of pie on it.
‘Margaret at the farmer’s market. Locals just call her the pie goddess.’
I took a bite and felt damn near orgasmic again. I rolled my eyes. ‘My God, no wonder.’
‘Told you.’ He handed me a coffee mug full of wine and I sipped.
‘Heaven,’ I said.
‘The sex didn’t hurt,’ Deke said, winking at me.
When I removed myself mentally from the situation, I was shocked to find that I was completely at ease with him. I felt comfortable and sexy and flirty. Something I hadn’t experienced – ever. And deep down it terrified me. I took a slug of wine and pushed the realisation away. I could deal with it later.
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘Elevator sex, great. Antique sofa sex, superb.’ I raised my mug and Deke clinked it.
‘Wow, “superb”. That is high praise.’
‘Indeed.’ I ate the rest of my pie and held my plate out. ‘More, please.’
His grin flashed white in the muted light of the kitchen and attraction curled like smoke in my belly. The man’s smile was dangerous. ‘Good to see a woman who eats,’ he said and plopped another generous slice on my plate.
I finished off my wine and held that out too.
‘And drinks,’ he chuckled filling me up.
I leaned on the counter and ate the second piece slowly. ‘This is … perfect.’
‘So let me ask you, Farrell McGee …’
I watched him tip back his wine and swallow. I had butterflies. Massive butterflies – swirling, twirling, dancing in my gut.
‘Yeah?’
‘My bet would be, by watching you and judging by your new lease on life, that you’re not looking for something long term.’ He was as sober as a judge. Watching me.
I fidgeted a bit, sipped my wine, and cleared my throat. ‘I’m not. Not right now. I’ve never actually been serious about someone. But I’m not ready to even get into something … steady would be a good word.’
But he does weird things to your stomach. And your heart. In one day –
I ignored that voice. No way, Jose. Not now. Not this soon. I had just gotten here. I hadn’t even spent a night in my own home yet.
‘I figured.’ He held up a finger. ‘Notice I did not say assume. Because that would make an ass out of me …’
‘And me,’ I chimed in. ‘As for asking. No harm, no foul.’
‘Good.’ He touched my lower lip and desire blazed through me, making me lock my knees and hold my breath.
He leaned over the kitchen island and kissed me, tasting of peaches and good red wine. ‘Because there’s something about me you should know.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I am a patient man. I have all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere.’
I blew out a shuddery breath and nodded. ‘Cheers.’
We clinked mugs.
‘Cheers.’
He left me when the fire died down and I yawned three times in a row. ‘Sleep tight, Farrell. If you need anything, you know where to find me.’
I watched him cross the street, that walk that was almost a strut, that broad back, those hands – God, those hands. How they’d been all over me.
‘Jesus,’ I sighed. ‘What have I gotten myself into?’
I had no bed. It sounds like the beginning of an orphan story but I didn’t, so I made up the sofa with sheets and a big quilt I’d brought with me. The quilt had been my mother’s, a purchase from a tag sale, and weight about a hundred pounds. So I doubted I’d be cold despite the wind that was currently buffeting my fairy-tale cottage.
I pushed my face to the cool glass and watched the trees tossing with each gust. The small TV I’d brought was picking up the local channels just fine thanks to a brand-new HD box I’d bought.
‘Even TV isn’t free anymore, Dad,’ I whispered.
My father would have had a fit knowing that you had to pay for even the most basic network channels. And knowing that he’d have a fit amused me because I could picture him vividly.
There were lights on in all three houses. Front room for Coop’s small stone house – maybe his living room. The upper right room for Deke’s – I was betting that was the bathroom, so I immediately imagined him naked. Imagining Deke naked was like imagining a chocolate torte – the moment you pictured it, you wanted it. Speaking of baked goods, in Stephen the baker’s little cottage it was the upper left room – bedroom maybe? I knew bakers kept odd hours and given it was past eleven, I wasn’t surprised to see the light flip off.
I wondered if his house smelled of yeast and cinnamon and sugar.
‘He lures you in with his sugary treats. Like in Hansel and Gretel,’ I whispered, letting the lace curtain fall. ‘Firstly, Farrell, what is with all the fairy-tale references and secondly, stop talking to yourself, you twit.’
I watched some news and covered myself in the quilt and then enjoyed the ending of the fire, glowing its merry glow. It wasn’t long before my eyes were heavy and my body followed suit. I was too tired to put away the pie, or shower, or anything but lie here watching the dancing blue shimmer of the television screen through almost shut eyes.
When my eyes finally did drop, the blue light penetrated just enough to give a ghostly flicker to the darkness behind my closed lids.
I was in the tower. It was so tall. Much taller than it appeared from my front porch. My hair whipped in the ever-present wind that whistled through the small keyhole windows in the structure …
Down below, when I leaned over a bit too far, giving myself a swirl and dip of vertigo, I could see them. Three in a row looking up at me. Cooper and his assessing eyes, his self-assured swagger, his smile. Stephen and his black hair, his bulging forearms, his confidence. Deke, big flashing smile, narrow jaw, Lucifer-like demeanour … hell on two legs. Literally.
The cottages were dotted with gingerbread and candy and each man opened his mouth to speak. In unison they bleated, hard, squealing pig sounds that froze my heart.
‘Dream, dream, dream …’ I chanted, running down the spiral stairs. Three men, three pigs, three choices, gluttony of arousal. It all swirled through my head and I knew that I was dreaming. But I batted the thought away with a shiver as the wind twined itself through the stone stairwell.
