“I’ve got two kids, man. I was domesticated while you were having wet dreams about Peggy Sue from algebra class in the ninth grade. I let go of wild a long time ago. I love my kids, and Sara is…” He closes his eyes and inhales deep. “She’s the cherry on top of a great fucking life.”
I slap his back and give him a quick nod. “I’m happy for you, man … now put your vagina away and let’s catch some fish.”
Before Adam can tell me to fuck off, my text message alert interrupts. I fish my phone from my pocket, and I’m shocked to see TINK on the screen. It’s been radio silence for weeks, so I can’t imagine what she would be texting about. I feel the stirrings of hope deep in my stomach, but I try to swallow it down. For all I know, her hot water heater busted, so she’s calling the landlord to fix it.
Tink: Hey, Mr. Craig is back from the hospital, and I’m making a home visit this afternoon around three o’clock. I know you said I shouldn’t go alone, so you’re welcome to come.
I stare at the screen, waiting for the answer to come to me. She’s right; I don’t want her on that side of town by herself. While I’m thinking, my phone pings again.
Tink: He asked about you when I called him. I think he’d enjoy seeing you.
I would like to see him, but I’m not sure if it’s the right thing. Yes, I need to be patient, but that doesn’t mean I should be a doormat. Another ping.
Tink: And I’d enjoy visiting with you, too … Anyway, I’ll be leaving the clinic about 2:45, if you’d like to come.
“Musings from Never Never Land?” Adam asks with a low chuckle.
“Huh?”
“Is that Celia?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a part of me that wants to jump in my truck and break every speed limit to spend time with her. My heart wants the opportunity to change her mind. My soul craves her company. Thankfully, my head is still in the game. Because Celia may have reached out to me, but this meeting is on her terms. It would be so easy to fall back into the friend routine with her, but that’s a step backward I’m unwilling to take.
“Adam, what time is Sara due back with the kids?”
“She’s planning to take them for ice cream after the movie, so I’d say about four-thirty. Why?”
“Because I need a favor.”
“Garden” by Pearl Jam
Present Day
I RAISE AND lower my fist three times before I decide to knock on the door. After two light taps, I push up my purse strap on my shoulder and wait. In my other hand, I clench the envelope containing this month’s rent—also known as my excuse for stopping by Cain’s apartment.
I need to see him.
Last week, I sat inside the clinic waiting for him, going over all the things I wanted to tell him—Eddie’s first vet visit that dissolved into a fit of claws and hisses, my zoo trip with Lily and Gage with the spitting llamas, and every other little thing that happened in these excruciatingly long weeks without him. Mostly, I just wanted to hear his voice and make him laugh. I swear, his laugh should be bottled up and sold as an anti-depressant. Sure, Mr. Craig wanted to see him, too, but I may be guilty of suggesting Cain tag along for the visit with me.
When Adam showed up in Cain’s place, it took every ounce of willpower to keep my tears at bay. Adam tried his best to lighten the mood and pretend he didn’t notice the crushed look on my face. It killed me to think Cain didn’t want to see me as badly as I wanted to see him. Has he already moved on?
I knock again, a little louder this time, and the door edges open. I peer through the crack into his apartment, taking the unlocked and unlatched door as a silent form of welcome. I’ll take what I can get these days.
Cain lives in a loft on top of an antique shop in downtown Providence. The brick walls, exposed beams, and oversized leather furniture scream masculinity, very similar to the owner. The room is perfectly still, but as I look over the open space, my eyes land on the man in question.
Damn.
After enduring a several weeks’ long “Cain drought,” the image before me makes my mouth water. There he lays, in all his glory—mussed hair, bare-chested, wearing nothing but tattered blue jeans and glasses. Glasses? I didn’t know he wore glasses, but damn if they don’t look sexy as hell.
Papers litter his stomach and the floor, and a half-dozing Biz is curled up into his side with an ear cocked up and sleepy eyes. Cain’s eyes, on the other hand, are shut tight. The steady rise and fall of his chest is mesmerizing, and my mind wanders to a day not so long ago where I lay in the crook of his arm, my ear to his chest, listening to the pulsing of his heart. I swear I can almost hear it now.
My eyes dance over his skin like fingers lightly brushing a path. My fingers itch to grab and tug his hair. My lips crave to kiss him … everywhere.
I reach the couch and give Biz a tiny scratch between his ears, and he settles back into his spot. Cain shifts his hips to accommodate for Biz, and his lashes flutter as his arm lifts and curls behind his head. Even from behind his lenses, I can count the rows of eyelashes that frame his emerald eyes. That’s right, the man has rows of lashes, thick enough to be the envy of every woman.
I place my rent check on the table and slowly lift the errant sheets of paper off his stomach. A quick hand grabs my wrist before I pull away, and I gasp, butterflies fluttering up my throat.
“It’s five to ten for breaking and entering, Tink. Hand me my phone so I can call the fuzz,” he says with a smirk. He chuckles under his breath when I pull free from his grasp.
“I most certainly will not get your phone, and I hardly believe I’d get ten years for walking into an unlocked house, with a barely closed door.” I release the papers and place my hands on my hips as they flutter to my feet.
“Maybe not, but I have every intention of crying rape.” His eyes dance with laughter, then he turns his attention to Biz. He yanks the dog’s ear and narrows his eyes. “Where were you on that one, Biz? She could have been a masked murderer, ya useless hound.”
“Aw, don’t be so tough on him.” I pout and give Biz a gentle pat.
Cain swings his legs to the floor and sits up, placing the dog in his lap. “He doesn’t like those pansy ass scratches, girl. This guy is a warrior.”
I giggle at the comparison. Biz, a warrior? Ha!
“Whatever,” I laugh, with a wave of my hand.
“Tell her, Biz. I don’t like it soft; I like it—” Cain points to Biz.
“Ruff!”
“To hell with smooth, give it to me—” He points again.
“Ruff!”
I’m laughing so hard at their little performance, my cheeks hurt from smiling, and I can’t catch my breath. The laughter dies down and a silence filled with longing takes its place.
“I like the glasses,” I whisper.
He smiles and scratches his head. “I usually wear contacts. My lashes brush against the glasses, and it drives me fucking crazy. I wear them around the house sometimes, though. I planned on reading a little for work before watching the LSU game, and, well, you see how that turned out.”
I plop down on his coffee table and face him, our knees almost touching. My breath catches as I watch him watch me. The want, the longing for his touch is as strong as it’s ever been, maybe even more with his recent absence.