“You going to give me any specifics, or are we going to keep talking generalities?” Marcus asked. “What happened to get you to this place in your head?”
“I’m not going to disrespect her by talking to you about specifics.”
“Give me the high level.”
“She was responding to something the way I expected. And then suddenly she wasn’t. On the surface, with her background, it makes total sense, but I think there’s more to it. I think I’m missing something.”
“That’s what a good Dom does, Rory,” Marcus said. “He looks deeper than the obvious. If there’s anyone in the world who needs a Dom with that kind of radar, it’s Daralyn. To her psychiatrist, she’s a puzzle of behaviors, treatment options. Dr. Taylor is great for her, and Daralyn needs her approach. But she needs yours as well. Stick with your perspective. Set your worries aside. What do you want to do?”
He thought. “I want to dig. I want to figure out what’s really going on.”
“Then that’s what you do. If she had a rough day today, give her some breathing room. If you set the boat rocking, settle it down, put it back on an even keel, then go after the problem. Or, in terms you’ll understand, wait until the rains have passed to dig the hole, so the shovel doesn’t clog it up with mud.”
“Farm analogies. Next thing, you’ll be saying y’all and wearing overalls.”
“You just reminded me why I need to get my ass back above the Mason Dixon. Before I fucking forget how to be a New Yorker.”
“What’s sad is you say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Shithead. One last thing. Try not to get pissed off about her father and uncle around her. She can’t use the anger.”
“I know. But it’s tough.”
“Tell me about it. You and I prefer violence to handle asshole behavior. But your brother? He’s better than anyone I know at looking past the anger and hate and seeing the people behind it. Like your mom. I literally wanted to kill her a couple times. He saw her pain, her confusion, and that became more important to him than stepping on her to get to the relationship we wanted to have. It took time and pain to get there, but because we took the harder route, we are where we are right now, all of us in a better place. You could express all that rage you have on Daralyn’s behalf, but what does that do for her? How does that help her love you and you love her in a healthy way?”
Rory thought about it. “Didn’t you get all of this from years of experience with the Dom and sub stuff?”
“Some of it, and that’s why it’s important to mentor with an experienced Dom, the way you’re doing. But it’s more than that.” Marcus sighed. “Thomas and I might be Master and sub, but we learn from each other. If we’re doing it right, we grow in love with one another, like any other couple out there. Talk to her, Rory. Read everything she gives you, from the words that come out of her mouth, to every bit of body language. The things she doesn’t do or say, as much as those she does. You’re asking yourself the right questions, and reaching out when you need help. That’s all the way it should be.”
“Okay. Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Marcus grunted. “I do twenty hours of community service a month. Helping the handicapped and all that. Mentally handicapped, that is.”
“Pansy.”
“Cripdick.”
Rory clicked off. Much as he hated to admit it, his brother’s husband was becoming something he never would have expected.
A good friend.
Chapter Six
Rory glanced over as Daralyn put a cup of coffee at his elbow. Then she was gone, headed for the trio of women chatting at the handmade quilt display, even though they hadn’t signaled a need for help. That didn’t necessarily mean she was avoiding him. From watching his mother and Les manage the tourist traffic, she’d learned they bought more if there was a smoothly inserted comment about the women who’d made the quilts, some backstory to reinforce their authenticity.
They hadn’t had any one-on-one time. When Rory opened the door this morning, a customer had already been waiting. Mr. Hernandez had needed a replacement part for his tractor, so that he didn’t lose daylight on the field he had to work today. More customers had arrived on his heels, a steady flow until ten-thirty. Then this vanload of church ladies had arrived from Asheville. The store had been a planned stop on their meandering tour to the beach.
In their few interactions since she’d arrived a few minutes behind him, Daralyn had been friendly, pleasant, acting as if nothing had happened. But she avoided eye contact, more than usual, and stayed in a flurry of activity. Which was as big an alarm flag to him as the giant Stars and Stripes that flew over the car dealership in town.
Up until today, she’d developed a pleasant habit of incidental contact, brushing against his shoulder or knees as she came behind the counter to get things. Laying her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she reached up to retrieve something from a shelf.
Today she was giving him a wide berth, as if touching him might turn her into a frog.
He’d considered several ways of dealing with it, and had settled on the one that made the most sense to him. To break the brittle wall of self-consciousness around her, he picked a couple times to call her over, request her help with a customer. He talked to her in his usual way, teasing her a little. Touched her arm or hand like he might normally do while making a point, before moving on smoothly, as if all was good. Normal, the way it should be.
She began to relax, act more like herself. By early afternoon, they were pretty much where they’d been before yesterday. The only time he put a hitch in her stride was when she was taking off. She worked until two today, part of the modified schedule he and his mother had imposed upon her, so she didn’t burn the candle at both ends on her schoolwork.
“Remember, I’m taking you to dinner tonight,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Oh. Yes. Fine.” She looked as if she might say more, but then she slipped out the door. He pushed his chair to the window to watch her pedal her bicycle to the road. She liked riding it to and from the store on the good weather days.
He’d taught her to ride a bike. Well, it had been a group effort, Thomas explaining the basics, Les demonstrating, but he’d been the one to stick next to her on the bike, since he could run the fastest. He smiled. He’d been her spotter.
He remembered when he’d put his hand on the seat to steady her, his fingers curled near her buttocks, his body leaned in as he held one of the handlebars.
She’d turned her head toward him once or twice, her ponytail swiping him. She’d stumbled through an apology, but he’d just rubbed his jaw where it itched and smiled.
“Focus on your balance,” he said. “I’ll be holding onto the bike until you find it. Don’t worry about anything but that, okay? I’ll take care of the rest.”
He brought himself back to the present. She usually ate her lunch with him, but she’d made an excuse about not being hungry, that she’d eat when she went home.
If they’d moved too fast, he’d slow it down. But after last night’s conversation with Marcus, he was resolved. He wasn’t going to stop unless he had a more compelling reason than his fears. She deserved more courage from him than that. He watched her hair flutter over her shoulders, the straight line of her back as she pedaled, the slight movement of her hips. God, everything about her called to him.