Page 15 of Marrying the Guide
“Strawberry, please,” I said. The girl behind the counter, with her pierced nose and bubblegum-pink hair, flashed us an approving smile as she scooped our selections onto cones.
We found a corner booth, the vinyl squeaking beneath us as we settled in. The first bite of my ice cream was a burst of pure, creamy delight, and judging by the look on Howell’s face, his was just as satisfying.
“How long will you be staying?” Howell asked. “I forgot to ask.”
“The plan was six weeks, of which three have already passed. So only three more weeks.”
The words hung suspended above our half-eaten treats, and a bitter pang of sorrow mingled with the sweetness on my tongue. It was a strange concoction, this blend of joy and impending loss, and I searched Howell’s face for clues as to what he was thinking.
Only three more weeks. Was that even enough to build anything with Howell? Maybe enough for a hookup, but not for anything more. Not that I was opposed to sex with this man. Hell no. If he asked me to go to his place after, I was totally on board.
But I wanted more with him…and he gave me the impression he wanted that too. Otherwise, he would’ve asked for a hookup instead of a date. So, where did that leave us? Was three weeks sufficient to get to know each other and see if we had something real?
Howell paused his hand midair, the cone forgotten, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face like shadows cast by firelight.
“Three weeks,” he echoed softly, setting his cone on the napkin-strewn table. His fingers found mine atop the cold,sticky surface and enveloped them in a grip that was both firm and trembling ever so slightly. “That’s… It’s not long.”
The warmth of his touch seeped into my skin, chasing away the cold dread that had settled in my bones. The concern in his gaze held me captive, his handsome features etched with lines of determination.
“We can make it count though, right?” His voice was low, a tender rumble with an undercurrent of urgency. “I mean, we’ve got today and every day after until you have to leave.”
My throat tightened, a lump forming as I nodded. “I’d like that,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I want to make the most of every second.”
Howell brushed his thumb over my knuckles in a gesture that felt like a promise. A simple touch, but it held the power of unspoken words.
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ll pack as much fun into these three weeks as possible. Hikes, movies, dinners…hell, even more pottery if you’re up for it.”
Joy bloomed inside me. He wanted to spend time with me, wanted to be with me as much as I longed to hang out with him. “Very much looking forward to that.”
I wanted to spend every waking moment with this man.
When we got back to Howell’s truck, it had cooled a bit, but the warmth radiating from Howell was enough to keep the chill at bay. Night had fallen, and I glanced up at the sky, where stars twinkled like diamonds across an ink-black canvas.
“I’ve never seen so many stars,” I whispered. “Beautiful.”
“Sure is.” Howell followed my gaze. “But not as beautiful as you.”
Howell’s hand, rough and warm, found its way to my cheek, and I leaned into his touch. His thumb brushing my skin sent a shiver down my spine. “May I…?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. My heart hammered as Howell closed the distance between us. His lips met mine, gentle, questioning, as if testing the waters. But when I kissed him back, something ignited deep within us both.
We deepened the kiss, passionate and intense, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Howell responded in kind, encircling my waist and pressing me against the side of his truck. The hunger in his kiss, the yearning, matched my own. His beard scratched my face softly, a new sensation.
Our tongues swirled, the aftertaste of his Rocky Road mingling with my strawberry. He gently sucked my bottom lip, then surged back into my mouth. God, the man could kiss. I’d forgotten how good kissing could be, how erotic.
Howell’s body was solid and warm, grounding me in the present. I ran my hands over his chest, then slipped them underneath his shirt and caressed his back. Beneath my fingertips, his muscles rippled. Muscles I had jokingly molded clay after earlier in the evening, and I chuckled softly.
He pulled away, breathing hard, and rested his forehead against mine. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” My smile widened. “Just…happy.”
“Good,” Howell said, his voice husky. “Because I plan on making you laugh a lot more.”
And as we stood there, in the quiet embrace of the night with only the faint hum of the town around us, I believed him.
6
HOWELL