“Evie.” He mouths my name between my bare shoulder blades—a smile tucked into my skin. “Wake up.”
I groan and burrow further into the pillow beneath my head, ignoring the handsome idiot braced above me. My flight from El Paso was delayed twice and I didn’t pull into our driveway until after midnight, Beckett asleep in the chair by the fireplace. He had a book open on his chest and a bouquet of fresh flowers at his elbow, his own tradition for when I get home from trips. He tells me he likes to see me walk through the door. That his favorite thing is to wrap his arms around my waist and tuck his nose under my ear, a quiet I missed you pressed into my skin.
Words and action, together.
I beat him to it this time, slipping onto his lap and brushing the words against his lips. He had woken up in increments, his sleepy eyes hazy but his hands sure on my hips.
Now, though. Now he’s not letting me sleep.
“It’s time to wake up,” he says again with a gentle bump of his nose behind my ear. I let out another groan, louder this time, and shimmy forward beneath my mountain of blankets to nip at his wrist with my teeth.
“No.”
A grunt trips out of him from somewhere deep in his chest, his body going lax and pliant against mine. I’m pressed down further in the mattress, his hips pinning me through the comforter and two blankets he insists on sleeping with.
“That had probably the opposite effect you were going for, honey,” he tells me, his voice a gruff promise. He scrapes his teeth against my neck with intention, another press and roll of his body overtop of mine.
I grin into the pillow. “Not if my goal is to stay in this bed with you.”
Poor Gus only had a tenant in that cute little house for two months before I broke my lease and moved all of my belongings into Beckett’s cabin. I was tired of pretending I wanted to be anywhere else except on his back porch—jam jar in hand and my feet tucked under his leg.
Our chairs are much closer together these days.
Beckett’s hand peels back the blanket over my shoulders as he drops lingering, indulgent kisses against my neck. His palm presses beneath me until he finds my bare breast, squeezing gently. I gasp into my pillow and turn beneath him.
Messy hair. Bare chest. A soft smile that’s prettier than the moonlight streaming in through the window.
“Hey,” he tells me, his hand still cupped around me. His fingers pluck at my nipple and my back arches.
I stretch my arms above my head and he watches their journey with interest. I twist my hands around the slats on the headboard and he makes a pained sound, low in his chest. I grin. “Hi.”
“You should put some clothes on,” he says, his other hand at my hip, squeezing and stroking and contradicting his statement.
“Yeah?”
He nods but doesn’t move his hands. He traces the soft skin between my breasts and his eyes trip down to watch the answering catch in my breath. “Yeah,” he answers.
“You sure about that?”
His head tips to the side and his tongue appears at the corner of his mouth, indulging himself in another stroke of my soft skin. I trace my fingers over the full swell of his bottom lip and we both shudder out a groan when he catches my thumb in his mouth, bites at the pad once. He pushes himself up on his knees, a strain of fabric at the front of his sweatpants.
He takes his hands off me and pats my hip. “You’re dangerous.”
I sit up to follow him and brush a kiss against the warm skin of his shoulder. “You started it.”
He catches my chin in his hand and guides my face to his. He kisses me slow and deep until I’m leaning into him, my naked skin tucked against his.
“I’ll finish it, too,” he says against my mouth. “After we watch the sky for a bit.”
That’s right. His meteor shower. It’s been taped to the front of the fridge for months, circled in bright red.
I drop my forehead to his collarbone and he cards his fingers through my hair. “We don’t have to,” he says quietly after a second of me rubbing my knuckles against my eyes. He brushes a kiss across my forehead. “If you’re tired.”
“No, I want to.” He’s been so excited. Another yawn twists through my body and I shiver into him. “But I’m wearing your sweatshirt.”
He hums. “That’s fine, honey.”
I’m clumsy as I dress myself, mismatched socks and an old pair of sweatpants, one of Beckett’s sweatshirts dwarfing my frame as I tug it over my head. I push the hood out of my face and catch him staring, leaning up against the door.
“What?” I push my hair out of my face. He’s looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted. Everything he’ll ever want.
I know the feeling.
“Nothing.” He holds out his hand and tilts his head towards the door. “C’mere.”
“C’mere, what?” I laugh, but my hand is already in his.
I’m reminded of another night, the both of us under the same stars. Together we slip down the dark hallway and through the front door, our boots quiet against the wet grass. It’s a clear night, the stars so bright it’s like I can reach out and touch them—a collection of diamonds in a sea of black. I tip my face up towards the night sky and watch as we walk, waiting for a flare of light.
Beckett’s hand cups my cheek and he guides my face down until I’m looking at him instead of the stars. He shakes his head once. “Not yet.”
I frown at him. “Aren’t we supposed to be watching a meteor shower?”
His thumb rubs behind my ear as he tugs me forward, beckoning me to walk some more. I make a disgruntled sound under my breath and he does his best to hide his smile. “Not yet.”
“I can see the sky just fine right here.”
“Not much further.”
I know where we’re going as soon as we crest the second hill, the path to this stretch of field a well worn route in my mind. We haven’t gone a week since I moved in without visiting. Picnic lunches and late-night drinks on a threadbare blanket. Bare skin in the moonlight, Beckett’s mouth hot against mine.
I shiver again and Beckett gives me a look over his shoulder, one eyebrow jumping up in interest.
“Eyes on the road,” I tell him and he snickers in front of me, fingers threading through mine. We walk and walk and walk until finally we get to the clearing with the two giant trees, their branches curved up and out like they’re welcoming the sky into their massive, swaying arms.
Beckett tugs me forward and places me in front of him. He curls both arms over my shoulders and rests his palm flat over my heart.
“Watch,” he instructs, and we tilt our heads back together, eyes fixed on the stars.