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This time he does bark a laugh. “Alright, Sunshine. We’ll get you your tree.”
I shriek and his eyes ignite. There's happiness there in that dark—a happiness that when I first met him days ago, I honestly didn't think he was capable of. It's beautiful. And my heart feels full at the sight of it.
“Thank you, Nick.” I jump up with my empty mug and move across the room to him. I drop down to kiss him on the cheek and I'm about to rise and escape back to the kitchen when he catches me, his hand circling around my wrist. He pulls me into his lap, and I let out a surprised gasp that he devours as his mouth falls onto mine, commanding mine, kissing me hard.
When he pulls back, he gazes at me with heat. “That's the ‘thank you’ I want, Sunshine,” he murmurs, and I blush scarlet.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Noted.”
“Good,” he rumbles deep and low.
My heart pounds as I slide off his lap and let my hips sway as I move into the kitchen.
I rinse my mug and drop it into the dishwasher before turning to him with a grin. “You go plow. I'm going to get ready for town!”
He chuckles as he rises from the couch. “Sure thing, Sunshine.”
ChapterSeventeen
Nick
She's sitting passenger seat in my truck, her hands tucked between her legs, her eyes cast to the view outside the window. I'd been looking forward to seeing what her version of ‘getting herself ready’ meant. I thought about it, about what she'd looked like when I got back inside. The entire time I plowed mine and my two neighbors’ drives, I wondered if her hair would be curled out to there or poker straight. I wondered if she'd have so much cover-up on her face, she'd look like a porcelain doll instead of the phenomenal woman who spent her days baking in my kitchen. The woman who smelled like vanilla, and lavender, and cookies. The woman who tasted like sugar, and honey, and sin.
When she asked me how long it would take to do what I needed to do outside, figuring that she’d need all that time to get herself presentable. I’d been wrong, because when I came back inside, I found her laying on my couch, her legs swung up over the back, her feet bouncing to a tune in her own mind, her eyes on her Kindle. She'd clearly been that way for some time as she had a half-eaten cookie on a plate on the coffee table and an empty mug of coffee.
She looked gorgeous in an entirely natural, entirely seductive way. Patricia had always been gorgeous. Always. She was like glass—a model every moment of every day—and she took hours to get herself ready for anything and everything. She never left the house unless she was perfectly done up. In the beginning, I'd liked that. Maybe that was my own immaturity, because as time went on, it annoyed the fuck out of me.
So, while I plowed, I'd wondered if I'd be annoyed by Sadie. I wondered if this would be the thing that would make her less attractive to me, only to come in, boots covered in snow, to find her lounging on my couch, entirely at home in my space—looking like a goddess in a cute red sweater dress that clung to all the right curves over black leggings. She'd straightened her hair, that was obvious, but her makeup wasn't thick. It didn't cover her skin like butter. I'm not even sure she's wearing eyeshadow. If I had to guess, I'd say she's wearing mascara, a little cover up, and some blush. Most men wouldn't know this, but if a man spent a few years with Patricia, he'd know.
So, I know. And I like what I see. I like that she cares enough to put some effort into her appearance, but she doesn't care so much that she obsesses. She's perfect. Balance and beauty. At the end of it, she still looks like the woman I'm falling for. I think my most favorite part is that through the dust of her cover up, I can see her freckles. She's natural, and I like that. I'm starting to think I like everything about her when she straightens in her seat, her lips parting, her hands lifting to the door like she's going to, what? Jump?
“Oh my God,” she says, panic in her voice. “What is that? What is that? Oh, Nick. Nick, I think that's a cat.”
My foot is already on the brake when she cries, “Stop! Stop the truck!”
“It's a cat, baby. People have cats.”
“No, people don't have cats laying in snowbanks on the side of the road,” she argues.
I can already sense that this is going to turn into something I'm not going to like. Maybe she isn't so attractive, after all. Maybe I’ve found the one thing that's going to ruin her for me—her bleeding heart.
Maybe I'll get my head back under control. My thoughts under wraps.
“Stop the truck,” she commands again, even though I'm already veering to the side, already slowing down. As soon as the truck stops, her door is open, and her body is sliding down. I twist in my seat to see that she's running back towards the animal. I'm surprised to see that it doesn't even lift its head at her presence.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I hope the thing isn't dead. If it's dead, I think she's the kind of woman that might freak.
After the last few days and the storm, if that's a house cat, it probably didn't survive. My hand is on the handle, pushing the door open to join her outside. I can already see she's crouched down next to the animal. It's all black, or we probably wouldn't have seen it laying in the snow. She's cooing softly, so the thing must be alive.
Oddly, I find myself grateful. I'm grateful because I don't want to see her heart hurt. And I know it would have hurt to have found that it hadn’t made it.
“Oh baby, it's okay. It's okay. We'll get you warm,” she promises the cat.
As I come up close, she must hear the snow crunch under my feet because she flips her head to the side, her eyes finding me. There is so much in those eyes. She's pleading with me for help. As if I’m not already at her mercy, she spears me with words too. “We have to help him. We can't leave him here like this.”
“Baby.”When did she become baby?I try to reason with her—or maybe I’m reasoning with myself. “He's probably somebody's cat.”
She shakes her head. “Nobody would just let their cat stay out like this. Not in that storm. And he's been out in that storm.” Her eyes plead with me. “Nick he's been out and he's cold. And he's tired. He didn't even try and run from me. Cats aren't like that. They always try and run. We have to take him in—at least to the vet. Or a shelter. There has to be somewhere that we can take him.”
