Page 67 of Homestead

I wait ten minutes outside by myself on the back patio of the house. Everyone else is talking and laughing inside.

And Jimmy—damn him—is still out there working.

I’ve been stewing on it for long enough that I’m outright angry, although I keep trying to swallow down the feeling because I know it’s mostly irrational.

I don’t want to be a silly, melodramatic woman who makes a big deal about little things.

But this is not little to me.

Finally, finally, he straightens up. He’s too far away for me to see many details, but from the motion of his head, I assume he’s analyzing the rows of planting that were just complete.

If he starts working again, I’m literally going to scream.

To my relief, he shakes out his arms and finally turns around toward the house.

I’m not sure if he sees me or not, but his pace quickens as he gets closer.

I’m standing there watching him and trying not to glare too obviously.

When he’s close enough for me to see his face, I can tell that his eyes are focused on me. He’s moving in my direction with his long, fast strides. Before he reaches me, however, he makes an abrupt detour.

I huff in indignation even though I almost immediately realize he’s going to a rain barrel to splash water on his hands, face, and arms.

I watch him do the quick, sloppy cleanup. He ends up with water all over his T-shirt. When combined with perspiration, it soaks all the way through the fabric. There aren’t any towels outside, so he can’t dry off. He just shakes himself off like a wet dog and then turns around to stride back to me.

He’s not smiling, and neither am I.

“About time you came in,” I say. There’s more bite in my tone than I ever use. I’m not normally a sharp, sassy person, but I’m definitely pissed. “I thought you might work all the way through dinner.”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t acknowledge my words in any way. When he reaches me, he grabs my hand and starts pulling me after him as he walks toward the right.

“What are you doing?” I demand, coming with him automatically. His grip on my hand is firm, but I have no doubt I could pull away. I just don’t want to. “Dinner is in less than ten minutes.”

“This won’t take more than five,” he says thickly.

“What? What is going on, Jimmy?” He’s walking so fast I have to jog to keep up with him. “If you want something, you could use your words like a civilized person instead of dragging me with you like some sort of caveman. I was out there waiting for you instead of enjoying myself inside with everyone else, so the least you can do is?—”

My long, outraged ramble is interrupted by Jimmy swinging me around so my back is against the wall of the outbuilding that stores all the equipment. He takes my head in both his hands and stares at me intensely for a few seconds until he leans down and kisses me hard.

He doesn’t kiss me all that often. Ever since that first kiss when I was on his lap after my breakdown, he’ll do it occasionally. Usually when he’s soft and groggy after sex, but sometimes out of bed too. Kissing was never part of our relationship from the beginning, and we still hardly do it.

I really like when he kisses me, but I wouldn’t dream of complaining about the lack. Kissing is connected to romance, and that’s not what we have. I’ve always been determined not to tell myself lies or build hopes around flimsy delusions.

What Jimmy and I have is good, but it’s not love. And that’s fine. It doesn’t have to be.

So of course we don’t kiss a lot.

His kiss now really surprises me. It’s deep and hard and demanding, and his tongue moves all the way into my mouth. My lips part automatically, and my arms reach up around his neck. My heart is pounding so loud it’s unnerving. I’m sure Jimmy must be able to hear it.

He has to lean over pretty far to reach my mouth since he’s quite a bit taller than me. It’s fine for me but must be uncomfortable for him because it’s not long before he grabs me by the bottom and lifts me up, holding me against the wall at a better height for him to reach.

The move throws me off-balance even more. I wrap my legs around his middle more from self-preservation than from any intentionally sexy move. I’m wearing one of my long, cotton skirts today because I wanted to look pretty for Jimmy, so I have to awkwardly bunch it up to get my legs twined.

He’s making hungry sounds into the kiss. He smells of dirt and sweat, but for some reason it’s not as unpleasant as it should be.

He’s raw. Natural. Almost primitive. And something inside mewantsit.

He’s panting when he finally breaks the kiss. I stare at him speechlessly, my cheeks blazing and my mouth so sensitized it might even be swollen. “What… what are you doing?”

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