Page 75 of Come Back to Me

About the truths I shared with her.

And I don’t answer, simply turn the truck toward my favorite lake.

It’s smaller than the ones my brothers prefer. There are three, in fact. Little ones. But they have great fish in there and they’re always quiet.

Ironically, they’re the ones the Rabid Wolves’ MC chose to plant a shit ton of weed close to—that’s how quiet and isolated the location is.

Her chowing on the apple pie sounds overly loud in the night’s stillness, but when she proffers it to me, I accept. Biting through the crispy pastry shell, I sample the treat. My pulse skyrockets when her finger drifts to the corner of my mouth, where a few drops of apple goo made an escape.

Her breath hitches when, at the same time, my tongue darts out to clean it up.

Both of us freeze before her hand tumbles into her lap as if I stung her.

When we finally make it to the waterhole, I’m relieved to climb out into fresh air that isn’t loaded with her perfume, the fried chicken, or the apple pie.

The night’s stillness, the sheer lack of light—they’re intoxicating.

That part of me that craves this, which made me come home, is appeased for once, and though I’m struggling to find my place in Pigeon Creek, to settle into the everyday lifestyle that regular folk subsist in, I know this is a part of why I returned.

Tension rattles from my shoulders, easing as I move around the fender and open her door for her.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as I unfasten her seatbelt and help her down.

The moment I do, she’s right in front of me.

Her heat against my heat.

The scent of cinnamon laces her breath, and I know she’d taste sweeter than that apple pie we shared.

My hands ball into fists as I stare at her, only the light from the cab illuminating us both in its stark glow.

She looks up at me, and I look down at her.

Out here, it feels like we’re the only two people left alive on this godforsaken planet.

And I see nothing wrong with that at all.

Iknowit’s a bad idea. Feel it. I cup her cheek anyway. I can’t stop myself from touching her.

I think about our dance at the bar…

She whimpers as I cup her chin.

That connection arcs between us, fast as a whip and stronger than lightning.

I can feel the rumble beneath my feet?—

She jumps at the same time as the sound registers.

“Jesus,” she rasps when forty or so bikes hurtle along Clemens Lane toward their damn bar.

Annoyed by the interruption, I jerk away and squint into the distance.

But the trouble they might cause tonight doesn’t distract me for long.

“Do you have a blanket?”

“A foil one.” It’s for emergencies, but it’ll do.

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