Page 77 of Keepsake
“Perfectly.”
A strong arm wrapped around my waist and soft lips traced the back of my neck. His kisses were slow and sleep-warmed. They trailed down into the collar of my T-shirt, while one of his work-roughened hands slid under the fabric to caress my waist. He ventured lower, his fingertips brushing the tiny scrap of fabric between my legs.
“Mmh,” I sighed. “You’re torturing both of us.”
“I know,” he said between kisses. “Wish it was Sunday.”
“How many days away is that?” I mumbled.
He counted them out with kisses. “Five.”
“Fuck.”
He chuckled. “See you at breakfast?”
“Yeah. Go before I grab you and don’t let go.”
“I like the sound of that.”
But he got up anyway.
21
Zach
Tuesday we didthe Montpelier market together. Lark rode beside me in the truck with her hand on my knee. It made me crazy. I wanted to pull over on the side of the road and have my way with her. Instead, I settled for a few stolen kisses and sleeping in her bed again that night.
Something had shifted. The rules had changed, and now I could touch her whenever I wanted to. I didn’t know how that had happened, but I wasn’t arguing. When I passed behind her in our market stall, I put a palm to her lower back. And when we got back into the truck for the drive home, I kissed her before starting the engine.
Winning the lottery wouldn’t have been half as exciting to me.
The one thing I didn’t do, though, was try again to have any kind of Big Talk. I’d wanted to tell Lark how much I cared. But now there was a stopwatch ticking over us. Three weeks until she had to figure out whether to go back to work in Boston or make another plan for the future.
So I didn’t weigh in. I didn’t want my selfish desires to get in the way of her plans. And worse—if my feelings on the matter weren’t going to count as a factor in her decision-making, I didn’t want to know.
Griff had told me just to be there, not to panic. And that sounded like good advice. If I only got three weeks, I was going to make them count.
Wednesday was our day to do the Hanover market. But as I was loading up, Griffin loaded ten cases of hard cider onto the truck, too.
“Who’re those for?”
“It’s a delivery to Woodstock. Lark has the details. Have fun.” Griffin walked away before I could ask any more questions.
“Griff wants us to drive to Woodstock after the market?” I asked Lark when she got into the truck. “We won’t get home until late.” The Hanover market was three to six p.m. And Woodstock was a half hour southwest of there. Maybe more.
“We’ll have dinner in Woodstock together,” Lark said. “I told Ruth not to expect us.” She gave me a funny little smile.
“Okay.” She had something up her sleeve, but I decided just to roll with it.
“Do me a favor?” she said. “Run into the bunkhouse and get long pants and a button-down.”
I hesitated. “Really?”
“Yeah. Go.” She made a shooing motion.
So I went.
The Hanover market went well, and we sold nearly everything.
