This has to be one of the nastiest storms I’ve experienced, and it isn’t quitting any time soon.
A flash of lightning followed by a giant rumble of thunder shakes me from my feet up as I make it back into my house. Soaking wet, I quickly disrobe to nothing and pick my clothes off the floor so I don’t ruin the hardwood. I toss them in my bathroom hamper as I hear a knock at my door.
Shit.
I don’t want to scare one of my elderly neighbors with my fucking dick hanging out, so I quickly wrap a towel around my waist and jog to the front door. When I open it, I’m startled to see a wet Amelia with her hands in her pockets, hopping from side to side.
It’s dark in the entryway, so I flip on a light and when her eyes adjust, she takes in my bare torso, her eyes roaming from my tattooed arms, to the scar on my chest, down my abs, and to just above where my towel drapes around my hips. When her gaze returns to mine, I notice a slight blush in her cheeks.
“Uh, sorry were you in the middle of something?” she asks, looking at the ground.
“No, helped out a few neighbors with their generators. I was soaking wet, so I was about to change. What’s up?”
This feels awkward and not just because the only thing covering me is a thin terrycloth towel.
“The power is out in my house. Mrs. Ferguson doesn’t happen to have a generator as well, does she?”
Fuck.
“No, she hasn’t put one in yet. She was waiting for next year after she’s saved for it. Shit.” I scratch my jaw. “Umm, I have a guest room you can stay in for the night. The power should be back on by tomorrow.”
“Oh, no. That’s okay. I don’t mind the dark, I was just checking to see if there was a generator. If not, no big deal. Thanks though.” She turns away from me but not before I reach out and grab her shoulder.
“Amelia, you’re not going to hang out in the dark over there. I have a generator that’s working perfectly fine.”
“Aaron . . .” She sighs. “That’s not a good idea. Things between us are strained—”
“They’re not,” I rush to say. Pulling on my hair, I watch her eyes scan my bicep. It’s not easy to avoid being distracted by her perusal. By her . . . hungry eyes. “I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you like that. You were right. There were some things I held back from you because I’d tried to forget them. I just”—I sigh, hating that I’m having this conversation in a towel—“can you come in for a second so I can get changed?”
A little unsure, she gnaws on her lip and then nods. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she starts walking into my house. Her clothes are dripping wet, making her look so small, so ragged. I’d hand her my towel, but that’d leave me in nothing, and I doubt this is the time to reintroduce her to my penis. “Give me a second. I’ll grab a towel.”
When I step away, a loud crack of thunder shakes the house, jumpstarting my heart. Hell, that was loud. I race to my bedroom, which is upstairs, and quickly change into a plain T-shirt and grey sweatpants. I towel off my head, snag a pair of flannel pants and an old shirt for Amelia, and head downstairs.
She’s standing in the entryway, taking in my house when I reach her. “Uh, I figured you might be a little cold and wet. Bathroom is to the right, past the dining room, and there are clean towels under the sink. Here are some clothes if you want to change.”
“Thank you,” she answers quietly before grabbing them and rushing to the bathroom.
With a hand towel from the kitchen, I wipe up the wet floors and start the kettle for tea. I know she’ll want some; she always has tea during thunderstorms. She always had tea during thunderstorms.
The kettle starts to whistle when she pops out of the bathroom. “In the kitchen,” I call out, “to the left.”
When she finds me, she leans against the doorway and says, “I hope it’s okay that I hung my clothes on the shower rod.”
My back is toward her, fixing us both some tea. “That’s perfectly fine.” When I turn around, I’m met with one gorgeous fucking sight in front of me. Amelia, drowning in my clothes, her little body entirely too small for my large clothes, but she makes it work with some folding of the pants and tying of the shirt. Her hair is wet and now draped over her shoulders, letting little pelts of water drip down the shirt she’s wearing and fuck, I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing a bra by the way I can see a slight bump of her nipple. I clear my throat and hand her a mug. “Tea?”
“You remembered.” She smiles while taking the mug.
“There is very little I’ve forgotten, Amelia.” I cast a serious glance her way. My gaze must be too strong because she turns toward the living room.
Making herself at home, she sits on the couch and tucks her feet under her. How many times have I envisioned this very moment in my head, where Amelia is cuddled up on my couch with a cup of tea in her hand, wearing my clothes? But unlike my dreams, I can’t touch her, I can’t wrap myself around her like I want to because she’s not mine.
“Your house is really nice, Aaron.”
“Thank you.” I quickly load the fireplace with logs so I can start a fire to light and heat the room. I have a generator but tend to avoid maxing out if I can. Once the fire is well on its way, I grab my cup of tea and sit on the other side of the couch, facing Amelia.
“What do you know?” I ask her, hoping she’ll open up.
How much did my mom tell her? Does she know Trey is my brother? Has she been with him this entire time, knowing we share the same blood? I’m not sure that’s something I can handle if it’s true.
From over her mug, her eyes search mine. “Just that you have brothers. I don’t know how many.” My shoulders ease some of the tension they’ve carried. She sips from her mug and says, “I want you to know that the night I talked to your mom, the minute she said something about your brothers, I knew I was crossing a line. I knew she was telling me information you probably didn’t want me to hear about, but I can’t understand why you didn’t want me to know.”
If I ever want to have a chance at being with her again, I need to open up.
“I have two biological brothers.”
“Biological? As in same mom and dad?” I nod. “Why didn’t you ever talk about them?”
My heart is racing at an impeccable speed, making it difficult to breathe. “I didn’t grow up with them. My mom gave them up for adoption.”
“Both of them?”
“Yeah. I only know them through letters and pictures from their adoptive parents.”
Amelia sits quietly for a second. I can see her mind racing, as if she’s trying to connect the dots. “A loving family,” she whispers.
“What?”