Page 7 of Saving Love

I step out of the bathroom, catching a glimpse of Blakely as she enters the kitchen. Her black hair is tied up in a messy bun with a few strands falling around her face, framing it and making her look like a goddamn doll with her wide blue eyes.

Observing her for a moment, I watch as Blakely takes in the mountain of muffins stacked on three plates on my kitchen table. Her face lights up in disbelief, and then she smiles to herself as if she won the lottery. Blakely reaches out for one particularly blueberry-filled muffin, then pauses, her hand hovering above the plate as if she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to eat.

This woman is killing me.

“Go ahead and take your pick,” I say as I walk into the kitchen area. Blakely jumps and snatches her hand back, looking at me over her shoulder with sorrow in her eyes and an apology on her lips.

“Sorry, Cassian, I didn’t–”

“No need to apologize,” I assure her, trying to keep my features soft and my movements gentle. It’s quite the feat for a giant man who lumbers around slamming doors and hitting his head on ceilings. “Please, eat up. I can probably eat about half of these on my own, but the other half shouldn’t go to waste.”

This earns me the smallest little smirk, which I consider a win.

Blakely takes the muffin she was eyeing earlier as well as some grapes and orange juice I had set out. She waits for me to grab my food, her eyes following my every move. I swear I can feel her gaze rake over every inch of my skin.

Only after I sit down and take a bite of my own muffin does Blakely finally start eating hers. That doesn’t sit right with me. She shouldn’t have to wait for anyone, nor should she have to ask permission for something as basic as eating breakfast.

We both devour our food, and I can tell Blakely wants another muffin. Of course, she would never take seconds. Which is why I pluck a muffin from the top of the stack and set it on her plate, along with another bunch of grapes. She’s about to protest when I take another muffin and shove the entire thing into my mouth.

The look on her face is priceless. Her light blue eyes widen in shock, and then the most glorious thing happens; Blakely laughs. The sweet, delicate sound makes my chest ache. I can’t help the grin stretching across my face, which only makes Blakely laugh more as crumbs fall from my mouth.

My silly trick worked, and now Blakely is nibbling on her second muffin, those blue eyes sparkling and making my heart stumble all over itself to try to get closer to her.

“Are you up for a little tour around my property?” I ask once we’re both finished and I’m satisfied that she’s had enough to eat.

Blakely tenses, her eyes darting to the window above my sink. She’s definitely running from someone, and it’s clear she’s worried they are still out there, looking for her.

“We’ll stay close to my cabin,” I assure her, watching as she relaxes a little bit. “I fear you didn’t get a very warm welcome to the mountain, let alone the town we’re working on. I’d like to change that.”

“Why?” Blakely whispers. I furrow my brow, not sure what she’s asking. “Why… are you being nice to me? Why did you let me stay the night?”

“Sweetheart,” I murmur, placing my hand over hers from where it’s resting on the table. I worry for a second the touch was too much, but then she turns her hand over, locking our fingers together. Blue eyes meet mine, and that’s when I see it. Trust. Acceptance. She doesn’t understand why I want to take care of her, not yet, anyway. But she trusts that I will take care of her.

I can tell when the moment becomes too much for her. I squeeze her hand one last time and then get to work clearing the table.

Ten minutes later, we’re heading out for a tour of my backyard. Blakely’s shoes were a tattered mess, so she’s wearing a pair of my old sneakers, even though they are basically boats on her feet.

My girl stumbles a bit down the porch steps, but I’m right by her side to wrap an arm around her waist and steady her. Just like every time we touch, sparks fly and heat radiates off my skin. Don’t be a horny asshole, I chastise myself.

Instead of stepping out of my embrace once she’s safely on the ground, Blakely curls up against me, her hand finding mine and squeezing. Without thinking, I draw her closer and press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in.

I almost drop my hand and step back, not wanting to cross a line with my sweet girl, but when she melts against me, I know I’m done for.

We walk around the perimeter of my property, and I point out things here and there like my veggie garden, the greenhouse I’m in the middle of building, and the chicken coop. She brushes her fingertips over the leaves of my garden and giggles and squeals when a hen clucks at her and takes a few steps forward in challenge.

“I’ll protect you,” I tell her valiantly in an over-dramatic voice as I step in between her and the potential poultry menace. “Ah, it’s just Hilda. She’s all cluck, no buck.”

I’m rewarded with another soft laugh, and then Blakely takes my hand again, tilting her head up to meet my gaze. God, she’s gorgeous. Her precious, tender heart is right there, shining through her icy blue irises. I hope she trusts me with it one day.

“Is that a real saying or did you just make that up?” Blakely asks, a skeptical look on her lovely face.

“It’s totally a saying,” I lie, giving her a smirk.

“Uh-huh.” Blakely narrows her eyes at me and I can’t help but pull her into my embrace once more. This is what I want. Blakely, right here in my arms. Forever.

6

BLAKELY

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