Page 22 of Tear Me to Pieces
Even though I hear the words, it doesn’t register I’ve said them out loud until Simon stops chewing, his gaze darkening where it rests on my face.
I can barely breathe as his eyes hold mine. No one’s ever looked at me the way he is now, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
That’s a lie. I know exactly how I feel about it. The fire licking over every inch of me is impossible to miss. But I don’t know how Ishouldfeel about it. Just like the fridge full of groceries and the way he keeps gently ordering me to eat, this is another thing I feel like I should hate. Another thing that should remind me of where I used to be.
But it doesn’t. And I don’t know how to unpack that.
Simon’s intense gaze finally leaves mine, dropping away as he shifts in his seat. “I should go finish getting dressed so we can get started.”
I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
I run my clammy palms down the front of my jeans as he disappears up the small staircase into the front of the camper. The last few minutes have been intense. Not only have I had to face down a few of my confusingly contradictory thoughts, but I also had to face down a half-naked Simon.
And I know damn well he’s going to be making an appearance in my brain every morning from now until the end of time.
“Ready?” He comes back way before I’m ready, and damned if he doesn’t look just as good in a worn T-shirt hugging his biceps and chest like a clingy girlfriend.
Not that I can blame it. If I was wrapped around his body I’d probably be pretty clingy too.
“Yup.” I stand, reaching for our empty plates, but Simon beats me to it.
“I’ll carry these.” He stacks them together before straightening, his dark eyes as soft as the smile curling his lips. “You make a damn good breakfast, My. I might have to sleep in a little more often.”
I can’t stop the way my shoulders straighten, spine stretching as his praise bolsters the broken bits of me.
I try to pretend I’ve fixed them, but I haven’t. Not really. All I’ve managed to do is slap on a coat of paint. Hiding the worst of the damage behind highlights, cute clothes, and a few liberating-looking tattoos. But not a single bit of it did as much for me as Simon calling me a good girl and complimenting my cooking.
Simon balances the plates on one hand as he lets us out of his camper. Once the door is closed behind us, he moves in at my side, leaning into my ear. “Is it okay if I keep one hand on you in case you try to eat the sidewalk on me again?”
My eyes fall to his free hand, stomach flipping at the thought of it being on me. “Yeah. It’s okay.”
My breath stutters when his wide palm spreads over my lower back, searing into me like a brand. It’s warm and steady and there to keep me safe and has me all sorts of fluttery inside.
But it’s the way he asked before touching me—instead of acting like it was his right—that has my belly twisting like a pretzel.
And my mind conjuring up all sorts of other places I’d like him to ask to touch me.
8
SIMON
“Thanks for helpingme with this, man.” I pause to sink a screw into the stud, securing the final sheet of drywall into place. “It would’ve taken me forever to hang all this by myself.”
I would’ve figured it out, but a second set of hands makes the task infinitely easier. Helps almost as much as the lift Christian brought over for us to use on the ceiling sections.
He steps back, hands on his hips, as he surveys the work we’ve managed to get done while Myra works. “You really got these walls up quick.”
When Myra went to work yesterday—after making me breakfast—I dug into framing up the two rooms. I worked my ass off, managing to get finished right as she got home. Like the day before, she wandered around, a plateful of dinner in one hand, looking over what I’d accomplished. And, like the day before, I had to make her sit and relax even though she looked exhausted.
After sending the final screw home, I lay down the drywall screw gun. “Were you worried I’d lost my touch?”
I’ve done a little bit of everything over the years, and at one point worked on the same construction crew Christian did. While he decided the industry was where he wanted to stay, I wanted something a little more...interesting.
I also wanted something that would give me an excuse to escape Memphis after the life I thought I was building crumbled under me.
Christian grinned. “I did. Figured you might be over here in a scuba suit trying to weld the place together.”
“Welding in a scuba suit has made me a fuck ton of money, so I’m gonna say I made the right choice.” It also gave me space I desperately needed. Time to try to wrap my head around where I’d gone wrong.
