His protective possession is so familiar—he feels the same, he smells the same—but I can tell he’s holding something back. I still haven’t made it completely inside the walls.
What will it take for him to be fully mine again?
“I’ll drop you off at your house, then I’ll head back to take care of the Jag.” He gives me a brief glance before returning his eyes to the road. “Hopefully, there’s not much damage.”
“Can you fix it if there is?” I hate the thought of telling my dad I bent his precious car.
“Depends. If it’s just a part that needs to be replaced, probably.” The muscle in his jaw moves as he thinks. “I don’t do body work, but I can find someone who does. Maybe Billy knows someone. I’ll let you know.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to pay you for all of this. I hope you take credit cards.”
He doesn’t answer. He just grins and his eyes drift out the window again. His grip on my inner thigh flexes gently. My hand is still over his, and I slide our fingers together.
“Remember when you saved me from the snake?” He seemed larger than life to me then. He still does now.
“Vividly.” He chuckles. “You were so little. You were so loud.”
“Hey!” I push his hand off me, and he laughs, putting it right back. “I was scared.”
“You were only eight, but you picked me up and carried me to my mom.”
“Right. You were heavy, too.” He gives me a side-eye, but I only shake my head, holding my hair out of my face with the arm that’s rested on my open window.
“Then you sat with me after Mamma died.” The air in the truck feels quieter, more solemn. “You were so good to me.”
His fingers move, stroking my skin tenderly, carefully. “I knew how it would be for you. How much it would hurt and for how long.”
My hand moves to his arm, up his shoulder. “It’s my turn to sit with you. I want to be there for you.”
His smile tightens, and he looks out the window again. His hand doesn’t move off my thigh. I feel like we’re so close. Still, it’s not complete.
We pull into the neighborhood, and I know he’ll retreat like before. Still, I’ve made good progress. I can get us back to here. Then it’s a matter of moving forward.
He stops on the street at the end of my driveway. I grab my bag and my now-dry clothes. I’m not sure what he’ll do sitting here in front of my house, with neighbors all around. Our eyes meet, and he reaches for me.
A surge of joy pushes me into his arms. His kisses are sweet, not devouring or passionate. A peck on my nose, on my lips.
“I’m heading back over to check out the Jag. I’ll have it home for you tonight.”
“I trust you.” No truer words.
Another squeeze, and he lets me go. I hate climbing out of the cab, but I know I must. “I really enjoyed last night.” I say through the open window when I close the door.
“Me too.” His smile is touched with sadness. I hate it.
“Want to go out again next Friday?” I don’t mind making the first move. I want him to know my arms are wide open.
“Let’s see how the week goes.”
“Okay.”
He waits, watching as I slowly walk up the driveway, feeling like a girl, feeling like a woman. Knowing I’m so deep in love. I turn to walk backward, watching him as I get closer to the house.
I blow him a kiss, and this time his smile is a little less sad. He catches it and drives away.
Inside, my dad surprises me in the kitchen. “You’re up!” I try not to sound too stunned. I don’t want to embarrass him. “Did you sleep well last night? Everything okay by yourself here?”
“The house was quiet.” He’s holding a container of orange juice, which I take as a good sign. “How was your date?”