Page 61 of Almost Always

Thenwhen her anxiety got the best of her, Daisy did the one thing Rafferty told her not to do—read the news.

At first, the reports were scarce and she took that as a good sign. Boots joined her at one point, sensing her worry. She sent him back to bed and grabbed a blanket from the couch to sit on the front porch. The heavy rain managed to settle her nerves, but her mind was spinning so fast she knew that sleep wouldn’t come. She convinced herself that ‘fresh air’ would help with the anxiety building in her chest. It did, until she started reading.

The headlines were screaming ‘arson’. Sheknewit was a bad idea, but she read every article thoroughly and worked herself into a state. That’s why when he came home, her instinct was to jump into his arms to make sure he was real. The news didn’t say anything about firefighter casualties, but her mind conjured up the worst things possible.

The kiss had been unplanned. To be held by Rafferty that way, his strong hands digging into her ass, beard scraping against her skin and his leather scent permeating through the downpour was enough to turn even the most calm of people wild. She took her shot and he returned it eagerly. Their first kiss had been perfect, but it faded away like magic dust as his tongue plundered her mouth. They’d had a few close calls with their second first kiss and she was glad that it had been cliché as fuck in the rain. Also the hottest kiss of her life.

“Who’s making you smile like that?”

She jumped at his voice and turned to see Rafferty’s amused expression and she ogled him openly. She thought that the daisies were the only tattoos he had because of her, but seeinghim shirtless again was a good reminder of how much of an impact she had on him. There was no doubt in her mind that Rafferty still loved her, especially considering he had all her lopsided hearts and stars sprinkled across his chest. Not to mention the stamps and thealwaysprinted over his heart. She loved that she would be the only person to fully understand the significance of most of his tattoos.

“You okay?”

“Just admiring my—you,” she mumbled, blushing at the slip.

“Your what, sweetheart?”

Biting her bottom lip, she took a step forward and set her hands on his chest, before dragging it down to his stomach. He was solid, but not bulging. His abdomen was firm with faint lines of muscles, leading to the V that vanished into his shorts. His arms, however, they were a different story. Every time he flexed, muscles rippled and she had to squeeze her thighs together. There were also the silver tattoos running along his left arm that only enhanced the veins she never thought were sexy.

His hand stroked over her jaw, tipping her head up and she blinked to stare into his golden gaze. “Hi.”

Chuckling, he kissed the corner of her mouth. “Hey, darlin’. You doing okay?”

A soft hum slipped out as she swayed, swooning at the casual term of endearment. Most of the time someone used that word, it came from drunk or condescending men. But it sounded so fucking good when he said it. He could call her anything in that rumbly deep voice and she’d like it.

“I love that,” she sighed softly, hands still pressed against his bare skin.

“What?”

“Being calleddarlin’. Where did you pick it up?”

“Poppy used to call Nonna that. The minute I said it, I knew it suit you.”

His thumb traced her mouth and she swayed into him. She had so many more inappropriate things to say about whatsuited her, instead, she kissed his finger.

“Bring your hairbrush.”

He didn’t ask why as she stepped around him on wobbly legs. She gestured to the bed and he got in, sitting with his back against the headboard. She climbed into his lap and dragged her fingers through his hair. He moaned softly and she repeated the action as his hands landed on her bare thighs.

“I’m assuming you don’t have a routine for your hair.”

He chuckled. “You assumed right. I don’t even comb it most of the time.”

“We’re going to change that right now.”

“Arewe?”

She scoffed and drew a parting down the middle in the center of his head with the comb he’d brought as well. His eyes were closed as she separated his hair, smoothing the two sides down with her hands. She switched to the brush and gently dragged it down one side and the other, stopping every time she hit a knot.

After her divorce, when she moved home to live with her father and stepmother, Pia introduced her to the wonders of having someone else brush your hair. In those thirty minutes, they would talk about whatever hard stuff was going on in their lives. While it was never about finding solutions, it was always a chance for them to get stuff off their chests.

Doing it for Rafferty was more about calminghernerves. Even though he’d come home in one piece and she could feel his strong body beneath hers, there was this constant fear that she might not have that next time.

“You were reading the news, weren’t you?” he asked quietly, fingers brushing against her knees.

“I called you a couple of times, but couldn’t get through.”

“We were out of range. What did the news say?”

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