Shrugging off the need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do about my relationship with Owen, I grab an oversized sweatshirt out of my drawer, throw it on over my pajamas as I make my down the hallway to Stella’s room.
As usual, I find Huck stretched across the foot of the little girl’s bed, his head resting neatly on his crisscrossed paws. He looks up when I push the door open, studying me for about thirty seconds, before finally glancing back to Stella one more time. He then hefts his big body off the bed with a small huff and follows me out of the room.
Huck and I have settled into an easy morning routine. He follows me down the stairs, then slowly meanders out into the backyard when I hold the back door open for him. After letting him out, I take my time making my first cup of coffee, glad for the peace and quiet the early morning brings.
In true Gallahanger fashion, the day after the break-in, the entire crew had gathered at my house to pitch in with cleanup, including Maureen and Liam; although Maureen spent the majority of her time having a tea party with Stella. With all the help, what had originally seemed like a daunting task, hadn’t taken nearly as long as I had originally thought it would.
Both the living room and the kitchen required a fresh coat of paint to go along with replacing the window in the back door. Fresh shelves have been hung, and new picture frames have miraculously appeared to replace the ones that were shattered during the break-in.
Everything looks fresh and clean again, and if I didn’t still wake up at least once a night in a cold sweat, trying to shake the fear that clings to my skin, it would be almost as if the entire thing hadn’t even happened.
Thankfully, Stella has taken everything in stride, but I’m not wholly convinced that she doesn’t think the entire thing was like something out of her Disney movies where the evil villain wasn’t nearly as scary as the real, live monster who broke into our house. I’m pretty sure she has painted Owen as Prince Charming in that particular scenario, as well. She’s still pissed that our time spent with Owen has decreased so drastically over the last few weeks. Although, I know for a fact that he’s crashed a few of the playdates that Maureen insisted she had to have with Stella.
I wrap my hands around my mug of coffee, letting the warmth sink into my fingers as I make my way out the back door. I sink down on the top step, leaning my head against the railing as I watch Huck sniff his way around my backyard. I can’t imagine the scent of the ground has changed overly much since he sniffed his way through the yard last night before we’d gone to bed, but he’s going to sniff every inch to make sure there is no anomaly.
I’m halfway through my cup of coffee when Huck pauses, lifting his head and tilting it to the side as if he’s listening to make sure he heard something. Apparently he did, because he gives a happy bark and then runs across the yard to the fence separating my yard from Owen’s.
Seconds later I see the back porch light flick on at Owen’s house, and then the man himself steps onto the back stoop. Huck wiggles in excitement as his owner crosses the yard, hopping over the fence like it isn’t five feet high.
The dark gray sweatpants he’s wearing hug all the right places and my traitorous body sits up and takes notices. As he bends at the waist to pet Huck, his long-sleeved cotton shirt fits tight across his shoulders and his chest. The memory of how the skin hidden beneath that cotton feels under my fingertips, under my lips, makes me shiver. It makes my mouth water with the thought of tasting it again.
He hasn’t shaved this morning and the dusting of whiskers along his jawline make him look even more fucking delectable. He glances up, watching me while he’s still petting an incredibly enthusiastic Huck. He has a little half-smile on his face, dimple flashing.
I am so screwed.
I take another sip of my coffee as a stalling tactic to give myself a few minutes to try to shove the lust back down so I can have a coherent conversation.
He rubs his large hands down along Huck’s side a few more times before standing up and crossing the small yard. The dog follows on his heels for a few steps before he catches scent of something more interesting and heads off to investigate where it’s coming from.
Owen stops at the bottom of my steps, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweats and pulling them even tighter across the part of his body that I most definitely am not stealing glances at.
“Hey.”
I lick my lips. “Hey.”
“How’ve you been doing?” He rocks back on his heels, then shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and it dawns on me that he’s nervous.
It’s…endearing.
In response to his question I arch a brow. “Haven’t any one of your little spies told you how I’m doing?”
“Dammit, Tristan,” he growls, shoving a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “I’m trying to make sure both of you are safe because some lunatic has targeted you for some fucking reason, and you won’t let me within five feet of you because I told you some stupid fucking story. So yes, I have people checking on you and checking on Stella because the two of you are important.”
He spins away, taking several long, angry strides across the lawn before turning around and heading back in my direction. “I’m trying to respect your wishes, Tristan. I’m trying to give you the time that I promised because it doesn’t matter if it’s today, tomorrow, or ten years from now, I know you’re it for me.”
“Because a sorceress cast a spell,” I say slowly, because no matter what, I can’t get past the fact that this whole thing is based on some crazy-ass story about a spell.
The statement obviously irks him, as his mouth pulls in a tight line, his jaw hardening and eyes narrowing. “No,” he snaps, “because when I met you I felt like something inside me shifted into place. Because listening to Stella giggle makes me insanely happy. Because you kiss like a fucking dream. Because watching you color with Stella, or read her a book, or watching you tear up over the fact that your baby wants to get her ears pierced because her best friend did, is simply beautiful. Because you listen when I’m talking to you, but you call me on my shit. Because you were brave enough to pack your little girl up and move her to an entirely new state so you could afford a yard for her to run around in. Jesus, Tristan, I can come up with a million fucking reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with anything other than the fact that you’re you.”
I study him carefully as I lower my coffee cup to the step next to me. I feel like this is a pivotal moment between us, and how I respond in this moment is going to affect the direction our relationship takes. If this was a movie I would be so deeply moved by his declaration that I would throw myself at him and we would live happily ever after.
Too bad this isn’t a movie.
Wrapping my arms around my waist, I hunch my shoulders forward. “I was five when my mom decided for the last time that she didn’t want me.”
“Tristan.” He takes a step toward me and I lift up a hand to stop him. I don’t talk about my mother very often, or about the circumstances surrounding how I ended up in foster care. As unhealthy as it may be, I like to block out that entire time of my life as much as humanly possible. It happened. I survived it. Dwelling on it only weighs me down.
And I refuse to be weighed down by anything that woman did.