Small Town Big Man

And now this life is my life. Pushing up in bed, I look around half awake. It's quiet out, which means the sleet has either stopped or turned to snow. I hope it's snow. I love waking up to a world covered in white. It's a beauty that never gets old.

Looking up at the skylight above our bed, I see a light snow has already started falling. The sun is streaming into the loft and the oak walls and intricate molding are glowing golden. I remember the morning, so many months ago, when I first woke up in this house and ran my fingers over all the beautiful details. Little did I know then that this would soon be my house too, and it would be just the first of a lifetime of mornings waking up next to beautiful Anders in bed.

After Anders finally got me to admit to my feelings, our romance took off at full speed. We spent all of our time together, especially since he was always at my rental finishing up Marla’s shower doors. He grumbled that if he’d known he’d get the girl in the end, he wouldn’t have agreed to the project. But I always reminded him that if he hadn’t agreed to do the shower doors, he may not have ended up with the girl. Who knows? Maybe I would have spent the last month in that rental, working on my illustrations and never running into him again. I could have gone back to Silver Lake, found myself a new place to live, and never set foot on this mountain again. He always insisted he’d have found a way to me, and I always insisted that he finish the shower doors because I was sick of that flimsy shower curtain.

Marla extended my rental agreement by a month, so Anders and I didn’t have to make any plans too quickly for our relationship. But the time did come around, and it was a week before Marla had another tenant moving in when Anders picked me up for dinner. We hadn’t really talked much about the what the future would hold for us, aside from me looking from time to time at rentals in town. Nothing ever came through or felt right, though. That night, I climbed into Anders’s truck, and instead of heading into town for dinner, he headed up the mountain to his house.

“Are you cooking, Anders?” I asked. “Or just planning on having me for dinner tonight?”

He laughed, but just kept on driving. When we arrived, I didn’t think anything was unusual at first. He went straight to the living room to light the fire and told me to have a seat on the couch and help myself to the wine he’d left out.

“Hey Laney, can you do me a favor?” he called over his shoulder. “Hand me the box of matches on the side table there.”

I reached over to the table and that’s when I noticed it: my mother’s knitting basket. I opened it up and inside were the box of matches. Then I looked around a little more closely. My grandmother’s quilt was folded and draped over a chair in the corner. A watercolor painting I did in art school was framed and hanging in the hallway. Everywhere I looked were pieces of my life, my things. I walked around in a daze, noticing detail after detail that he’d incorporated into his home. I walked up the loft stairs and found a beautifully carved desk sitting by the picture window. All my art supplies were nearby on a bookcase, and the desk had a framed picture of my mother and father on it.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I heard over my shoulder. I turned to look at Anders through cloudy eyes, welling with tears. “I know we didn’t talk about this, but sometimes actions speak louder than words. I emptied Beth’s garage last week. Anything you don’t see in here is out in the shed. I want this to be your home, Laney. Will you stay?” He was right. Sometimes actions do speak louder than words. So I didn’t say a single thing, I just launched myself into his arms and held on tight. I sobbed into his chest with such relief. Not just because I had the man of my dreams, but I knew for certain I was finally home.

“I’m so glad,” he said, kissing my wet cheeks. “I wasn’t sure if you’d find this too bold.”

“I love bold,” I told him, my fingers unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it over his shoulders. “I love you.”

Anders reached for my shirt and tugged it up, capturing my mouth with his as soon as it cleared my head. He walked me back until the back of my knees hit the bed and then he playfully pushed me down. He swept me up in his arms and rolled me over on top of him; him laughing and me still crying. When he sat up, he took my face in his hands and said, “Laney, I’m so glad you’re happy, but I’m going to have to ask you to stop crying now, because I have two rules I won’t break. I won’t fuck a lady who’s had too much to drink, and I definitely won’t fuck a crying lady either, no matter how much she begs for it.” And with those words, he cupped his huge hand over my pussy and started rubbing. The friction and tightness from my jeans created the most delicious feeling on my clit, and soon I wasn’t crying at all, just moaning and rocking in his lap, feeling his erection growing harder between us. Soon I didn’t need his hand there. Grinding against the bulge in his pants was doing amazing things to me.