Page 27 of Gatling
“Do you ever think about getting married some day?”
He tossed his crust onto a paper plate and wiped his hands on a napkin.
“Where the hell did that come from, Kels?”
I propped myself up on one elbow, tracing mindless circles in the sheets with my fingertip.
“You’re in your forties,” I pointed out. “But you haven’t even come close to settling down, finding a wife.”
“Gee, thanks for reminding me,” Noah grumbled.
I ignored his mild complaining and kept going.
“You put your life on hold to raise me, didn’t you?”
A shadow darkened his eyes. He sighed and balled up his napkin, depositing it on the table.
“I just haven’t met the right person. That’s all.”
I continued to stare at him, waiting through the silence that filled the room.
Noah shook his head.
“I don’t blame you, butterbean. There was a lot of grief to process after Mom and Dad died. Then I spent my twenties looking after you, and going back to school for physical therapy. There was no time to date. I wasn’t in the right headspace anyway.”
Rolling onto my stomach, I propped my chin in my hand, listening.
“You go on plenty of dates now,” I reasoned. “But I’ve never heard you get serious about anyone.”
Noah shrugged.
“I want what Mom and Dad had. They were so good together. I wish you could have seen them, Kels.”
A pang hit me in the stomach. My parents died when I was a baby. I didn’t get any memories of them the way Noah did. So when he talked about Mom and Dad, I would hang on his every word, soaking it up, filing it away.
“I caught them dancing in the kitchen on Christmas Eve,” Noah went on with a fond look in his eye. “I was barely three years old at the time, peeking at presents under the tree. They were just…swaying, holding each other, with this look in their eyes as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. So, I guess I’m holding out for that kind of devotion. I don’t care if I have to wait until I’m ninety years old before I find it.”
I smiled softly.
“I hope you get that kind of love one day. Before you’re old and wrinkly.”
“Thanks, butterbean.”
“Although, that’s not too far off, you know. I’ve noticed a little more gray in your hair these days. It won’t be long before you’re getting dentures and touring assisted living facilities.”
Noah chuckled and shook his head.
“Very funny.”
After the pizza was finished, I yawned as I made my way into the bathroom for a shower. Stripping off my clothes, I stopped when I saw myself in the mirror.
Just above my right nipple was a dark mark from Ryker’s mouth. I traced my fingers over that bruise, following the outline of it and trying to remember the shape of his lips, the scorching heat of his tongue.
An empty ache throbbed between my thighs.
How was I supposed to move on and pretend that nothing happened between us when all I wanted was to relive that night together, again and again, for the rest of our lives?
Chapter nine
