Page 28 of Taste of Addiction

As soon as the front door opens, I feel the drop in temperature. It is the coldest day so far since I arrived here, and the sky looks angry. No longer is the sun visible from this morning. It’s like it went into hiding and refuses to come out again until spring.

I zip up my fur-lined coat, slide on my matching boots, and place the red pom-pom hat on top of my head. I adjust my long wavy hair along each side of my neck and slip on a pair of red gloves to complete my attire.

“I may have overdressed,” I mutter to myself, as I look down at all of my gear.

I lead the way out of the house, and Collins follows at a safe distance behind me. We take the walkway around the house and then make the path through the woods. I have been frequenting the field for so many consecutive days that the brush and twigs are sunken in from our walking. It takes me a few minutes and then the trees part and the field comes into view.

I find the perfect spot to unroll the blanket and spread it out in the middle of the pasture. I fix the corners and smooth out the fabric. Then I lie down in the middle and look up at the dark clouds. I start my favorite love music playlist on my phone and relax on my back, with my knees bent upward.

I sing to myself and let my body mold into the ridges of the earth. It has been eight days since I arrived here. I miss…

Home.

I miss my life with Graham at the penthouse.

I feel it before I see it—the cold droplets of flaky snow fall peacefully from the sky. Each unique, but yet a relative to the next. I open my mouth and catch one on my tongue. And then another and another—each dissolving in the heated sauna of my mouth.

There is something magical about the first snowfall of the season. That even though plant life is dormant, there is still hope for upcoming new growth. I roll to my side and prop myself up on my elbow. The sky is darkening, and I can barely see the white specks on the red and black blocks of the fleece blanket. I look toward the woods and in the haze of falling snow, I see the image of the man I love. Walking slowly toward me.

I blink. And blink again. How can it be?

I move up to my knees and watch as his smile broadens at the sight of me. He is real. He has to be. I jump up and make a running dash across the field. My hair whips behind me at the suddenness of my movements, and when I am within reach of his open arms, I leap into them and wrap my arms around his neck. My lips crash into his, and I pull his hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer—becoming one.

His arms slide under my butt, and he hoists me up higher into the air, as I continue kissing him with rigor and pent-up need. He growls and squeezes me tighter.

“Graham,” I rasp out, as soon as I break away to get some air.

“Sweetheart, I missed you.”

He places me down on my feet but keeps his hands on me at all times. I look up into his eyes with confusion. He kisses me on my forehead, then places his cheek in the same spot as he grips my body to his.

As the snow falls around us, his hand slides down to my lower back and rests comfortably in the valley of my curves.

I pull back to look up at him again, afraid that if I stop looking long enough, he will disappear. “I thought we couldn’t be together right now,” I whisper.

He smiles down at me. “We can’t. But I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to see you. Check on you for myself. I have an image to keep up back in Portland, so I can’t stay long.” His brow furrows. “I miss you, baby.”

With one hand on my back, his other hand pulls my neck forward as his lips connect with mine. He is like fire and ice, burning the memory of his touch into my brain. As if I could ever forget.

The hand that is on my neck moves down to capture my hand. He spins me and draws me back to him, dipping me down. I laugh up into the sky, never fearing that he will drop me. He is always there to catch my fall. His head buries itself into my chest and when we are upright again, with both feet on the ground, he captures my lips for another kiss.

I want to stay here, alone in this field, dancing in the snow—thefirstsnow—forever.

His teeth tug at my bottom lip, tweaking it with the sharpness of a bite. “You are so beautiful. And all mine,” he murmurs, making my insides warm from just his words of affirmation.

My lips pull up into a smile, as he slows down the movement with his grip. When he finally lets go, he reaches down for the big cloth bag at his feet. I never even noticed it until now.

“Up for a snack?” he asks.

“Mm hmm,” I hum.

We walk hand in hand over to the blanket that is now damp with a thin layer of snow. I shake it out, as Graham pulls out a series of objects from his bag. I settle in on the freshly cleaned blanket and watch with eager anticipation over what he brought.

“Thought we could make some s’mores,” he says proudly, pulling out a portable fire pit and all the fixings.

He places two battery operated lanterns on the edges of the blanket and turns them on for added light. Then he adds the wood to the pit and starts the fire with ease. He wraps us both in an oversized wool blanket and hands me a metal pole for toasting marshmallows.

“Wow, you’re like the sexiest Boy Scout.”

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