The Imperfections

I grab a T-shirt the shade of denim with sunset-hued font and hold it up. “Looks like just this and my nightgown. I didn’t know you lived in the woods, and you didn’t exactly give me any pointers on what I should bring.”

“That’s darker—you should put it on so you don’t ruin your nice half-shirt.”

“It’s not cute though. It’s just a plain T-shirt, and it looks better with jeans than this skirt,” I tell him, rejecting his fashion advice and throwing my blue tee down on the bed. “I’m gonna wear the cardigan. If it gets dirty, I can wash it.”

Shaking his head, he says, “If I were you, I’d change into the jeans. Your pretty top won’t just get dirty. If you go traipsing around the woods with your tummy and legs exposed like that, you might wind up with some scratches.”

“Are we traipsing around the woods today?” I inquire.

Brant nods. “Figured I’ll show you around the property. We can take Scout to the lake, maybe do some fishing for dinner, then later we can eat what we catch.”

“Fishing? For our food? As in, we’ll kill and eat the poor little fish we catch?”

Brant smiles like I’ve said something funny. “That’s the idea. You know how to cook fresh fish? Some of it can be tricky.”

“I’ve never made it before, so you’re gonna have to let me look it up on the internet. Fish sticks from a bag, sure, but fresh fish? Nope. What if we don’t catch anything?” I ask.

“Then I’ll throw a couple steaks on the grill and we’ll eat those instead.”

“Do you fish with worms?” I ask, wrinkling up my nose. “If the fish eats a piece of worm and then we immediately cook the fish, won’t we be eating the worm, too? It won’t have time to digest. Or do you cut out the stomach? I’m not so sure about this.”

“You’re a little on the prissy side, aren’t you?” he realizes.

“If not wanting to eat worms qualifies me as prissy, then yes, absolutely.”

That makes him laugh and shake his head at me. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll just make the steaks.”

“Yes, please. I don’t really like fish,” I tell him apologetically.

“That’s all right, not a big deal.” Taking a step back into the hall, he nods in that direction. “Why don’t you come downstairs so we can eat breakfast?”

Disregarding his advice about changing clothes, I follow him down to the kitchen where we end up making breakfast together. Brant makes bacon while I make scrambled eggs.

Being so close to him while we cook gives me mixed signals. I feel like flirting a little since our hips are nearly touching, but I can’t tell if Brant actually likes me like that. I think he enjoys me, and obviously he’s attracted to me or he wouldn’t be having sex with me, but I have absolutely no idea where his head is at where I’m concerned.

If he liked me that way, wouldn’t he kiss me on the mouth? That’s the part that’s throwing me. Sex last night was really good and cuddling after was really nice, but the man has yet to kiss me, and he has had opportunities. That makes me think maybe he’s avoiding that particular intimacy, perhaps so I don’t read too much into the sex.

I suppose I could just ask him, but it seems awkward and unnecessary. Surely he’ll kiss me eventually or he won’t, and I guess then I’ll have my answer.

Still, I find my mind wandering and myself asking, “Can we watch a movie tonight?”

Brant glances over at me while he turns the bacon. “Sure. Anything in particular?”

“I’d like to watch Pretty Woman,” I inform him, thinking of Vivian’s no kissing on the mouth rule.

“All right.”

While I’m thinking about it, I ask, “Are you taking me back home tonight?”

“Wasn’t planning to.” He glances at me again. “Why? You wanna go home?”

“No, I’ll stay the night if you want me to. It’s just… my sister’s probably starting to wonder why she hasn’t heard from me via text, at least, and I don’t want her to get worried.”

He seems to consider that for a moment. “I could get you your phone, let you text your sister. Supervised, of course.”

“What?” I say, laughing a little. “You still don’t trust me? What do you think I’d say?”

“Kidnapped by crazy outdoorsy type. Tried to make me eat worms. Send help,” he suggests.

I laugh harder, absently leaning my head on his shoulder. “You are crazy, you got that part right,” I tell him rather fondly. “How could you get my phone? Isn’t it at my house?”

Brant shakes his head. “I brought it and your charger cord. I had to turn it off, though, just in case anyone saw through your babysitting excuse and tried to track your location. I can bring it in now, charge it up for a bit, let you text your sister before we take the tour.”