The front door creaks open and Brett is filling the doorway, looking oddly comfortable for a guy on crutches. “No problems finding it?”
“None.” The dead-end road made it easy not to miss. “This place is . . .” My eyes spy the sparkle of sun catching ripples in water and I let them drift beyond the cabin, to the lake that lies behind. “Thank you for inviting me.” I hoist my small duffel bag over my shoulder.
Brett frowns, his gaze searching. “Where’s Brenna?”
“Oh.” I pick my way up the stone path, admiring the chartreuse--colored creepers weaving through the cracks, until I’m standing before him. “I dropped her off with my parents for the night.”
Brett’s face flashes with surprise and understanding. “Okay. Well . . .” Minty breath skates across my face with his steady sigh, his gaze drifting over my mouth. But he doesn’t lean forward to kiss me. “Come in. Let me show you around.”
Inside, thick cedar beams run along the high ceiling, and logs form the walls, making the space feel dark in comparison to the late--afternoon outside. Directly ahead of us is a double-story living room, with a staircase made of cedar climbing to a second story. Everywhere I look is wood, right down to the plank floors.
“Sid wanted to keep this place low-key and relaxed,” Brett explains, following my eyes as I take in the worn burgundy leather couches, the old tube TV in the corner, the circa 1980s curtains that drape the windows.
“I think it’s great.”
“I haven’t been up here in over a year. I obviously didn’t make it when he had the team last month.” Sadness fills his face.
The night of the accident.
“Don took me down the road today, to where it happened. That was my first time being back.” There’s a long pause. “The flowers are still there. And someone put up a nice cross on the tree.” He clears his throat. “Though I don’t know how long that tree is going to last.”
“Yeah, I heard some townies talking about maybe having to cut it down.” I’ve avoided that stretch of Old Cannery for the most part, taking a busier road that adds five minutes to my commute to work. The one time I did take it—more out of habit than intention—I was left uneasy the entire rest of the day.
Silence hangs for a long moment as Brett gets lost in his thoughts, until finally I reach out and squeeze his hand. “Show me the rest of the place.”
He leads me through a similarly rustic dining room and den, and into the kitchen. “This is the only room he actually had renovated.”
My eyes take in the cream-colored cupboards and matching cream subway tile, an industrial-size stove like the one Leroy cooks over, and finally land on Donovan, sitting at the island, coffee in hand.
“Why don’t you drop your bag.” Brett points to a hallway on the other side. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
I make my way into the all-wood bedroom, smiling with delight at the drab chocolate-brown curtains that line the three windows, a complete contrast to the dusty rose floral bedspread covering a king-size bed.
A small desk sits against one of the windows. I set my duffel bag down next to it as I admire the view of the lake, slightly below us. A long, narrow dock stretches out, where a boat and two kayaks are moored.
A thump sounds. Brett’s crutch hitting the doorway on his way into the room.
And my heart skips a beat when I turn around to take him in, as if I hadn’t just left him in the kitchen minutes ago, as if I’m only just seeing him now.
Will I ever get used to this?
I hope not.
I hope I feel this same awe every time he walks into a room.
“What’s that look for?” A sly smile touches his mouth as he hobbles over to my side of the room to sit down.
“No reason. I love this room. It’s cozy and . . .” My words drift as he grasps the hem of my lemon-yellow sundress—a summer staple in my wardrobe—and gently tugs to guide me over to him. The open back of this dress doesn’t allow for a bra, and his aqua-blue eyes seem to have picked up on that, lingering on my chest before rising to meet my gaze.
“Where’s Donovan?” I whisper, acutely aware of the open door.
Brett’s hands settle on the backs of my thighs. “Gone. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Is anyone else coming, tonight?”
“Nope.” His hands tighten their grip but remain where they are, still at a semi-appropriate spot. “What do you wanna do? We can go down to the lake, or sit on the screened-in porch out . . . back.” His voice cracks over the last word when I crawl onto the bed. I carefully ease myself onto his lap, curling an arm around his shoulder. Leaning in, I press my lips against his.
One strong arm coils around my body to hold me firm, his skin warming my bare back, his hand settling on the nape of my neck. “Good, I hate nature anyway.”
A throaty laugh escapes me, but he silences it a moment later, kissing me deeply, a low, guttural moan rumbling in his chest. “Or we could just do this all night,” he suggests, his free hand sliding to the backs of my knees to pull my legs closer, until I’m practically cradled within his arms and he’s hardening against my hip.
I’ve sensed a clock ticking since I pulled into the driveway, counting down these fleeting hours of uninterrupted privacy with Brett. It’s oddly liberating not having to worry about a child, not having to consider my responsibilities, and I suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to let go completely.
To find that wild, careless spark that must still be there somewhere.
“I guess we could do just this all night.” I tease the seam of his lips with my tongue.
His eyes are piercing as they search mine for my meaning. Or, perhaps, to make sure he understood.
I tug at his shirt and he lifts his arms in answer, letting me peel it off him, my fingers sliding over his corded muscles with admiration. He chuckles at my heavy sigh as I stare unabashedly at his chest, my palm memorizing the curves. “I can’t help it,” I purr, feeling my cheeks heat. “You’re just unreal.”
“You think so?” His tongue slides over the crook of my neck and I gasp lightly. “I’ve lost about ten pounds of muscle in the last month. Wait until I’m back to full circuit training.”
It’s nice to hear him talking positively about his future, but I don’t mention it now, happy to soak in the feel of his mouth as it travels along my collarbone, leaving a trail of moisture.
With a deep sigh, he pushes the straps of my dress down over my shoulders to fall and expose my chest for his mouth, leaning my body back enough that he can suck in a peaked nipple.
A low, steady throb grows in the pit of my belly as I let my head hang back. His hand roams my bare legs, sliding in between my thighs, his thumb rubbing against my cotton panties. A soft curse slides against my breast like a caress, sending shivers down to my core, and then his fist is bunching, gathering my dress and sliding it down my legs, off my body. My panties quickly follow, stripping me bare.