Bea said no contact, but she wasn’t specific, so I send Henry some sort of dirty pic daily. He never responds, likely because he’s following the rules, but I know he’s getting them.
I miss Strutt’s Peak and its blue skies. I’m itching to get back to my business. I miss my best friend. I miss having a decent coffee with more options than black with sugar cubes. I want to tell Ruth DeMaio to shove it in another town meeting regarding whatever complaint she might have next. And I miss Henry. I miss him most of all.
I pull out my burner phone to fire off one last dirty picture text, and now, it’s time to go home.
53
Henry
She left.After I told her that wherever she goes, I go. And she still left. I planned to be where she was, no matter what, after that night. There wasn’t a single thing that would have kept me away, except not telling me, and leaving anyway.
She told me she loved me and then disappeared. I spent that morning with Michael, working out, walking Milo, trying to sweat out our feelings from the night before, but when I came back, she was gone. There was no note or text. Her phone was left behind, along with most of her things, including me. To say I wasn’t in a good place for the following eighteen hours after that would be a grand understatement.
It took an entire day for Agent Harper to seek me out and assure me that she would be back. More like, Harper couldn’t take me anymore after I sent a decent amount of spiraling texts that took a turn toward threatening. I may have said something like, “I will hunt you down,” to a U.S. Marshall. Not my finest moment. I was too out of my mind with worry to think Harper would have placed her somewhere I knew. But Harper caved and told me. I should have known she would send her to Wyoming. Sent my Pixie to rough it out for a little while with Buck. I’m sure Harper got a good kick out of that. G, not so much.
Then, two days later, I got a picture text of an insanely sexy underboob with a very specific beauty mark, and what was left of my worry, settled. I knew she was okay. Harper told me as much, but hoping she was coming back to me wasn’t enough, until I heard from her, saw a piece of her.
Every day for the past three months, I’ve received a close-up picture of a curve, crease, or series of body parts from my Pixie. I’m not allowed any communication with her while they wrap things up with her case, so I enjoy my daily pics, and keep planning for when she’s back. Spouting a simple lie to business owners along Main Street who noticed the shop closed, or the need to reschedule her clients, has been fairly easy. But after everything that had happened, it was impossible to keep any of the truth hidden from the rest of my family.
So with their promise to keep it quiet, I told them all about G. Who she was, how we really met, what happened at her tattoo shop, and that she had to disappear for a little while. She would have done it herself if she had been here, but I was tired of keeping up the lie. I didn’t want to do it anymore, not with them.
“It was her? All along?” Everly had asked, glassy-eyed, as I helped put all the pieces together. “Oh, Hen, it’s an insane level of fate. You realize that, right? I can’t believe it’s her.” She hugged me tight and cried at the reality of what I was telling her, that her best friend was the woman I searched for, the one she hoped I would get over, the same woman who she knew that I had fallen in love with over the years. All of it complicated, and worth it.
“Well, it makes a ton more sense now,” Law had said as he rested his hand on his chin, shaking his head with a grin. “You cockblocked me for a decade, and I thought it was because you just wanted to be a dick about the Shelley Farley thing.”
Michael had gotten the full picture the morning after the incident in her shop. He needed to know who those men were, what they were capable of, and what they had done. Any remorse he may have felt, I’d like to think, would have eased, knowing all of it. The fact there was more to our story wasn’t news to Michael. He always picks up on more, sees more than the rest of us.
“Henry, I’ve got this. I can wrap things up here. You go ahead and get out of here,” Benny says as he strides back into the kitchen. Now double in size, with the proper stoves, ovens, and refrigeration, since I needed to make my piece of this business successful. “I’ve already prepped for the coffee shop in the morning. I can handle what you have left here.”
“Thanks, Ben.” Normally, I wouldn’t take him up on it, but it’s Saturday night, which means it's the last night this week that my space is open. I keep Sundays for myself, so I can still do dinner with my family.
The word-of-mouth, reservation-only, dinner pop-up that I host out of Brews & Books is only available Thursday through Saturday nights. While the coffee shop bookstore hybrid has a romantic, lighter style, my side of things that extends into the back of the space and spills outdoors, offers a deeper, darker feel.
Black metals, ash-colored wood-top tables, luxurious leathers, and warm, oversized lighting fixtures, carry the speakeasy, Gatsby-like vibe that I wanted. It can only be found through word of mouth. And not so easily accessed. But if anyone from Strutt’s Peak talks aboutThe Lemon Tree, they know who owns it, and where to find it.
My menu is seasonal, food choices are pre-selected during the reservation process, and curating meals for people has become as much of an obsession as my new profession. I’ve always loved cooking for my family, but this has unlocked creativity I would never have guessed I actually had. I have plans to study with some guest chefs who Jack is planning to fly in during the off-season, and maybe someday, it’ll be something even bigger. But for now, it’s everything never knew I wanted.
I jog up the flight of stairs and I’m just about to step into the loft when my phone buzzes.
Everly
The movies on the green kick off tonight. Come and meet us down here.
I’m beat. I’m just going to call it a night. I’ll catch you at dinner tomorrow.
I toss the phone on the bed and hop into the shower. From my new workplace to my front door is less than a five-minute walk. I shouldn’t saymyfront door. I’ve been staying in G’s loft since she left. Every time I left and went back home, it didn’t feel right to be there. I felt closer to her by being in her space.
The woman has way too many plants to keep up with, and her kitchen made no sense when I found underwear in the drawer next to the stove and a bag of vibrators under the sink, but I expected nothing less. It’s a great-looking space. And I’ve made minor tweaks since I’ve been here. A few upgrades she’ll appreciate when she’s back. Plus, it’s convenient for work now.
The rainshower splatters water down from the ceiling while I rest my head on the hunter-green subway tiles. One of the small projects I’ve completed to supe up the bathroom. There was no way I was going to shower in the clawfoot tub she had. I almost fell getting in and out of it multiple times. I had to practice chest-level knee lifts just to avoid slamming a shin into the edge. So, with the help of my brothers, we did some renovating. I bought the vacated loft next door on a whim so we could bust through part of the walls and make the space bigger. I can’t wait to show it to her. It’s a 50/50 whether she’ll swoon over it or kick me out.
I grip my cock, thinking about my girl and that picture she sent to me earlier tonight. Those pouty lips and lick-worthy tits. I flex my wrist. It only takes a few harsh tugs before I’m already teetering on the edge of a decent orgasm. The truth is, as much as I enjoy every inch of her body, I probably miss talking to her the most. She’s the only person who can really make me laugh at any time of day, no matter where we are.
But right now, as I’m getting ready to paint this wall with my cum, I can only think about how good her pussy is going to feel gripping my cock when she’s finally home. I rub my balls while I make quick jerking movements along my shaft, just imagining all the places I want to tease and fuck— “That’s it. Fuck, G,” I groan and spill. It’s a short-term solution. I’ll be half hard again in a few minutes.
I step out onto the heated tile floor and turn on the room fan. When it’s on high, I can air dry while I brush my teeth. I have expensive taste, but I don’t flaunt it. That’s the rest of my family. I lived off of an Air Force salary for years, but I’ve been smart with money since. I made good money working my way up the ladder at Riggs Outdoor. I’ve watched and learned from my father, and now my brother-in-law. I spend on the things that are little luxuries. Heated floors and not needing to towel dry my body are just some of those things.
I throw on a pair of mesh shorts and t-shirt, noticing a ton of texts that went off while I was showering. All from my sister.Shit.