CHAPTERNINE
Snow
I fell asleep wrapped in a tangle of arms and legs. I feel safe. Loved. Is this wrong?
“Morning.” Shane rolls out from under us.
“Hi.” I yawn, covering my mouth.
“You think you’re up to go get supplies for the show?” he asks me, pulling on a pair of jeans.
“Yeah, but I have a session with Ariel this morning.” I shift to the side, propping my head on my hand.
“We can go afterward,” he says, tickling London’s foot.
“Hey.” London kicks at Shane, and I laugh. This feels normal—good—a new sense of normal, unlike . . . before.
It makes my heart race faster and my body grow warmer. Thanks to these guys and Ariel, I’m finding my way back to a new—and hopefully—improved me.
“I’ll go put coffee on while you two take a shower.” Shane kisses my head, and I sigh.
Women talk about silver foxes, and Shane is one, although he still has dark hair. I’m only calling him that because he is so much older than me. But he is sexy as hell.
“Wipe your drool,” London says, chuckling, and I throw a pillow at him, laughing as I race to the bathroom in my room. I love doing movie nights and cuddling with them. I wonder what Ever thinks of her dad with me. Is there an “us”? I kind of wish there was. But is there an “us” with London? I see how he looks at Shane.
I shower fast and bound down the stairs to Shane’s waiting arms.
“Just coffee,” I tease.
“Wow.” He snorts. “All right.”
Hugging him, he sighs. I love his strong and muscular arms and being wrapped in them. I never would have admitted that before. I haven’t even really admitted it to myself until now.
“Eggs?” Ariel enters the kitchen and smiles at us. “I smell food.”
I step out of his embrace and heat creeps up my cheeks again—a common theme these days. It’s different when it’s just us. I worry about what others will think.
“Coming right up,” Shane tells her, smirking at her comment. Ariel is like the men—always thinking about food. “Why don’t you guys get your session out of the way, and I’ll have a spread for you when you’re done.” Shane winks at Ariel.
“Sounds good to me,” she says, taking a mug of coffee, and I follow her to the study.
“How are you doing today?” She immediately shifts to therapist mode.
“Better,” I admit honestly.
“Are we ready to talk about Ben?”
“I think so. I won’t be able to get past it if I don’t talk about it.”
She smirks. “And then we’ll talk about the other thing on your mind.”
Oh, boy.
She places her notepad on her lap, then meets my gaze. “Start at the beginning.”
“All right. I met Ben way before coming to the show—before Dayton even.”
“Was he the guy at the fair that night? The one who had to be escorted out?”