Page 83 of Ember Meadow
The only sadness I feel is the loss of our time spent apart. Four years that we could have had together. Though, deep down, I know that we wouldn’t have stayed together back then even if we had tried. Neither of us were ready. It had to be now.
My pulse jumps as Miles starts to stir, his arm that’s wrapped around my side pulling me in closer to him. His breath skirts down the back of my neck, sending goosebumps down my arms.
I relax a little, melting into him to savor this moment. I’ve never had a moment like this with anyone. I wiggle in a little, snuggling up to him as much as I can.
“Mac.” His voice sounds like sandpaper. “What are you doing?”
“Getting comfy.”
He sighs, “If you keep wiggling around like that, I’ll have to pin you down another way.”
“You started it,” I accuse.
“Yeah, and I’ll finish it too,” he says.
I turn around to face him, laying on my side. Deep brown eyes stare back at me, with just a little bit of gold. His hair is mussed and he looks just a little bit tired still. This might be my favorite version of Miles yet.
“Hi,” I smile.
“Hey sweetheart,” he says, intertwining our hands underneath the soft quilt. My stomach does a flip. I wouldn’t mind waking up to Miles Autry calling me sweetheart every single morning.
“I bet you noticed that I’m still here,” I tease, earning a laugh.
“I did notice that. I’m pretty happy about it.”
“Oh yeah?” I run my hand up his arm until I get to his cheek. “How happy?”
He chuckles into my neck, pulling me onto him. Miles reaches up, running a hand through my wild hair. “I love you,” he breathes. He says it reverently, like a spell falling over us.
“I love you,” I whisper back. His answering smile is brighter than the sun. “I’ve never felt like this before, but I think I’ve loved you for a while.” I lean down, my elbows on either side of his head. “I’m not very good at this whole relationship thing. I’ve never really done it before. But I want to try.”
He laughs, his chest shaking beneath me. “Katie. I’m not good at it either. I’m divorced, remember?”
“You make a good point,” I smile.
“You don’t have to be good at it. We can both learn how, together. There’s no rush. I just know I want you to be here, with me. That’s all we need to think about for now. Sound okay?”
I nod, unable to speak. It takes a lot to render me speechless, but Miles Autry seems to do it pretty often. I fall into those deep brown eyes, drowning in him. My fingers reach up to his cheeks, tracing the few freckles the sun has darkened into his skin. Miles stares back at me through his lashes.
He’s not just looking at me. He’sseeingme. It’s been a long time since I’ve let someone new this close to me. Close enough to see past the facade of a sparkling personality and tough exterior. Miles can see the vulnerability underneath it all. All of my jagged edges, all of the parts of me I keep tucked away, out of sight.
I should be scared. I should be running away by now, worried that he’ll get too close and up and leave one day when he decides he doesn’t want me anymore. But all I can feel is that burning light in my chest, wanting more and more of him.
Iwantto be loved. I want to love him. I want to stay here forever.
Leaning up on my elbows, I smile down at him, a curtain of rust colored curls falling between us. My gaze snags on a tattoo I haven’t noticed before. Right on his left chest. It’s an outline of a mountain. It looks so familiar, I swear I’ve seen it before.
“Didn’t realize you were such a tattoo guy,” I tease.
“I wasn’t, until my divorce. Then I figured I might as well see what all the fuss is about. I always wanted them,” he replies, never taking his eyes off me.
My hands roam across his light brown skin, grazing across the dark swirls of ink. Some I’ve caught glimpses of. There’s the playing cards on fire on his forearm I see all of the time. A grove of pine trees, a longhorn skull, a deer.
“What’s the first one you got?” I ask.
He chuckles, turning over so his back is towards me. “It’s a little cliche, but I wanted the symbol of Wyoming to be my first one.” There on his shoulder blade sits the Bucking Horse & Rider of Wyoming, filled in with beautiful swirls of color depicting what I assume is the ranch and the Tetons behind. “It’s where I’m from, the place my family has called home for decades. It felt like I should honor it somehow.”
I run the tips of my fingers across the symbol. So similar to the one I saw drawn in the window a few weeks ago. Same angles, same style.
