Within seconds, every shade from burnt butterscotch to the light flesh of an apricot surrounds the mountain sky in front of us. A live canvas on display for our own private show.
My breath catches. It’s almost too much.
“Beautiful,” I whisper.
A reward for confiding in someone about the parts of a life that I could never control.
She turns toward me again and climbs onto my lap. The blankets and sheets wrapped tightly around our waists and her full breasts leaning against my chest. She has tears sliding down her cheeks and I feel a clench of guilt for making her feel anything but good right now. I wipe them away with the pads of my thumbs. “Don’t cry, beautiful. Not about that.”
She shakes her head, pushing away my words. “Thank you for trusting me with that.” She leans in and kisses my lower lip softly. I meet her mouth, her tongue, and the pace. The languid movements feel more intimate than I usually allow. Pulling back, she locks her eyes with mine, not saying anything more. She leaves what I’ve told her and doesn’t press. She doesn’t try to fix anything or tell me it wasn’t my fault. She just sits with the weight of what I shared.
I knew the moment I saw this woman, she was something different. After last night and this morning, I’m not sure what any of it means, but all I know is Everly Riggs feels good. She feels right where I’m supposed to be.