, wasn’t that scary? She wanted his friendship, she definitely wanted to be his lover…but more seemed like a slide down into an icy pond she wasn’t sure would hold her weight.
“Don’t think,” he said from the doorway, making her look up as guiltily as if he’d caught her pilfering his wallet. “Just relax and let whatever happens happen. Can you do that for me?”
“I don’t have much choice.”
“There’s always a choice. Right now I want to be yours. Like you’re mine.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that statement. That he had chosen her and wished she would choose him? Or that he wanted to be hers, as in her guy?
He was right about one thing—she couldn’t think even if she wanted to when his intent blue gaze was riveted on hers.
She swallowed hard. “Today’s a day to be grateful. And I’m very grateful you opened your house to me when I needed you.”
He’d given her much more than just that. A cozy bed, friendship, blistering hot sex. Arms around her, holding her tight in the darkest part of night.
A shadow crossed his features. After a moment he smiled as warmly as the rays of sun that were now creeping along the eastern horizon. “We need each other.”
He continued out the door before she could question him further.
What was she supposed to say to that? Her knee-jerk reaction was to agree, but her brain wasn’t nearly as committed. It urged her to slam on the brakes and take some time for herself. She’d been looking for a fling and a way to forget, not to start something new and potentially even more dangerous to her heart than the relationship she’d just left.
She sighed and adjusted her ankle bandage. He was right. She needed to take each day as it came. To just not think.
By the time she made it downstairs, more bread was baking—dark rye this time—and he’d whipped up some chocolate-chip-and-cherry pancakes. The smell of them nearly sent her to her knees as she crossed the threshold of the kitchen, but she made herself keep going toward where he stood at the stove, spatula in hand. He wore an apron over his bare chest, and he’d yet to put on socks or shoes. His jeans cleaved to his taut ass, and she wanted to lean over and bite each full cheek, just leave the imprint of her teeth right through the worn denim.
Instead she linked her arms around his waist and nipped the side of his neck. “Happy Thanksgiving, Justin Crocker. Betty had nothing on you.”
His chuckle made her grin. “Happy Thanksgiving, Fisher Twice.”
“What’s the Twice for?”
