Page 84 of Starting Over with You
I sigh deeply before moving my lips to hers. “Good.”
Before I can kiss her, she goes to her tippy-toes and places her mouth over mine, and I cuddle her into my chest as our kiss deepens. I know there are a lot of things that could try to get in our way, but I won’t let anything stop what is happening between us. I may not have had the last nineteen years of her life, but I’ll have the rest of her days.
And she’ll have mine.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Kenni
I’ve been tossing and turning in my bed for the last two hours.
I know Dean wanted me to sleep in his bed, but I needed space. Now I wonder if his bed would have comforted me.
Nope. I needhim.
That’s one hell of a realization.
Our afternoon was cut short when he was called in early because Wagner needed to go up to Knoxville for his mom. It didn’t feel quite right when he was getting ready to leave. Of course, he gave me a toe-curling kiss, demanded I sleep in his bed, and told me to text him, but it didn’t feel natural. Not forced, but not how the morning did before the call from my lawyer. When Dean left, it felt off. Or maybe I felt off. I don’t know. Even with his goodnight text that had me swooning like a damned teenager, I’m more confused than a normal person with a Rubik’s Cube.
I’m still fucking married, and the rage I feel is almost too crushing. I don’t know why the hell Stratford is doing this. I mean, I do.But really? He has the audacity to try to keep me married to him when he was the one who started a whole new family?
I need Taylor Swift to write me a hate song about him.
My lawyer told me not to contact him, but I want Stratford to know that I have loads and loads of evidence against him. I know he is doing this to try to get us to the twenty-year mark, but I’ll be damned. I don’t want anyone but my boys getting that trust.
I grunt loudly, rolling over onto my back. The guilt inside my chest is heavy and toxic. Dean is a good guy. He is loved by this community like no other. When he didn’t marry Missy after they found out about Skyye, his character was in question. And while I know everyone in Thistlebrook is aware that I left my husband, can Dean’s reputation take another hit from his sleeping with a married woman? This town is so damn old-school, all set in their ways, and I don’t want anything tarnishing Dean’s good name.
Especially my whole fucked-up self.
I never expected to come to town and find myself wanting Dean as badly as I do. I love how he makes me feel, how he makes me laugh, and how, in two days, I feel more at home in his home than I ever did anywhere else. It’s not fair that I’m still married. It’s not right that I might have to fight for a divorce. Maybe I should just give Stratford the year, but I don’t want to. I want to be free of him.
To do what? Jump into another relationship?
Jesus, what am I doing? What the hell am I doing? I really had no intention of finding myself in this situation when I came back. All I wanted was to have fun with my sister and Sadie. Love on my nieces and nephew and find who I am as a mature woman.
While finding Dean may not have been the plan, I can’t say I don’t love who I am when I’m with him. I feel happier, I feel freed, and yet, I’m also his. I’m another man’s person, and I’m okay with that. I crave it. But how can I ask him to be with someone who has more baggage than an airport on a holiday weekend?
I blow out a long breath, running my hands down my face. Usually when I feel like this, I’d call Missy or Sadie, but I don’twant either of them. Jeez, just thinking of Missy has me groaning. How is she going to take this? I don’t feel guilty about what has happened between Dean and me, but I know I need to tell her. Even if I don’t know what will happen in the future, I don’t want her finding out about us from anyone but me. Then the kids. Ugh, this is all so complicated.
But even thinking that, I know deep down, he’s worth it.
I kick the blankets off me and come to the conclusion that the only way I’ll feel better is if I have Dean in my arms.
I pull on a black slip dress and some pink slides before I head out of the room to get my keys. I probably should fix my hair, put on some perfume, but I need him more than I need to look decent. I jump into my car and head into town to the fire station. When I glance at the clock, I cringe. It’s past one a.m. I don’t even know if he’s awake, but I keep driving.
The firehouse is a red brick building, three stories and newly renovated with lots of forest-green accents. Firehouse One, Thistlebrook, Tennessee, is displayed in bold silver letters above the garage that is wide open. Thistlebrook’s only fire truck sits inside, but what has me choking back a sob is the lawn chair positioned in front of it.
Dean’s sitting in it with his head tilted up to the sky.
I pull up my car beside his and drink him in. His legs are stretched out in front of him, his khaki cargos hugging his thighs and riding up at the bottom so that his work boots are on display. His green firefighter shirt stretches along his shoulders and chest, his hands brushing the cement as his mouth moves. He taps his foot, and I know he has to be listening to music. He always is. Even when we were kids, he had a CD case that held dozens of mix CDs that he’d play all the time. Now, though, all he does is yell at Alexa to play whatever he’s feeling.
I put the car in park and get out. When I shut the door, his head pops up, and his eyes land on me. The grin on his face is instant as he sits up, leaning forward on his legs as his eyes make a slowperusal of my body. Even in the dark, I can’t miss the heat that gathers in his blue depths or the way his eyes hood.
God, he leaves me breathless.
Before I can move toward him, or he comes to me, I smile when Riley Green’s voice fills the space around us. I shake my head. “Now I get it. You’re a Riley Green wannabe with that slutty stache?”
