After she leaves, I strip off my disgusting clothes and sink into the warm water.
Thirty minutes later, the bath is lukewarm. I’ve had another good cry, and the wheels in my brain are turning.
I’ve always had to go after what I wanted. Sure, Dean isn’t the same as a graduate degree or a research grant, but the same rules apply. I want him, and I’m not rolling over and giving up. I’m going to finish my bath, do my hair, and march my ass right over to his—
A knock sounds on the bathroom door. Damn, Kenna is fast. “You can come in but fair warning, I’m still covered in bubbles.”
The door opens slowly. My breath catches as I see Dean leaning against the frame, a brown paper bag tucked under one arm and that stupid, devastating smirk pulling at his lips. “Just bubbles?”
My heart leaps into my throat, pounding and choking me all at once. “What are you doing here?”
Dean kicks off his shoes, setting the takeout next to the tub. “Intercepted Kenna on her way back with your dinner.” He reaches back, pulling off his shirt before dropping his shorts.Good godis he an eyeful. “You keep looking at me like that and we’re not gonna get to our talk, baby girl.”
“Maybe we should talk later…”
He bites his lip and looks me over. For a second I think he’s going to give in. “Uh-uh. Now. We are going to get really, really clean and then really, really dirty, but first I have some shit to say and I need you to hear it.”
Dean squeezes in behind me, water sloshing over the edge of the tub. I’d laugh, but his thick thighs bracket mine and he wraps his arms around me, holding me to him. He feels so good; it’s like I can breathe for the first time since I left him at the dock.
“Before we were so rudely rescued, I was trying to tell you something important…” I can hear the smile in his voice. He winds his fingers in my hair, tipping my head back and kissing me so deeply I forget to breathe.
“So here it is. Sutton O’Brien, I want to wake up to your face every morning. I want your warm body in my bed at night. I want to make your life so good that every single day is better than the last.” He slides his wide palm over my belly, holding me close. “I want to make you like me, Sutton. I want you to like me half as much as I love you.”
I turn my body, sitting across his lap, heart racing as he takes me in, his eyes searching my face. Running a hand over the scruff on his jaw, I kiss his cheek. “You idiot. I blew right past liking you. I love you. It’s annoying how much I love you, but I can’t help it.”
He gives me that cocky grin, his eyes lighting up with pleasure. “And all it took was blowing up my boat.”
“I’m so sorry—” Dean presses his lips to mine, silencing me. He kisses me long and slow and only once he’s turned my body into putty in his arms does he let me up for air.
“I’d cheerfully blow up a hundred boats to be with you, Sutton.”
“What now?” I ask, stroking my fingers through his hair.
He eyes me with a grin. “Now, we’re going to eat a real meal together and later I think we should revisit the hair pulling.”
I’d roll my eyes, but that sounds like areallygood plan.
* * *
10
Epilogue - Sutton
Idrive down Main Street, headed for my little museum and looking forward to a quiet morning setting up the new exhibit. Muriel offered to help, but I told my favorite volunteer to go enjoy her game of bingo, giving her the day off to cavort with all the gossiping biddies at the community center.
The leaves on the maple trees are just turning yellow at the tips, the first cool breezes of autumn sending locals digging for their sweaters. In a week or two, Sugar Creek will be flooded with Leafers; the tourists that descend on New England every fall with the sole purpose of admiring the foliage.
They’ll fill the restaurants and bars, buy up all the fudge, and eat lobster rolls like it’s a religious experience. But for now, the town is quiet, giving us a much needed break after the bustling summer crowds.
Dean and I have fallen into a blissful routine of sorts. We were taking turns sleeping over at each other’s place for the first few weeks, but then a pipe burst at my rental, flooding my kitchen. Dean insisted I move in with him, at least until the water damage could be taken care of.
I’ll never forget the way he grinned at me as he dumped two of his dresser drawers filled with socks and t-shirts into a laundry basket before carefully filling them with the contents of my suitcase. He tried to throw my suitcase out the window, saying I wouldn’t need it anymore, as I laughed and pulled him back.
I pull into the parking lot next to the large, gray Victorian house that houses the town museum. It’s one of the oldest in town, the proud home of the founding family. It sits on the bank of Sugar Creek, the small river that runs through town with its sparkling water and rainbow pebbles.
Unlocking the front door, I step inside, smiling to myself. It’s spotless and filled with the town’s memories. There’s something about the way the old house smells that warms my soul. I love being the caretaker of our collective past. A small-town museum certainly wasn’t my plan when I set out to be a historian, but now that I’m here, I can’t imagine doing anything else.
I set my coffee on my desk, scanning over the documents I left spread out over the surface. Framed pictures of the Wychwood site, high-quality scans of letters and journal entries regarding the little hideaway for local anglers. The original man-cave, as Dean calls it. I snort out a laugh as I collect the artifacts and documents in a large box, toting everything out to the front room.