Her hand continued a slow exploration, grazing the line of hair that led under his jeans. When she started to slip under the edge, he groaned, covered her hand, and brought it up to his lips. He kissed each of her fingers then twined them with his. She smiled at the gesture, then more when he brought their joined hands to the center of his chest.
Even though they’d held hands like this just a few minutes ago, it was different now that they’d made love, and they would walk out of the woods differently than when they’d gone in. She’d never hear a waterfall and not remember this day. Never shuffle her feet through fall leaves and the scent of earth and not think of Nick.
“Your hands are big,” she said, pressing her open palm against his, smiling at the way he could curl his fingers over the tips of hers. His big hands that bore such strength but were gentle enough to touch her like she was spun glass. And the way those hands and fingers had touched her… her body still felt hot. Some places burned. She smiled to herself, felt her cheeks flush. “Everything is big.”
“Your hands are so small.” He brought her hand down and looked at her. “Everything about you is small.”
She shivered at the look in his deep, brown eyes. For all the glorious male beauty of his body, it was his eyes that caught her. Made all the air back up in her lungs and her heart feel stuck in her throat.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She blushed and looked away. “I mean… it hurt, a little, but it was perfect.”
“I’m sorry.” He touched her face. “I hate the thought of hurting you. It won’t hurt as much next time.”
Heat bloomed and spread at the thought of next time.
She buried her nose in his neck, inhaling the scent she loved so much—not cologne, just a faint aftershave and, most of the time, something of Hannah, baby shampoo and graham crackers. It all rolled and wrapped up and became Nick. “You know, my parents specifically told me not to fall in love with a boy in Virginia.”
“And did you?”
She rose up and over him to meet his eyes. “Very much.”
He touched her cheek, held back the long strands of her hair that fell around them. “Are you sorry?”
“Not even a little. Volim te,” she said slowly, in her grandmother’s native tongue.
“Ah. She speaks. Now tell me what it means.”
“It means I love you, Nick Walker.”
His mouth curved in a slow smile, and he caught the back of her head. “I love you, too,” he said against her lips. “I loved you yesterday. I’ll love you tomorrow. Every day.”
Her heart swelled hearing what he’d already shown her in a thousand ways. Her lips parted and the kiss deepened, a kind of sealing on the words, a promise.
And after that, there was never a question, never a thought. They just were. Nick and Mia. Always.
Chapter 6
Present day…
FRIDAY AFTERNOON, MIA SAT behind her desk, going through her appointment schedule. She’d just finished up a session with the empty nester, their third in two weeks. She smiled, thinking of the progress they’d made. Having the husband in, thinking of new activities they could do together, had helped. It also helped him understand her feelings and her need for a new purpose.
He seemed kind and very much in love with his wife. The way he took her hand to both give and receive comfort. They were coming back to each other.
She rearranged some things to accommodate the husband’s travel schedule then closed her book. With no more appointments, she had nothing left to do but go home to her quiet house. It was a fifteen-minute drive without traffic, and she spent the time flipping through radio stations. Her small two-bedroom sat on a quaint street where mostly young families lived. While her garage door opened, she waved to a man and woman walking a dog. After she pulled in and cut off the engine, she sat for a second.
Like her patient, the sudden and immediate void of things to do didn’t free up energy. It left her feeling tired. Going from so much to do, she never seemed to have time to get to it all, so little every minute she was at home dragged like hours.
Her dad had always said you could tell a lot about who lived in a house by looking in their garage. Messy or neat. Active or not. Sports or other hobbies. Kids or no kids and their ages. Was it the man’s domain or a free-for-all? Were the items used, or did they gather cobwebs?
In her case, her father would have been very wrong. She’d only been in this house for a year or so—not long enough to collect loads of clutter, and she was only one person. But there was enough. A navy stroller sat neat and tidy just beside her driver’s-side door. The oversized bag she’d used for the park hung on a lone hook.