Page 60 of How Dare You
Normally, Devon’s tendency to take her time before she speaks and make thoughtful comments is something I admire. At the moment, I wish she’d just say what she thinks. After a long pause, she says, “Sounds like maybe you didn’t have the support you needed for it to work.” She squeezes my knee, then adds, with some light-hearted self-deprecation. “You know, I’ve learned a little bit recently about how detrimental it can be to try to do everything all by yourself.”
“You’re doing amazing. You took a nap today, admitted you need help sometimes. Look at you.” My hand instinctively goes to the back of her head to pull her in for a kiss, but I remember at the last second that I told her I wouldn’t initiate. Although, that was sex, and this is affection. I shift and kiss the top of her head instead. Disappointment flashes across her eyes, and I open my mouth to say something, but she beats me to it.
“What was your company called?” Devon asks.
I run my fingers through my hair. “It wasn’t real creative or anything.”
“Come on,” she prods, “tell me.”
“McCoy’s Chairs.”
“Um, that’s.” Her lips curl in to hide a smile. “We’ll have to work on that.”
She’s talking about the future again. “We will?”
“Would it make you happy to try it again, or do I just think everyone should run their own business because that’s what works for me?” she adds the last with a laugh.
“Maybe it could. Creating physical things is the most gratifying work I’ve done. It feels good to carve and craft, take something from its raw state and make it useful or beautiful.”
“Or both,” she adds.
“Or both,” I agree.
A strong breeze has the fire popping and flickering, and Devon moves a little closer to me for warmth. We’ve barely touched today besides the decadent moment where she laid on my chest after I found her out here napping. She’ll have to come get sex if she wants it, but I’m not withholding affection out of stubbornness anymore. I’m going to hold her while I have the chance. I hook my arm around her bent legs and fold them over my lap before covering us both with a blanket. Gloriously, she nuzzles into my side.
“I’ve seen a lot of woodwork-custom furniture, cabinets, built-ins, paneling. You have an unusual skill. You could be very successful with a furniture company.” She rests one of her hands on my wrist, giving it a light squeeze. “If you wanted to.”
The compliments coming from Devon are rare, and they hit me deep, so I share more. “There’s a spot about a hundred yards from the house that would be a good place to put a workshop. It’s a little ways around the turn of the hill, so it wouldn’t block the view.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought about it a lot.”
“I have,” I admit.
“Well, if you decide you need some support this time, I’m here.” It’s a simple offer, loaded with meaning. She’s not pushing me away anymore, and she doesn’t intend to either. It’s still unclear if she thinks we’re friends or if I’ll get to have her in all the ways I want most, but it’s progress I wasn’t expecting, nonetheless.
We’ve talked about heavy important things today, and the omission of Friday West and Trina Boatswain is glaring. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want me to pry, but I wonder if she needs a sounding board. I phrase my question very carefully. “Is there anything you could use some support with?”
Her brows quirk for a moment before she catches my meaning. “I think taking a break and not thinking about certain things at all is helping me a ton. Thanks, though.” It’s not a dismissal the way I expected, just honest words about not wanting to deal it. Progress.
We return to easy conversation, laughing, joking, and teasing, looking up at the stars and soaking in the slow, easy cadence of spending a day together. Devon initiates another popcorn catching contest, this time with clearer rules, that I win, catching thirty-two in a row compared to her twenty-eight. But the casual, mildly flirtatious energy drops as soon as we move inside the trailer to go to bed, replaced by something far more carnally charged.
Devon
The past couple days have been transformative. I took my friends’ advice and really, truly allowed myself to rest and put aside every aggravating thought about money, business, failure, and Trina. It’s like a physical weight was lifted from my shoulders, and I’m breathing easier.
I accomplished nothing I would normally class as productive today, and yet I feel more fulfilled after a day of lazing around with Rhett than I do after checking off my entire to-do list. He kickstarted this shift two nights ago when we had it out. I don’t get into many arguments because I can usually get away with making my point and walking away, but he wouldn’t accept that from me. He pushed and pushed and got me to admit to myself, if not to him, how very scared I’ve been, and then he distracted me in the best way possible.
He told me I’d come to him, and I’m not ready to let him win that battle yet. But I’m also done waiting to feel his touch again.
“A little odd to change into pajamas now,” I say, trailing a hand from my neck, between my breasts, and all the way down to toy with the hem of his t-shirt that I’m never giving back.
His eyes narrow, and all the playfulness from the day drops from his demeanor. “Did you have something else in mind?”
My heart beats rapidly in my chest. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?” We’re on opposite ends of the trailer, with him standing at the foot of the bed and me by the bathroom door. The long walkway between us is like a twenty-foot challenge to see who’s going to surrender to the other first.
“You know better than that.” He’s already stripped down to his boxers under the guise of getting ready for bed, leaving the full definition of his firm chest and muscular legs on display. “You come to me, or nothing.”
The demand in his voice has me wanting to give in already, but I hold my ground too. “Didn’t you insist we would be more than one night?”