Page 56 of Almost Home
“Slow down,” I said with her, ensuring she knew I was tracking and agreed. Might not’ve beenexcitedfor the change of pace, but unraveling her on her apartment front step didn’t say… what I wanted it to say.
She smiled again and flattened her hands against my chest. Another pulse of desire shot through me, and I stepped back. “Can’t keep that up if we’re slowing down.”
“Okay. Not sorry.” Her brows raised in challenge.
I laughed, genuine joy at her antics and the connection between us. Present after so long and alsonew.“I’m going now. Let me know when we can do this again.”
Then I kissed her cheek, and one last peck on her lips because I couldn’t help myself, and I left. I didn’t look back because if I caught her expression and it held as much need as it had seconds ago, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from turning around.
So I walked on, focusing on the crisp night air and the waxing moon arcing over the shadowy mountains. The scents of earth and a hint of something sweet blooming filled the walk, and I almost prolonged it to be out in the darkness. I’d operated in darkness for so long, it’d become home to me.
Instead of ranging around outside, I returned to my shabby apartment only a few minutes from Sarah’s. I locked myself in, the thunk of the deadbolt a reminder that I wouldn’t see her again tonight. This wild, animal instinct to be close to her now that she’d said she wanted that too clawed at me, but I moved through the necessities and readied for bed.
Instead of a quiet list of things I’d need to do the next day and a mild anticipation for the oblivion of sleep, I went to bed eager for the day. Sarah hadn’t given me a new reason to live or anything so monumental as that, but she’d shifted my focus from tasks to a delicious unknown.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Sarah
To keep myself from texting Wilder first thing the next morning, I occupied myself with cleaning my kitchen and bathroom. Unfortunately, that took very little time—something I normally would’ve been happy about. But being unable to focus on anything but Wilder had apparently scrambled my brain, and all I could think about were his kisses last night. That intense way he did everything had only heightened with age.
Instead of pacing my tiny living room and wondering if ten in the morning the night after our first date was too soon to call, I went for a run. My knee felt terrible, no surprise, so I kept it short. By the time I’d gotten ready, it wasn’t quite noon. But blessedly, the bookstore opened at noon on Sundays. No library option today, so I was glad to have some way to spend time surrounded by books.
The jingle of the bell at the door gave a friendly greeting followed immediately by the owner’s, “Come on in!” shouted from somewhere in the back. I delighted in each curated display table I passed on the way to the beautiful romance archway and quickly collected a stack of books to study in the cozy chair in the corner. I’d decided to treat myself to one book today, so I needed to carefully consider this pile.
“Can I get you a coffee?” Mr. Malcom asked, kind face peering down at me.
“Oh, no, that’s fine. Thank you so much.”
He smiled, warm and genuine. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”
After that, I slipped into the world of books and romance, blissfully paging through front and back matter, studying the covers and bios. I loved every part of a print book, especially since I so rarely bought them anymore. Since I’d found the winning title, I tucked into the first chapter and lost another few minutes before Jane Saint’s voice recalled me to reality.
“Don’t you look cozy,” she said, beaming at me.
She appeared typically stylish and relaxed, but somehow tired. Having seen her last night all dressed up for her date, I wondered if she’d been out late with the man.
“How was your date?” I asked, returning to sitting upright like an adult instead of curled into a ball in the chair.
Her lips flattened into a thin line. “Not great.”
“Oh. Bummer. I’m sorry.”
She sighed. “Such is the reality of my dating life—not great. I’m not ready to give up yet, but I’ll tell you, it’s tempting.”
“I’m sorry. I can understand why it’s disheartening, for sure.” I stacked the books—keeper and theI’ll own you someday, just you waitpile—and stood. “Maybe some time with a good book will ease the sting?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
We grinned at each other, and just as I was about to escape unscathed, she grabbed my arm to stop me. “It’s time I say my piece.”
“O—okay.” I swallowed hard.
“I can’t pretend to know exactly what you felt when you left.”
Her blue eyes searched back and forth between mine. My throat tightened, but I nodded to show her I’d listen.
“I do know something about getting an early start on family. Maybe that’s why it never scared me—you two being so young, I mean. And I know that wasn’t the case for your parents.”
