I shrink from her touch, bolting up from the bed. “Yes, I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”
She follows me, and her expression is a stubborn one with which I’m familiar. “No.” She frowns. “Not when you’re going to stay awake the rest of the night.” Her voice gentles. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Never! “Why? Because you’re curious?”
Her face shadows with hurt. “Because I care!”
“Forget about it, Rachel. You’ve already helped more than you know. These past two weeks with you have been the most peaceful I’ve had in a very long time.”
She cups my face in her hands. “Come back to bed.”
Surrendering, I let her lead me back to bed. She lays my head on her chest, stroking my hair as I fall asleep.
In the morning, leaving Rachel still asleep in bed, I take a quick shower before going for a walk.
I can’t stop thinking about our conversation during dinner and my fear that soon, I’ll have no choice but to let her go.
This is just sex.
That won’t be enough to keep her.
And I want to keep her.
I let the fresh air do its work before returning to the house. Betsy, Wilson’s wife, is in the kitchen making breakfast, and Rachel is with her, fresh from a shower with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
I drop a kiss on her lips. “You’re finally awake. I thought I was going to have to transport you back to Manhattan unconscious.”
Her smile is endearingly self-conscious. “I was tired.”
“Understandably.” Color stains her cheeks, and I grin.
“Take a seat,” Betsy fusses. “It’s been a while since I had young people around to feed. Eat up.”
“Yes ma’am.” I do as she says. Breakfast smells good and tastes even better. Wilson soon joins us, and as family breakfasts go, it’s not that bad, despite the memories.
After breakfast, Rachel wants to ex
plore the beach. She runs barefoot in the sand, laughing and letting the waves chase her.
“You should come here more often,” she tells me. “It will relax you.”
“Aren’t I usually relaxed?”
“Not like this.” She takes my face between her hands and kisses me softly on the lips. “Wilson and Betsy bring out a nicer side of you.”
“Or maybe it’s you.”
She chuckles, shaking her head as she moves away. “I don’t think so.”
Later, on the drive back to the city, after a long phone call with Laurie, she puts on classical music, sighing as she leans back in her seat. Helplessly entranced, I keep stealing glances at her as I drive.
“What?” she exclaims after catching me for the umpteenth time.
“Nothing.”
She swats my arm playfully. “Tell me what you were thinking.”
I take a deep breath. “That I love to look at you. I enjoy the way you enjoy little things.”