Page 30 of Where Love Lies

I don’t answer. She’s old enough to know she doesn’t want that answer because she already knows what I’m going to say. Her eyes shine with curiosity, but whatever she’s thinking, she doesn’t say out loud. Turning around, she runs her hand along the back of the couch, heading toward the stairs.

“Night, Mom.”

I stretch my arms above my head and yawn, trying to wake myself up. Standing, I fold the blanket Paige was covered up with and place it on the back of the couch. Maybe I should dust or wipe the counter before Heston comes over. No, I don’t really want to do that. Looking at the stairs that lead to my studio, I think about my pottery room. My fingers itch to slip into the clay and let everything I’m feeling but won’t say into my work. Screw it, even if I just get some supplies out to start something another day, it will keep me awake for a little while longer. After climbing the stairs, I open the door and flip the light on, the room glows from the one fixture above, giving off a barely-there white light. Turning on my floor lamp that hangs over my shoulder illuminating my space, I grab my apron from the back of the door and slip it over my head, tying it behind my back. Opening Spotify on my phone, I put on my playlist and sit in my low wooden chair that’s behind the wheel. Taking a deep breath, I grab a box of clay next to my foot, and some water from the jug on my art cart and start kneading them together. My foot presses the pedal and the wheel starts to move the chunk of clay in my hands, helping me transition it from nothing into something. Closing my eyes, letting my hands do the seeing for me, I listen to “You Give Love a Bad Name,” and go into a deep state of relaxation. I needed this so badly. My mom passing, the accident, moving…it’s been a lot. I feel spread thin, trying to keep my head held high, especially in front of Paige.

Suddenly, a chill runs down my back, causing the hairs on my arm to lift. Like the feeling you get when you’re being watched. Uneasy, I open my eyes, and find Heston standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, staring at me with a smoldering expression.

Losing concentration, my piece begins to wobble and fall to the side. I release my foot from the pedal and let out a breath. Shit, I didn’t even get to see what it was becoming.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” I say, unaware he let himself in. I thought he’d text when he was here or knock, so finding him already in the house is surprising. I’m attracted by the gall of this man.

He doesn’t say anything, just struts farther into the room, his shoulders square and his eyes prowling, as if he’s an animal hunting in the dark. His intense gaze has me all hot and bothered and my lips part as he grabs the back of my chair and slips one of his legs behind me. I scoot forward until he’s sitting behind me, my ass now halfway on the edge of the chair and his lap. Reaching for my phone, he puts on “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers, the song from the movieGhost, then sets it back down. I want to laugh, but I bite my lip, reining it in.

His hands cradle my elbows. His fingertips, soft as silk, slip down my arms. My breath hitches and my core pulsates from his touch. His hands cup mine around the piece of clay I was trying to inspire life into. Pressing my foot back on the pedal, my hands glide up and down, renewing its shape. He leans in closer, his breath hot on the nape of my neck. I close my eyes, feeling, listening. His heat on my back. His large fingers slipping between mine as the wet clay dances beneath my palms.

His lips press against the dip right under my ear, and I can’t help but sigh and lean into him. He shuffles beneath me, his hard length against my ass. I circle my hips, so it rubs my clit just right. Heavy panting fills the room, our hands still working the pottery. I release my foot from the pedal and turn in his lap, until my legs are straddling his, our faces inches apart. With my hands caked with clay, I grab both sides of his face and kiss him hard, need burning inside me. I lick his upper lip, and his tongue returns the gesture, flicking my bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth until our tongues touch. His hands slide up my back, untying my apron. I pull it over my head and toss it across the room. The light now shining right in my face, he raises his hand and turns it off. He stands, my legs squeezing his hips, so I don’t fall, and we walk across the room. Holding me up with one arm, he uses the other to turn the lights off and shut the door. Slowly, he drops to his knees and lays me on the floor, his hands on either side of my hips. I arch my back, needing friction, his touch, something. Lifting my shirt, he leans close, his lips leaving butterfly kisses on my stomach. My hand falls to his head, running my fingers through his hair. He devours my body, his hands all over me. Moonlight streaming through the room, soft music crooning from my phone lead to sex so powerful, it depletes every one of our senses until we both go languid, our bodies imprinting on one another, binding us into something stronger than just friends.

* * *

Laughter and pots banging in the kitchen cause me to stir awake. Naked and hiding under the soft sheets, I fight the intrusion and try to go back to sleep. Giggles and a male voice have my eyes snapping back open.

Paige and Heston must be in the kitchen.

Tossing the covers off me, I grab my robe from the door, tie it tight, and make haste to see what they’re doing. Turning the corner, I look over the living room and kitchen and find Heston standing in front of the stove in jeans and no shirt, his feet bare. He holds a pan in his hand, hovering it over the stove top as Paige, in her pajamas and Dutch braids, stares at him, happiness in her eyes.

“I’m going to laugh so hard if you miss!” Paige says, not seeing me standing here watching.

“You’re the one who says flipping them in the air makes them taste better.”

“It does. It makes them more fluffy or something.”

Shaking his head, he gives his ass a little wiggle to prepare then tosses the pancake. We all watch with bated breath to see where it lands. It flips twice, then free falls back into the pan.

“Oh my God, you did it!” Paige squeals, her arms in the air like he just made a goal.

“I was nervous it was going to hit the ceiling for a second.” Wrinkles form across his forehead. Using my favorite red spatula, he slides the pancake from the pan and places it on a plate. I enter the room. “Wow, first try and no casualties.” My crack at being funny has them both turning my way. “First time I did it, the thing landed in a potted plant,” I say.

“Hey, you!” He lights up and sets the spatula down to walk over, wrapping his arms around me. “Hungry?”

“Starving, actually,” I reply around a smile. One I can’t seem to stop. Who can blame me? Paige hasn’t acted this happy in a long time either.

“I’ve got you.” He winks and walks back to the stove. I grab a cup of coffee and sit at the table across from Paige. She stares at her phone, blindly stuffing her mouth with her breakfast.

“So, who said pancakes taste better flipped in the air? Was it you?” Heston asks me, pouring batter into the pan.

“My mom.” I let out a small laugh. “She said it as far back as I can remember.” Memories of standing on a chair next to my mom in a kitchen over an old green stove warm my chest. God, I miss her.

“Hmm.” He focuses on the pan, as if lost in thought, and I immediately feel bad for bringing her up. The way he acts when I talk about my family…the tension, looking away, not saying much, makes me think he doesn’t get along with his folks.

“What about your parents? How were they?” I ask, probing.

“Um…when I was younger, my parents were close. As I got older, my dad became more absent.”

“Oh,” I mutter. “My father was out of the picture before I was two,” I tell him.

He glances at me with an unreadable expression then focuses back on the pancake.

“I’d love to meet your parents sometime. See the people responsible for the pancake-flipping expert. Maybe they can teach me,” I tease, then take a sip of hot coffee.

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