Page 57 of No More Love Songs

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SKYLAR

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“A treehouse picnic!” Yes, I squealed. I’m appalled with myself, but I’m too delighted to care.

“Yep.” Kit looks more than satisfied with the results of his surprise. “And a sleepover. I’ve got two sleeping bags ready to go.”

I fling both arms around him and kiss him before I can talk myself out of it. After spending the day with the girls, and doing little more than holding hands, I was starting to feel like maybe all the other stuff, all the sexy stuff, was a one-time thing, just this crazy ‘in the moment’ physical explosion due to lack of sleep and fueled by the intimate connection that comes from writing music together all night. Not that I can recall those things leading to heated make-out sessions in the past.

So maybe I didn’t really think that. Maybe my brain just wanted me to. Like a self-preservation mechanism slowly trying to prepare me for the moment this will be over. Because moments do that. They end. And moments is all we agreed to.

Now that I’m kissing him, my brain can go fuck itself. Never in my life, has a man made me feel as wanted as he does, just with a kiss.

“We can just picnic right here,” he mumbles, drawing me in closer, kissing me deeper.

“No way.” I pull back abruptly, trying not to laugh at the dumbfounded look on his face when I do. “You promised the treehouse, I’m getting up there!”

I untangle myself from him and start marching for the woods on the side of the lodge.

“You don’t even know where you’re going,” he calls out, quickly catching up to me.

“I’m not worried.” I look over at him. “If I were to get lost, you’d find me.”

He doesn’t answer, but I can tell from the look in his eyes he understood exactly what I meant.

The tree isn’t too far from the house, but it takes several trips up and down the ladder before we have everything Kit deems necessary of a proper night in the treehouse, including plenty of food, sleeping bags, our guitars and writing gear, and last but not least, I notice a large thermos, I’m hoping holds coffee, is also here.

“I can’t believe you built this place,” I tell him, taking in the entirety of the structure, now that we’re settling in. It’s bigger than I would expect the average treehouse to be, complete with wraparound porch and a hammock swing outside. Walking around, the wooden floor under my feet feels as solid as though it’s been built on the ground, and not up in a tree. He’s strung countless Christmas lights, all zigzagging across the ceiling from one end down to the other. Each little window is framed in them as well, as are the two doorways leading in and out. All powered by the solar panels he attached to the roof.

There are built in shelves, which Ari has loaded with books, and several bean bag chairs, complete with blankets and pillows, are strewn about for proper comfort and relaxation up here.

“I’m surprised your kid spends any time in the lodge at all,” I remark after taking it all in. “If I had a place like this, I don’t think I’d ever bother leaving.”

“You would. Eventually.” He smirks. And I suddenly get what the place is missing.

“There’s no plumbing up here, is there.”

“Nope.”

“Alright, so I’d leave on occasion.” I sigh, plopping into the nearest bean bag. “But not anytime soon.”

I notice he starts to spread out blankets on the floor and I assume the dinner part of our evening is about to start. “Should I bother offering to help or are you just going to order me to my seat again?”

He stops what he’s doing to look up at me. “You have been on a date before, haven’t you? Had a man take you out? Do all sorts of gentlemanly shit to impress you?”

“Is that what you’re doing?” I can feel my eyes get a little buggy. “Are you trying to impress me?”

“No.” He answers so flatly, I’m a little thrown by it. “But I am trying to take care of you in my own way, and while that may be a foreign concept to you, the appearance of it should still be something somewhat recognizable.”

A million thoughts come to mind. How I hate romantic gestures because Andrew was the king of those, and it left me blind to the ways he was manipulating me and breaking me down for way too long. How much it scares me when someone sounds too good to be true, works too hard to impress me, because I know what it means to fall in love with a lie, a person who never existed at all, and the consequences of that are beyond anything I ever care to relive. Because no one tries to be someone they’re not when who they are is a good person.

But before any of those thoughts can make it past my lips, I have another. Kit isn’t making gestures. He isn’t trying to woo me with shiny, hollow things. He’s just Kit. And he’s doing just what he promised me. He’s being real. Same as he has been from the moment we met. It’s just that now...it looks different.

“It is recognizable,” I say when I notice he’s been staring at me this whole time. “Or it’s not.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I’m not good at this.”

He straightens out and smooths the corner of the blanket he’s been holding, then gets up and comes toward me, squatting down again when he reaches the bean bag chair I’m still sitting in (though now it feels more like slumping than sitting).

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