Page 23 of Townshipped
Aiden’s overprotective side surges. He stands from his place on the couch and announces in an authoritative tone, “Okay, everyone. Em’s under doctor’s orders to rest and she’s not going to get well if we don’t give her time to do just that.”
The room goes silent and then people murmur and start gathering their things. I stand and they each stop to say goodbye, and how nice it was to meet me. Some of them tell me they’ll see me again soon. Most of them give Aiden furtive glances that aren’t even close to subtle. One by one, they file out the front door until Aiden and I are standing alone together in the foyer.
I’d have had to be numb or dead not to be affected by the way he took charge to ensure I got what I needed. There’s something about a man who steps up to the plate to protect a woman.
“I’m going to lie down for a nap,” I tell him. “All these visitors wore me out. Thanks for helping me gracefully bow out of the melee.”
“No problem. It was partly selfish,” Aiden says with that almost-shy smile he had the first morning I woke in his guest bed. “I live out here for a reason. Though, short of installing an electrical fence and buying a few tactically trained pit bulls, I think I’m doomed to have an invisible welcome mat out for the rest of my days.”
I chuckle and try to stifle my yawn, but it sneaks out anyway. Aiden touches my arm. It’s an innocent touch, but my arm doesn’t know that. My arm says, “Oh my gosh. He’s touching me! That’s just … wow.”
Then all my nerve endings from my wrist to my shoulder start doing this little dance like they’re passing some sort of electrical charge to one another in a conga line.
“You were a trooper,” Aiden says, unaware he’s short-circuiting my nervous system. “I tried to warn you about our town. I guess nothing could actually prepare a person for the craziness that is Bordeaux.”
“They’re sweet,” I say, looking down where his hand still rests in what’s meant to be a comforting touch on my forearm. His eyes follow mine and a light blush creeps over his cheeks. He pulls his fingers away. Our eyes meet.
“Well, I’ll be just … napping,” I say.
“Good. That’s good. Napping is good.”
“Yep,” I say, turning and walking down the hallway.
I brush my fingers over my arm where Aiden’s hand rested so casually only moments before.
I end up sleeping for over two hours after the visitors cleared out. I wake in the guest bed that feels more like mine than anything else in the world right now. Rolling over, I look at the clock. It’s nearly dinnertime.
I stretch and step out of bed. A vague recollection of what felt like a dream slips into focus. Only I’m nearly certain it was a memory, not a dream.
It was Christmas morning, and the childhood version of me was sitting on the lap of a man who obviously was my father, even though his face seems blurred to me now. My mother was crawling around the edge of the Christmas tree, grabbing at a gift to hand to me. I picture her clearly, even now: red hair like mine, bright blue eyes and a smile I hope I’ll never forget again.
The room where we’re sitting comes to me in vivid detail, but I have no idea what city we were in, or even what our neighborhood looked like. Still, I retrieved a memory, and I’m giddy with the thrill of it as I walk out of my room to find Aiden.
He’s not in the house. I look out the back door and see him in the goat enclosure. I grab my coat and boots from the mud area by the back door. Wrapping my scarf around my neck, I walk into the cool evening air toward the barn.
“Hey,” Aiden says as he looks up.
“I had a memory come back!” I shout across the driveway as I approach the gate to the pasture.
“Really? That’s great!”
I describe the scene to Aiden, and he listens as I open the gate and click the latch behind me.
“I can’t believe how it feels to have remembered something, even though it wasn’t while I was awake. It gives me hope.”
“I told you it all should come back. Just keep resting and staying hydrated and keeping your stress low and you should recall everything before too long. Although, keeping your stress level low might be a challenge now that you’re a local celebrity.”
He places a hand on my shoulder and gives a squeeze. I feel the warmth of his touch through my coat, which is impossible, I know, but I feel the effect of him anyway. Our eyes connect and he smiles that easy smile of his.
“Welp, let’s get these goats fed,” Aiden says, moving away from me.
He’s obviously unaware how he affects me right now. And that’s probably for the best. No. It’s definitely for the best. In my right mind I realize it’s natural to romanticize the man who saved me from a disaster. I’m sure that’s all it is.
Aiden ticks all the boxes: gorgeous, kind, protective. The only reason my heart feels like it’s just run a race and my skin hums to life when he’s near is because he’s been my hero over the past few days. Simple as that. Nothing more.
I take my place along the fence, watching Aiden talk to his goats as he hauls feed into a trough and checks the water level on their automated hydration bowls.
He’s captivating, probably even more so because he doesn’t seem aware of his looks or the way his quiet confidence pulls people in like a fireplace in the corner of a drafty room. He’s warm and inviting and you never want to leave.
