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“And these broken ones?” I brush my fingertips over the other cracked clocks covering the scattered scars that span his bicep.
When he doesn’t answer right away, I glance up. His lips are turned down, his eyes lowered. “The past.” He sits up, quicker than a man his size should be able to, the arm in question sliding around my back, his other hand cupping the back of my head. “I’m more interested in working our way through the things you told me on the phone.” He’s smiling now, but there’s no missing the tightness around his eyes.
I let him kiss me. Let him slip his T-shirt up my body and off. Let him think I don’t know he’s distracting me. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.
TWENTY-TWO
Mylo
I lug the last of the tables off the back of the pickup and put it beside the others. Ten tables. Ten old two-person tables picked up from Clua Town’s secondhand shop.
I brush my hands down my shorts and head through the trees towards the restaurant. Kenzi’s restaurant. She wasn’t lying when she said she was going to do it herself.
In five days, she’s cleared out the house, sanded down three big tables, raked up the whole of the outside—the dead leaves and the broken branches and jet washed the mosaic path until the colors are bright even in the shade of the trees that surround the place.
“Kenzi,” I call out as I jog up the two wide steps to the open double door. The sight that awaits me has my chest expanding and my jaw tightening. Five nights of kissing her, of making her come with my mouth, my tongue, my fingers, my face… but not with my dick—if you don’t count rutting like a pair of horny teenagers on the sofa until she came last night. Five nights of not telling her. Of holding back. I’m not fool enough to think she hasn’t noticed that I stop her every time she tries to slip her fingers under my waistband. I am however fool enough to keep putting it off.
She’s leaning over the big round table she bought that first night, her ass hugged by cut off denim shorts, bouncing with every stroke of the electric sander I lent her, her big knot of blonde hair wobbling on top of her head. She hasn’t heard me over the loud whine of sandpaper over wood.
I lick my lips, my mouth dry as I stalk over the caked-on sand of the floor, my gut clenching and my dick throbbing with the need to claim her properly, fuck her like she’s asked me more than once to. More than that—with the rightness of knowing she’s mine.
She straightens with a yelp when I drop my hands to her hips, turns the sander off, then twists in my hold. A smile stretches across her face beneath her big plastic safety goggles when she sees it’s me.
“Hey, you.” She pushes the glasses up onto her head, clear blue eyes flicking over my face, down my sweat darkened T-shirt, then back up to meet my gaze. “Look what I did.” She turns and gestures to the once green table, smoothing her hand across the now smooth solid oak. “It’s come up better than I thought.”
“Looks good.” I keep my eyes on her face when she returns her attention to me, not even trying to hide my smirk. “The table too.”
“Cheesy.” She rolls her eyes, but runs her hands up my chest, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth. “But I like it.”
I dip my head when she lifts her chin, her mouth so close her breath brushes my lips. My hands slide up her sides. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She closes the distance with a kiss, both hands lifting to tug my beard, her fingers touching my lower lip when she pulls back. “I’ve got something else to show you.” Her grin widens. “Come.”
She takes me by the pointer finger and pulls me into the middle of the room, then sinks down to a squat. My dick rejoices—my heart thuds like a fucking coward. I drop my gaze.
She’s not even looking at me. She’s using the edge of a shovel to chip at years of sand blown in beneath the doors. I need to fucking tell her.
My heartbeat calms as I hunker down in front of her. Color peeks through the sand and dirt. More with every scrape of the shovel.
“More mosaic tiles like the ones outside.” She lifts her gaze to mine, excitement flashing over her face. “I think she tiled the whole place.” Her gaze moves over the big open living area from the massive carved wood double doors to the huge arc that leads to the bedroom she’s planning on turning into the restaurant’s kitchen. “I’ve been watching tutorials on how to restore them. Totally do-able.”
I shake my head, her smile contagious. “Should be easy enough to get them cleaned up. I’ll get Felix’s jet wash back.”
Her forehead creases with her frown. “The ceremony is tomorrow. I don’t want to bother him today.”
“Monday then.” I get to my feet, then offer my hands to pull her up.
“I got us a gift for Seren this morning.” She presses her lips together, long fair eyelashes sweeping her cheeks when she fixes her stare on my chest. “I mean, it’s just a silly tradition that we have to give a gift from the both of us. But I figured—”
“I picked up something when I was home, before we—”
“Sorted our shit out?” She shakes her head and plasters on a fake smile. “It’s fine. Cool. Two gifts are always better than one.”
“We’ll give them together.” I wipe a smudge of dirt off her chin with my thumb and tilt her face up.
She’s fighting a smile again and it warms every fucking inch of my chest—of me. Until the tightness of what I’m keeping from her steals it. Twists it. Turns it into a weight in my gut. I open my mouth to tell her we need to talk—to tell her everything.
It’ll change things. Ruin things. My mouth shuts. I grind my teeth. Suck in a dusty breath. Try and commit the heat and easy need I see in her eyes when she looks at me to memory. It’s been there since the first day I set eyes on her. It will go. Regardless of whether she decides I’m worth it or not. It will change.
