23
Jasper
I paced from the end of Linden's living area to the front door and back again because I had to do something, I had to move. The last time I tried to stop for a minute, I charred a very nice piece of bread and had to mourn that waste as I tossed it in the trash.
Lunch was unnecessary. It was too late now anyway. There was no sense in eating at four in the afternoon, not unless I wanted to be off-kilter the rest of the day.
I laughed out loud at that idea. It was not possible to feel more off-kilter than I did now. Not humanly possible.
I knew I was overreacting. I was sure of it. But I just couldn't stop. I'd tried distracting myself several times. I tried steaming the dress I planned on wearing to Linden's parents' anniversary party next weekend but ended up spilling water all over myself. I tried making a salad to go with dinner but destroyed a tomato in the process. The distractions weren't working.
As I reached the wall of windows at the back of the house, I heard Linden's truck pull into the driveway. A moment later, there was a metallic slam and a moment after that, the front door swung open.
I was still pacing—I really could not stop—when Linden spotted me. His expression shifted from pleasure to curiosity to concern inside a matter of seconds.
"Where's the fire?" he asked, a small box tucked under his arm and a ball cap on his head.
"No fire. I just left the toast in too long."
"Okay." He nodded but gave the kitchen a careful study before glancing back to me. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," I said automatically.
"Then why are you wearing a hole through my floors?"
I dragged my fingers under the crewneck of my sweater. "It's nothing, really."
"Stand still and say that to me."
I shot him an amused glance before shoving my hands in my pockets. Thank god for skirts with real pockets. "I decided to start on Midge's room today. It seemed like it was time."
He set the box on the countertop, dropped his hat beside it. "Don't tell me you burned that down."
"There was no fire, okay?"
"It smells like there was a fire."
"I burned the toast. A lot," I added. "But no flaming fires."
He shrugged out of his coat and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. "All right. No fires. What happened in Midge's room?"
I started pacing again. "I figured I'd begin with something small, you know? It's really emotional for me and I don't feel like I can part with any of her things yet but I figured I could make a small dent in her closet since I noticed she had a bunch of old shoeboxes in there. I don't know why she kept them but I decided to open them because I figured she might've stored old bank statements in there or, I don't know, more coupons for stores that don't exist anymore."
He nodded as he flipped open the buttons at his cuffs and it was inconsiderate of him to roll up his sleeves while I recounted today's trauma. Seriously inconsiderate. I loved those forearms. The muscles, the hair, the veins. It was so strange to love veins but I loved his veins. And when he crossed his arms over his chest with his sleeves rolled up? My god. There was no saving my panties from that.
"And…what did you find in those boxes?"
I pressed my hands to my eyes and turned to face the windows because Linden's forearms could not exist in the same world as today's discovery. "Adult products."
"What? I didn't catch that, babe."
"Adult products," I yelled, my back still turned to him.
"What does that mean?"
Since he wasn't making this inference on his own, I said, "I thought it was a box of old broken chains. Like, bracelets or necklaces or something. I dumped it out because it seemed like that would be important. Come to find out, it was a comprehensive and varied collection of nipple clamps."
In the window's reflection, I saw him push to his feet. "What the fuck did you just say?"
A slightly manic laugh stuttered out of me. "You heard right. A whole box of nipple clamps."
Linden laced his fingers around the back of his neck. "Oh my fucking god."
Nodding, I banded my arms around my torso. "And I figured it was okay, you know, she was a vibrant woman. She was allowed to have an equally vibrant sex life. Who am I to judge any of that? Not my place. Not my business."
"Good for you," he murmured.
"But then I opened the box with the double-ended dildo which didn't take me nearly as long to identify because I have the same one."
"Holy fuck." He rubbed his eyes, asking, "So, what did you do with all that?"
"I shut the closet door, shut the bedroom door, and walked my ass out of there. I have to throw them away, right? What else can I do? They're not recyclable. It's not like I can donate them to needy kinky people."
"Holy fuck," he muttered.
I turned, saying, "Yeah, I know."
"Hey, Peach?" He gestured toward me, an odd frown on his lips. "Some other time, we'll talk more about that dildo, right? The one you have, that is."
"Sorry but I'm not sure I can ever look at it again without thinking about finding one in an old shoebox." I shook that memory out of my head. "And just so you know, they can be very tricky to use well. It's a lot of coordination. You'll feel it in your abs for a week."
"Looking forward to it." With a nod, he walked over to the refrigerator, saying, "Get your coat."
I glanced out the windows. "Isn't it a little late for a walk in the woods? The sun's almost set."
"We're not walking." He held up a bottle of wine—my bottle—and plucked a glass from the cabinet. "We're going out back. We'll start a little bonfire and then I'm going to do my best to get you drunk. You deserve it, babe. After this conversation, I do too."
"Seems like a reasonable solution."
He knocked his knuckles against the box he'd brought in. "One of my stops today was at a dairy farm. They sent me off with a cheese plate."
I reached for my coat, held it to my chest as I studied him. "Do you usually get paid in cheese?"
He popped the cork on the wine. "When I ask if they'd put together something for me, yeah, I do."
"And how often is that?" I didn't know why I was pushing on this. I didn't know what it was I hoped he'd say.
He set the open wine bottle beside the cheese and grabbed a beer from the fridge before putting his coat back on. "Only when I have someone at home who lives for toast, wine, and cheese."
"The Old World Parisian way of life has always appealed to me," I joked as I shoved my arms into my coat.
I followed him outside to where the sun was low in the sky and the November air was cold enough for me to see my breath. Linden led the way off the deck and toward a small stone fire circle in the center of the yard, a pair of white Adirondack chairs stationed on either side.
"Sit down," he ordered as he dragged the other chair closer.
"You know, I would've done that without your instructions."