Page 14 of Wooded Bliss

Grady shrugs, not at all bothered by her very true assertion. “I just like cookies.”

I can’t help but smile a little at my youngest brother while trying to find some sort of peace with the idea of, maybe, trying this whole mate thing. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull it off, but I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t try.

Circe looks at me and her eyes soften. “Just remember, the Goddess doesn’t make mistakes. Birdie is the mate who was made for you, the one who is the other half of your soul. She will heal you if you let her and you will give her strength and love.”

My throat constricts and I turn, not caring about Grady calling after me about him eating my share of the cookies as I walk away. I need a moment and there’s no better place to breathe than in the forest.

CHAPTER 6

BIRDIE

My book nook is my favorite spot in my house. When I started renting my house on the edge of the forest, this was a breakfast nook. That wasn’t going to fly for me, not with the big bay windows and a shape which was begging to become the perfect place for reading.

It took a little work, but I was able to make it into the space of my dreams, complete with shelves for my books, little nooks with surprises including a miniature library, and several plants. I love sitting here at night with a glass of wine or a cup of tea and reading. Trust me, my nook gets more action than my couch does in the living room where my TV is.

For some reason I can’t seem to concentrate on the book in my lap tonight. It was only hours ago when I saw Thatcher againfor the first time in far too long. It’s kind of sad the number of times I thought about him over the years. No matter how many times I chalked it up to young, puppy love, I knew it was something more, something deeper.

Seeing him again today only brought everything I’ve been so studiously ignoring for years to come rushing back. Thatcher has grown into the man I always imagined he would become.

Still, I have so many questions.

What does he do with his time? Why hasn’t he come to Whispering Pines in so long? Was that his house I was delivering to? Why did he seem pissed off I was there? What are his dreams for the future? Who is he now—not like I really knew him back then, but I’m still curious.

I have a feeling I’m not going to get answers to any of my questions. Still, they’ve been swirling around in my head for hours now.

It’s strange how I never had any deliveries out that way, but then one suddenly popped up. There wasn’t a card, I triple checked, nor was there any information on who sent him the flowers in the first place. Maybe he has a woman, possibly even a wife I don’t know about, or it could have been a special day in his life.

How would I even know? It’s not really my business though, is it?

“You need to forget about Thatcher Bosch,” I murmur, wishing my voice was firmer and that I believed it was even possible.

My heart aches with how damn good he looked and how much distance there was between us. I’m not sure what I thoughtwould happen if I were to ever see Thatcher again, but what happened this afternoon was not my fantasy reunion.

As I stare out across the backyard and to the tree line, I allow my imagination to run wild. I can reimagine our meeting as many times and in as many different ways as I want.

In my fantasy world, Thatcher takes one look at me and a smile stretches across his ridiculously handsome face. His feet eat up the distance between us until we’re so close our chests are almost touching. When I take a deep breath, his petrichor and fall scent surrounds me, enveloping me in a feeling of safety.

My skin buzzes as he reaches up and cups my face in his hands. “Birdie,” he breathes as if he can’t believe he’s had to live so many days without me in his life.

“Hi Thatcher,” my voice is husky and filled with desire, everything I’ve denied and pushed aside right there at the surface.

The way he bites his lip as he looks at me has me clenching my thighs together. Talk about sexy as fuck. My gaze flits between his eyes and his lips as if I don’t know where to look. Because I don’t.

“I’m going to kiss you, little one,” he rasps, a promise in his voice. “Once I get a taste of you, I’m going to haul you over my shoulder and carry you into the woods. We’re going to make love under the stars with the moon providing the perfect light for us to become one.”

My fantasy knees are weak, and I melt against his broad chest while knowing that he’s got me and won’t let me fall. The way his hands tighten on my waist only bolster the confidence I have in this man. I want him in a way which feels so damn right and like far too much at the same time.

I blink up at him and the question spills from me before I can stop it, “Where have you been, Thatcher?”

His eyes soften and darken as his gaze roams over my face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I needed some time, but I’ve been waiting for you.”

My eyes widen and he leans closer to me. His lips are so damn close to mine, I swear I can already feel the press of them against my own. His breath is minty and warm, skating over my skin and making me want him even more.

When I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair, even though it’s barely long enough for me to do so, he lets out a low growling groan which causes my clit to pulse. We’re so close. So damn close.

“You heard me right,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on my lips now, “I’ve been waiting for you. You’re the only woman I want, and I’ve been waiting for this moment for far too long.”

At first, I don’t know if I believe him, but then I realize fantasy Thatcher wouldn’t, couldn’t really, lie to me about anything. I sigh and tug on the strands of his hair.

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