And then he kissed me.
Hungry was the kiss, his restraint pulled tight enough to snap, a devouring kiss.
A retreat and a thrust.
A gasp of pleasure-pain, thighs wide. He forced my knee higher, glancing down the line of my body as he pulled out slow, rolled his body to fill me up. Again but harder, the table jostling, the clanging of pottery. Again, he pumped his hips, brought his lips to mine. Tucked my knee into his ribs, leaned over me, pressed himself into my body, and I held on. That was all I could do—there was no pleasure I could give him he wouldn’t take for himself. But there was pleasure he could give me, and he did with single-minded focus. Every thrust, he rolled his hips, stroking me outside and in.
Seconds, and another orgasm slipped over me in a whisper, then a sigh, then a moan. Then a cry as it pulled me under, as my body pulled him in, swallowed him up, flex by flex, pulse by pulse.
I sagged, edging consciousness. He sped, fingertips dragging ruts in my thigh. A gasp. A strangled grunt, a lock of his hips for a second—one long, protracted second of weightlessness—and he came like thunder, hard and hot, wild and untamed. His body was locked, every muscle stone as he pumped, released, let go of the reins and rode away.
He kissed me as he slowed, the kind of kiss heavy with relief and gratitude and something deeper, that unnamable sense of connection, as real as a tether, binding us together.
Even if only for a moment.
For that moment, there was nothing required but that kiss. No words, no demands. No desire—that we had slaked for the time. It was just the simplicity of that kiss. Of him and of me. Of the years between us and the days that had passed.
He held my face with one hand, holding me upright with the other. Broke away to look down at me, to search my eyes. His lips tilted, the smile so desperately Luke, the one it seemed I had known for what felt like forever.
“Did I make good on my promise?” he asked, his thumb stroking my cheek.
A twist of my heart as I looked up at him, knowing this was my only taste, my only chance. But I’d keep him here all night, and I’d take everything he was willing to give me, giving him everything I had. For tonight.
“It’s a start,” I said, smiling.
And he kissed me, just like I knew he would.
11
Ever the Gentleman
LUKE
“No peeking,” I warned my mother as I helped her down the stoop.
“Lucas Bennet, are you accusing me of cheating?” Her gnarled hands rested over her eyes, which were open and actively trying to see out from between her fingers.
“I’ve played Monopoly with you, so yes.”
Tess, who had her other arm, smiled at me. “You’re the picture of virtue, Mrs. Bennet.”
“I’ve always liked you best, Tess,” she said.
“Why, because she always agrees with you?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Mom answered lightly.
My siblings waited in front of the shop in a chattering pack, my father standing silently on the edge, smiling faintly. It was his resting face—eyes soft and smile only at the corners, his expression in a constant state of both amusement and amiability. It was rare that he put up a fight. But when he did—boy, look out.
They quieted as we approached, and I moved Mom front and center on the sidewalk across from the door.
“All right,” I said once I got her positioned. “Are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready for two days, Lucas. Say when before I die of old age and infirmity!”
A chuckled rolled through us.
“Open your eyes, Mom.”
For a moment, she didn’t move her hands, as if now that the time was upon her, she was afraid. A breath, shaky and deep, sawed in and out of her. And then she found her courage and looked.
The shift of her face stole my breath. A softening, a flush. A widening of her eyes, the shine of tears against the crisp cerulean of her irises. Her trembling fingers pressed to her lips. Tears slid down her cheeks in plump droplets.
She didn’t speak. This was a miracle of its own—my mother had never been at a loss for words in her life.
Her brows drew together with a shake of her head as she took it all in. The windows, teeming with flowers. The taste of the interior, bright and white and crisp and clean. The shop—her shop—transformed, made new.
The joy and shock on her face was the most satisfying thing I had ever seen.
Second to which was the joy on Tess’s.
Her cheeks and nose were pink and splotched, the sweetness of her lips—lips I’d familiarized myself with last night—caught in that gentle half-smile, half-frown only achieved when crying. Those tearful, dark eyes were absorbed with my mother, who choked on a laugh doubling as a sob.
“I … what have you done, my impossible, sweet children?”
“It was Tess,” I said, pulling Mom into my side. “She came up with the idea.”
Tess shook her head. “No—all of this was Luke. Without him, we wouldn’t have ever had the impetus. He made all this happen.”
Mom laughed. “You two. You even argue when you’re complimenting each other.”
“Come on,” I said with a smirk at Tess, who chuckled, swiping at her cheeks. “Wait until you see inside.”
Mom’s arm wound around me, her other trembling hand resting on my chest as she looked up at me. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“Am I so unreliable that my own mother didn’t believe in me?” I joked, smirking and squeezing her shoulder.
She swatted at me. “Oh, you know that’s not what I meant. I’m just so …” Her gaze drifted back to the windows. “I just never imagined it could be like this. Generations of women have passed this store down to their daughters, and the last person to update it was my mother. I … I wish she could have seen it. I wish she could have seen what you did.”
Mom reached for Tess’s hand, squeezed it as they smiled at each other.
“They were wise to have you do this, Tess. Never in my life have I seen such a beautiful display, and never could I have believed we would have something like this in our shop. You are a treasure,” she said with a sob.
She’d said it before, and I agreed more now than ever. Tess was a chest of doubloons, waiting for an eternity under a waterfall, just waiting for someone to find her. To open her up and admire her riches. And I was the greedy pirate she’d accused me of being. I’d found her, and as far as I was concerned, that made her mine.
“Come inside,” Tess coaxed, taking her arm. “Luke made magic.”
We headed in, past the turquoise door, across the threshold of the shop, over the black-and-white checkered tile. Tess had set up a display of foxtails on the front table, the stems dyed neon pink and tops blonde and grainy. And all around the display were potted succulents for sale. Mom took in every detail, gasping over our old finds, wandering into the window installations, crying again when she saw the rain boots.
She knelt, running her hands over them. “This was my mother’s. And this little one, that was mine. My grandfather’s. Your f-father’s.” The words dissolved, and for a moment, she collected herself. When she stood, it was with pride on her face and tears still in her eyes. “I am beyond words.”