Page 68 of Rough and Rugged

Yesterday I got too emotional over seeing Becker, over him not falling over himself as he swore his adoration to me. To get over itandmy shame at what a mess I was, I did what I do best. I created something. I spent most of the early morning creating focaccia bread for him.

“Damn, that one smells good, B,” Mackenzie murmurs as she reaches out to sneak a piece of the garlicky goodness.

“Do not touch it,” I bark, smacking at her hands playfully.

“Violent! Must be special for your boyfriend, huh?”

“Stop it. Can you... uh, can you watch the shop for a bit this morning?”

Mackenzie’s eyes, the same shade as my own, go wide. “No way. I mean,yes. You’re taking the bread to him? Tohis cabin?”

Nodding my head, I glance at the clock anxiously. Usually, he’s here by now. His not showing up after my brief outburst the other day confirms it. I was being overdramatic about things. He has no feelings for me, and I have no right to punish him because I have feelings for him.

“Yeah. I want to apologize. I was a jerk the last time he was here.”

“Bria, you could not be a jerk if you tried. It’s not in your DNA.”

“Well, I kind of almost cried. I mean, I cried, but he didn’tsee mecrying. I think he knew. I made a scene. I don’t know.”

“Was he rude to you? Because I know men with guns, pepper spray, and nightsticks who could have a chat with him.”

Laughing at her swift mama bear’s instincts, I shake my head. No more fighting my battles for me. I’m not going to let this foolish crush make more of a mess than it has. Becker and I can be friends. It does not have to be more; I can accept what he’s willing to give. No one can have too many friends or too few customers.

“No, he was nothing but nice. I am bringing a peace offering since I made things weird.”

Mackenzie argues a little longer about the impossibility of me making things weird, but I ignore her. I know when things get weird. I was always the odd one out, the strange girl in class or the wallflower at get togethers. I accepted a long time ago who I am and who I am not.

I amnotthe sort of girl a rugged lumberjack has the hots for.

Thanking my sister a few more times, I load the precious bread into a basket and grab my keys. Going out the back way, I load the basket up in the passenger seat. I almost jokingly pull the seat belt over it, laughing at myself. Climbing behind the wheel, I start the jeep up and let the old girl warm up before I head towards the mountain.

Driftwood has dozens of mountain peaks and several of them have residents filling cabins and even fancier lodges. As I take the winding road that leads to Becker’s cabin, I can see smokestacks puffing gray into the early morning skies and dimly lit cabins nestled back into the mountain.

“How do I explain how I know where he lives? Or that I’m driving some bread to where he lives at five am?”

These questions fly out of me, and I slam on the brakes. What was I thinking? Becker told me about where his cabin was once or twice. Not a detail a normal human would have recalled. A normal human also would not drive the hills of the mountains, slowing down past his cabin, either.

“Jesus, Bria. Way to broadcast how goddamn abnormal you are. What were you thinking, you idiot?” I chastise myself, throwing the jeep into reverse and stomping on the gas. As suddenly as I go, I stop again.

Closing my eyes, I take a calming breath as my hands tremble at the wheel. I want to go to his place. To give him this bread and maybe see if that thing I feel in the air whenever he comes around is the same for him. If it exists outside of the safety of my shop. I need to know if I’m making up this connection in my head. Did I read everything between us so wrong?

Hitting the gas again, I refuse to give up now. Pulling up in front of his cabin, I wonder again if this is a bad idea. I told myself we could be friends, but I’m not sure we could be. How could I feel this fluttering, breath stealing, heart aching way and be friends?

Glancing up, I smile at the puffs of smoke coming from the chimney of the adorable cabin. The curving front porch wraps around the front to the back, where his dog Buster sits in his massive doghouse. Becker loves that dog, it’s one thing he loves to talk about. His place looks so comfortable, a place to snuggle up by the fire as the snow fell outside.

Taking a heaving breath, I grab the bread and push my door open. As slide out, I go still. I’m glad it’s not dawn because Iwould dieif he saw me now. I mean, I might die anyway because... I’m not sure I need to keep living such a blessed life after this moment.

“Lord forgive me,” I whisper—but I don’t pretend to be ashamed.

Becker stands in all his glory, his huge, thick body bare of a single stitch of clothing. Even in the gray morning shadows, he’s a vision of perfection. Thick, sinewy arms, the entire left one tattooed to his wrist. His chest is wide, with valleys and peaks of muscle. Thick thighs tense as he stretches a little, turning enough to flash his taut, bare backside at me.

Holding my breath, I allow myself a shameful moment of voyeurism. Becker lets out a morning sound, stretching again before he stuns me. I cannot take my eyes off the scene in front of me. His big, tattooed hand drops to his stiff, jutting cock, palm running over the tip before he strokes himself.

“Holy hell,” I mutter as I rub my thighs together, my panties ruined. I stumble forward clumsily, and as the horn sounds, that shame hits me.

“Wha... Bria, darlin’ is that you? Honey, is something wrong?”

“Uh... uh, yes, it’s me. No, no... n-no, nothing is wrong. I did not mean to,” I turn away pointedly. “I did not know you...”

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