Page 17 of The Story of Danny Rose

“Fuck you, Arden,” I whispered.

CHAPTER 4

Iwhistled to myself and walked out of the outhouse. Apple trees in bloom, sky was blue, birds chirping. Might be a good day. If Danny would just get back here…

I’d heard him come back in last night after I’d gone to bed.

I’d also heard him rev the engine of his motorcycle at the crack of dawn this morning. My heart had jumped out of my body about a second before the rest of me had jumped out of bed. But his belongings were still in the cabin.

He’d be back. He would.

Back inside the cabin, I grabbed a towel and bar of soap from my duffel, and then I took off my clothes and headed outside again. The lake might be cold all year around, ranging between fifty-five and sixty degrees in the summer, but it was clean and a gorgeous blue-green color. Almost good enough to drink. I had my own little pebble beach too.

I left the towel on a bigger rock and waded into the water.Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Oh, I loathed this part. I winced and ripped off the Band-Aid, diving under before I could chicken out. Bloody fucking hell! Always a shock to the system. I resurfaced in waist-deep water and got cracking.

“Jesus Christ.” I shuddered and scrubbed the soap over my arms.

Wait, did I hear an engine? It sure sounded like—yes. I heard it. Thank fuck. Definitely a motorcycle.

The twins should be back in forty-five minutes or so too.

I soaped up my armpits, my neck, and my chest, and I felt relieved when I finally spotted Danny coming in around the bend, his bike kicking up dust along the way.

Hopefully, there’d be no awkwardness. He must’ve seen me noticing that plush toy last night.

It was his. It simply had to be. If it’d belonged to someone else, he wouldn’t be embarrassed. If that’s what he was. Or had been. I didn’t fucking know.

The bike suited him perfectly. A vintage-looking Yamaha, all chrome and metallic black. Nothing monstrous, just clunky enough not to be called sporty. It made me miss my own bike. I’d stupidly sold it a few years ago.

Danny removed his helmet and squinted toward me. He had the sun in his eyes. “Will you put on a show every morning? I just wanna make sure to clear my schedule.”

I chuckled and made quick work of turning my hair white with suds. “Morning to you too. You should get in. It’s freezing.”

“Later.” He dismounted his bike and flipped open one of his saddlebags. “I bought breakfast. How do you like your eggs?”

Well, hell. He didn’t have to do that.

“Soft-boiled,” I replied. “For the record, that’s not your responsibility, Danny.”

He quirked a smirk and revealed a lot more than a carton of eggs. I spotted a bakery bag and something wrapped in newspaper. Which meant he’d been to Frank’s Deli the next town over. Everything in our own sleepy village was closed till ten.

“Can a guy express his gratitude to his new PMC instructor?” he asked.

Fuck, he was too cute. Too goddamn gorgeous.

“I guess you don’t have to twist my arm,” I answered. Then I went to shallower waters to wash my junk.

Danny averted his gaze and headed up the porch steps. “The water can’t be too cold,” he muttered.

I coughed around a laugh, a little surprised. Did he make those comments every time he showered with the guys in his detachment? Our kind couldn’t spell modesty.

While he disappeared inside to get breakfast ready, I finished washing up. I supposed fresh bread and eggs beat oatmeal, which I was used to. It was easy. Oatmeal and cinnamon was sort of the trademark Emerson breakfast.

It was possible the twins had gotten sick of it.

I submerged myself once more and scrubbed myself free of suds, and then I was sufficiently chilled down.

The morning sun felt amazing on my back as I got out of the water.

---