“Mmm. That feels great.” The way she bites her lip and looks up at me makes me nuts. I can’t help it.
“I like making you feel great.”
She grins then, and I feel like I’m floating. Making Cassie smile so big is the best accomplishment. I can’t believe she doesn’t have guys falling down everywhere she goes to try and do shit for her. I can’t believe she wants me. I’m grateful on both counts.
I’m the guy women choose when their husbands are out of town and they need to feel satisfied. Not for dinner or slow kisses in their shower. Not for more.
Then again, I don’t know how much more of more I’m going to get. That’s pretty much the point of tonight. She said she’d stay for the Founders’ Day weekend and whatever super-seekrit project she and Dante had going on. The money transfer she arranged to buy my car is coming Tuesday, even though I told her she ought to keep it in case she had another emergency.
I want to help her, and it’s not like I need much to survive in Evergreen Grove.
In a couple of days, Cassie’s out of reasons to stay. Every time I’m with her lately, I ask myself if I could be the reason. I try to convince myself I could be. It wouldn’t happen, though.
I’d probably fuck it all up. She had plans. Places she wanted to go. Music she wanted to play. I’d rather enjoy the time we have left.
I kiss her. First on the palm, then the wrist, and then her beautifully parted lips. “Feeling better?”
“You bet I am.” Her arms come around me, hugging tight.
I love that.
“Your hand, I mean.”
“It does feel better. Thank you. You’re so good.”
I’m not good. I’ll never be good enough for her. God damn it though, I’m a selfish enough bastard to want to soak in the fact that she thinks so until the well is dry. “No. You are. You’re the best person I’ve met. You seem to see good in everyone.” I lean down to put my nose in her hair and take a deep breath, smelling the vanilla-ish whatever it is that she uses. I’m pretty sure it’s the free stuff from the hotel, but it smells great on her.
“Not everyone.” She’s looking out the window now. “Hmm. I like the way the stars look here.”
Her tone’s turned kind of sad. I want to ask what she means. Why she’s changed the subject. I also want her to have her space—she’s respected mine enough times.
It’s late, the sun’s gone down. There’s not much of a moon tonight, but the sky is clear. Stars for miles. “You like stargazing.” I’m remembering that night we spent time lying in the grass together. I want to put my arms around her again.
“My mom and I used to look at them together when I was a kid. She didn’t know the constellations so she’d make them up.” Cassie laughs, leaning forward on the edge of the kitchen sink to get a better look. “I like to think she’s up there, finally going ‘Oh, so that’s what you called that one.’ I mean, some good’s gotta come out of what she did, right?”
I slide next to her at the window, looking out at the sky, at the stars she seems so hopeful will give her answers. Then I lean down to kiss her, saying something I only hope is right. “It brought you here.”
A couple of thin lines of moisture track down her face. For a second my heart is hammering while she keeps staring out that damn window and I wonder if I fucked up or not.
Then she smiles. Only a small one, but enough. “Yeah. I’d probably still be in Ohio, otherwise. Still in school, which I hated. Still with Keith.”
“Who you also hated?” Hey, it’s a dick question, but you can’t blame a guy for asking.
She smiles a little more. “He was fine. He was a really... A perfectly okay guy, mostly. He also treated me like I needed my hand held for everything. It was nice having some help after Mom died, but I needed to be on my own.”
I cringe inside. I’m sure I’ve been guilty of getting heavy-handed a time or two. “It makes sense. Wanting to be on your own.” I’d hoped to put this subject off, but I figure this is her way of easing us into it. The talk about how she’s gonna go somewhere else. Somewhere she can be independent.
Away from me.
It’s for the best. Honestly, I don’t know how it’d work if she wanted to stay here. It hasn’t stopped me from wishing for more. Eight fucking years I’ve wished for more, and assumed it was impossible. I’ve wished Mariana never happened to my family.
I see indecision on her face. Concern. Something she wants to say and can’t quite bring herself to spit out.
“Okay.” I steer her to the table and put a plate down, loading it with food. Might as well eat while it’s still warm. “Have some. Then you can tell me whatever it is you’re chewing on over there.”