Page 115 of Yes No Maybe

I almost winced when I said it, fearing it was too much. But the love for her that I’d been toying around with had suddenly strengthened. A tidal wave rushing over me. A confession, once again, crashing at her feet.

But I doubted she was ready for it.

In her silence, I scrambled for the right words to get us to the other side of this—to free her from any pressure. I didn’t need her to say it back. I didn’t need anything beyond her.

But the words came anyway—soft, sweet, smiling. “I love you, too.”

I expelled a breathy sigh—I couldn’t help it. Those words crumbled the last of her walls, and I loved her even more for saying them.

Still, I played it cool. “It’s settled then. Shower it is.”

I used shower time to study Rowan’s geography like there’d be a test afterward. I memorized her slopes, curves, plateaus, peaks, ridges, and valleys first with my eyes and then my hands as I washed her with a soapy cloth. She moaned with every touch like each hit her erogenous zone. Andthat’swhat she wanted—for me to see all of her, there, where neither of us could hide. I read her nakedness, her openness, her confidence, like a promise between us.I trust you. I want you. I love you.

Then, with those glorious legs of hers wrapped around me, I pinned her against the tiles, hot and cold together, and took her. Deep. Wet. Hard-pressed.

Damn… this woman.She isn’t just sexy and intense and fucking amazing, she’s warm and funny and familiar and everything I never knew I wanted until her. My world has shifted onto her axis—I’ll never be the same again.

And I don’t want to be.

I was serious when I said I’d marry her. I’d ask her today if I didn’t think it’d scare the shit out of her.

Morning arrives. She foregoes her run because of her leg, and that means more shower time with me. I fix her breakfast as she hobbles around the kitchen, shoving things into her bag.

“Your career is putting a serious dent in my playtime,” I tell her, handing her a plate of eggs and toast.

She smirks. “What’re you doing today?”

“Gutters and drains with the boys for Hurricane Nadine,” I report, eyeing the texts from Vernon and Tom. “Fantasizing about you… oh, and writing.”

“Don’t do the fantasizing while you’re with the boys, huh? That’d be weird.”

“Understood. What’s your day like?”

She shrugs, grinning. “I’m talking books with a bunch of cool kids. Jealous?”

“Definitely.”

At the back door, she kisses me goodbye with a skeptical look, as if parting ways for a few hours might break the spell we’re under, and we’ll be back to cordially volatile neighbors by the time she gets home. Her default is to expect good things not to last, and I get it—most of the time, they don’t. “See you later?”

Damn, this woman.“I’ll be waiting for you.”

After another lingering kiss, I leave her, crossing her backyard and slipping into my own. Ideas swirl, thinking of Rowan, her class, and all she does for them. Teachers must be so many things beyond educators—managers, accountants, organizers, creators, shrinks. It’s a wonder anyone takes it on, especially for so little pay. I think of Rowan’s binder bookshelf, her classroom pantry, and her raiding my library because she couldn’t get bestsellers at the public one—they should give her a book budget, at least. Teachers give so much and expect so little in return.

Harper Lee purrs at my feet as I feed her. Then, desperate for my laptop, I head to my office.

I started a new book as soon as I finishedBare, a paranormal romance calledStrangers Togetherabout a woman starting over after an abusive relationship. She moves into a condo only to discover that the entire complex is haunted by a ghost—the dead brother of the reclusive man who lives on the top floor. Desperate to see his brother happy so he can finally cross over, the ghost does what he can (which is limited) to bring the residents together—that is, get his brother to connect with other people so he won't take his own life. Only his plans, ranging from mischievous to creepy, continuously backfire. Until the woman comes along. Having been through something horrible, she’s more open to the ghost, and soon, she finds herself wanting to learn more about the mysterious man upstairs. It’s lighthearted and sad and probably the strangest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s practically writing itself.

Fuck you, writer’s block.

“Wait, amIthe ghost in this story?” Devin plops into my reading chair. “I feel a little typecast. Why can’t you make me a professional baseball player? Or a damn superhero, huh?”

I sit in front of my laptop, stirring the touchpad. “Just keeping it real. At least you’ll have a starring role in this one.”

He shrugs. “Sounds like you do, too. Tell me, does the recluse on the top floor know it’shisbrother haunting the building?”

“I don’t know yet. Yes, maybe. Why?”

“If his unhappiness keeps his brother around, he might be inclined to stay that way.”

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