Page 12 of Iowa Intellect
His worried questions make my lips tip up as I assure him, “Yes, I’m fine… Just a ridiculous klutz, apparently. I’m sorry to have disturbed you––again.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he assures me as he sits on the carpeted floor beside me. “I had just been wondering if it was safe to leave you alone for the night or if I should stay up and monitor you.”
His eyes search mine, just before he shakes his head, obviously disgusted with himself. “I should have known better.”
Hating it that he’s beating himself up over this, I reach out to cover his hand with my much smaller one. His skin is warm to the touch. “You have nothing to feel bad about. You are a wonderful caretaker. It’s not your fault that I tripped over my own feet and this…”
When I turn back to see what I fell over, I’m surprised by what I find. I squint and tilt my head to the side, unable to believe my eyes. “Is that a goose?”
“It is,” he answers, grinning at the dressed animal.
How did I not notice this oddity before?Being near Brock must really be messing with my head.
I’m desperate to know why he has a goose and what it’s doing in his hallway, but rather than asking, I let him explain at his own pace.
His voice sounds far away, but his eyes are lit up when he says, “My grandparents lived in an old farmhouse that Braden and I used to love visiting during breaks from school. Granny was so proud of the two painted geese that sat out on her front porch. She always dressed them up for the season or holiday. After she passed, all I wanted were Donald and Daisy.”
I take a moment to process all of the information he has shared. One of the first things that comes to mind is that Donald and Daisy are ducks, not geese, but I decide it would sound critical to point that out. Instead, I say, “From the looks of that frilly dress she’s wearing, I’m guessing that you got Daisy.”
“Actually, I had both of them. Geese mate for life, you know, so I would never willingly separate them.”
It would be humorous to think about being upset to separate concrete geese if Brock’s expression wasn’t so serious.
His tone makes it obvious that this really matters to him when he says, “Those two sat on the front porch of that farmhouse for decades, but not long after I brought them here and put them on my stoop, someone knocked over Donald and his neck cracked.”
Truly invested in his story, I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand in an unsuccessful attempt to contain my shock. After lowering my hand, I ask, “Why would someone do that?”
Brock stares down at the floor and shrugs his wide shoulders. “It was probably spoiled, bored teenagers looking for trouble. I ran outside when I heard the ruckus, which is probably what saved Daisy from being shattered, but it was already too late for Donald. After that, I didn’t want to take any chances, so I brought her inside.”
“Oh, Brock, I’m so sorry that happened.” I move my hand to his strong shoulder, hoping to ease the devastated expression on his face.
“It was just a silly goose,” he tries, but fails, to make light of it.
“Not to you, it wasn’t,” I say softly.
He gives me a half-smile, but remains quiet.
After a long moment, I say, “I’m so glad I didn’t break her when I fell.”
“Nah, she’s tougher than she looks,” he assures me.
Brock is just the opposite––softer and more vulnerable than he looks. Rather than saying that to him, I act on the demand my body and heart are screaming at my reluctant mind. I lean in and press my lips to his scruffy cheek.
13
BROCK
There is no way I’m missing a phenomenal opportunity like this. I’ve dreamed for years about kissing Caroline, so when she presses a tender kiss to my cheek, I turn my head and claim her lips with mine.
She gasps, proving that she’s as surprised by the sudden move as I am, but she doesn’t resist. In fact, she reaches back to run her fingers through the thick hair at the back of my neck.
When she moans and deepens the kiss, I instantly become lost in her. She’s the woman I’ve wanted since the day we met, and she’s here in my arms, making out with me on the floor in my hallway. It’s almost too good to be true. But it is real, and it’s glorious. I can’t get enough of her sweet, delicious mouth.
We are both breathing heavily when she pulls back.
My voice is gravelly as I say, “You taste like my favorite chocolate chip cookies––absolutely irresistible.”
We brush noses as I smile down at her, ready to devour her right here on the floor.
