Page 72 of Beautifully Messy
“You’d get it. You like dark and twisty stories—ones that don’t hand you easy answers.Duneis messy. Brutal. Beautiful.”
Survival. I know a thing or two about that. So does he. The thought catches in my chest until his hand brushes mine, pulling me out of my head.
“Should we pick books out for each other again?” A shy grin tugs at his lips. That stupid, beautiful dimple I’ve imagined under my thumb too many nights taunts me.
“Our tastes might’ve changed.” My fingers twitch at my side, aching to reach for him. But my words hide the truth; those books are still on my shelf at home, well-read and treasured.
“Is that the case?” A small gasp escapes as his fingers cradle my chin. “It’s still one of my favorite days.”
His eyes drop to my mouth.
My breath stalls. My heart trips.
And without thinking, I reach up, tracing the dimple I’ve dreamed of. He leans into my touch like he’s starving for it, a low groan vibrating from his chest. The sound unspools something tight inside me, and I clench my thighs againstthe building ache. In my heeled boots, there’s not much distance between his lips and mine. A slight tilt of his head, a small lift of my chin, is all it’d take to close the final inches. His fingers slide down my neck, along my naked shoulder, settling in the small of my back, drawing me closer.
“Mama.” A tiny tug on my sweater and I come crashing back to earth.
I laugh, breathless, and step out of his reach. Thank God. Not sure my hormones or willpower could take much more.
“You’ve got impeccable timing, kiddo.” James huffs a laugh. “Should we check out and head back?”
***
Annafadesfast,hereyelids drooping the minute lunch is over, despite protesting she’s not tired. James promises he’ll play after a rest, and she finally relaxes enough to lie down in bed. Once she's asleep, I sneak off to the sunroom withDunein hand.
Peppermint wafts through the room as James sets a steaming mug of tea beside me before stretching out on the couch with his own book. Bell pads in behind him, circling once before curling up on the rug between us.
For the next few hours, we read in contented silence, occasionally pausing to share a particularly moving passage. We could have been doing this forever. I catch him peeking at me over his book, disbelief written across his face. All I can do is smile and snuggle deeper into the warmth.
When Anna wakes, still warm and dozy from sleep, we fall into step in the kitchen making spaghetti, Anna’s current favorite. James chops while I stir, our rhythm natural while Anna and Bell play at our feet. The last dregs of sunlight filter through in honey-colored bands.
But my damn mind won’t stay in the moment.
It feels so normal. So good. Too good—surely I’m tempting the universe, inviting it to be taken away. I can already feel it slipping. This pocket of time that isn’t built to last.
James sets down the knife and turns to me. His hands cradle my face, tilting my gaze to meet his. “I can hear the wheels turning in your head,” he says. “Would it help if I kissed you? Something to distract you from all that worrying?”
His eyes drop to my lips. And for a second, I don’t think he’ll wait for an answer.
I stumble back a step, far enough to draw air. My body’s already reacting, caught up in the idea of his mouth on mine.
“Oh no, no. That won’t be necessary.”
He chuckles—a low, rich sound, like thunder rolling through me. “Today wasn’t a game. I was trying to show you what life could be like with us. A normal day. The mess, the quiet, the in-between parts. That I’d be there for it. All of it.”
A pause to let the words settle.
Give them a second to seep through my crumbling walls.
“I meant what I said last year. And what I said yesterday. Every word. It’s true today, and it’ll still be true tomorrow. I don’t know what the future holds, but this? It isn’t fleeting. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m not asking you to turn your world upside down over some passing fling, Sydney.”
He brings my palm to his lips, pressing his nose to its center, a warm tickle against my skin. His stubble grazes my wrist, my forearm, the bare slope of my shoulder. When he reaches the hollow beneath my ear, he pauses… then inhales deeply.
A moan escapes before I can stop it.
I push him away, not because I want to, but because Ihaveto. My body trembles with need, every cell screaming for him—his mouth, his weight, the scrape of his rough hands on my skin. But I’m clinging to the thinnest thread of control. I close my eyes and try to tether myself to something,anything, that isn’t the way he feels.
“I’m here,” he whispers as his lips brush my ear. “I’m here. Waiting. When you’re ready.”
