Page 97 of Without You

“Do you have gloves that will fit him?” He raises our joined hands to the older lady manning the stall.

“Yes,” she claps. “I’ve got the perfect ones. Let me rummage around and find them.”

“We’re getting gloves?” I tug at his hand, bringing him closer to me.

“No, you’re getting gloves.”

The sweet lady returns with both a brown and a gray pair. “Try these on,” she instructs. “And tell me which ones you want.”

“Thank you,” Deacon says, handing her a twenty and taking the gray set off her. Directing his attention back to me, he says, “Put your hands up.”

His kindness has rendered me speechless. It’s effortless, like taking care of me is as natural to him as breathing. I’ve never had that before. When my family died, I took care of myself. When Rhett was sick, all I did was take care of him. I put both hands up in front of my chest, my fingers spread apart, and I watch him take care of me.

Deacon sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, concentrating as he slides the warm, thick material over each of my long digits. He tugs at the ends, making sure they fit.

He drags his gaze up from my hands to my eyes. “Wiggle your fingers around,” he orders. “How do they feel?”

Not caring who’s around, I grab his face and bring it to me. “You bought me gloves.”

It’s not a question, or even a statement, it’s a fucking revelation.I think I’m in love with you.

“You bought me gloves,” I repeat.

His face splits into a beautiful smile. “Why do you keep repeating that?” he asks. “Yes. I bought you gloves. If you’re going to live here, your hands need to be warm in winter.”

I gently brush my mouth over his. “You. Bought. Me. Gloves.”

“Hey, love birds,” a deep voice interrupts. “We’re going to be late to our lunch reservation.”

Slowly, I pull myself away from Deacon and nervously turn to Christy and Wade. They’re both smiling, and I’ve never been more relieved in my life.

He bought me gloves and his friends don’t care he’s dating me. Maybe everything really is going to be okay.

“You can suck face later,” Wade adds. “I’m fucking starving.”

Sheepishly, Deacon and I walk behind them as they lead us to the eatery they chose for lunch.

“Do you promise to suck my face later?” Deacon says into my ear.

“If you promise to never stop buying me gloves, I promise to suck anything you want me to.”

He chuckles. “What’s with you and the fucking gloves?”

I think I’m in love with you.

“Stop asking questions and show me what’s so good about this marketplace. Aren’t you supposed to be trying to convince me to stay?” I taunt.

“Is that a challenge? Because you’re gonna regret it.”

I jokingly slap his ass. “Try me.”

* * *

The restof the afternoon went off without a hitch. Deacon and Wade were in their element, ribbing on one another, talking about their business and things they had planned, and reminiscing on how far they’ve come.

Together, they opened up the memory vault, and like an eager student, I stored every piece of new information, just so I could paint an even more detailed picture of the man Deacon Sutton is.

It was like being in the Twilight Zone.

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