Page 84 of The Fire We Crave

I do as he instructs, and he passes me the coffee when I’m seated. Then, he pulls a small stool in front of the swing and sits on it before placing one of my feet on his knees. It’s only when hesquirts some of the oil into the palms of his hands and warms it, do I realize he’s about to massage my feet.

For some reason, I feel like I’m not supposed to talk. Not sure why, but him sitting lower than me and massaging my feet feels…reverential.

Special.

Apologetic.

And I don’t want to do anything to break the moment.

So, I wait.

25

SMOKE

But you’ve kissed me like I meant something. Touched me like I meant something. And last night, you railed me like I meant something.

Quinn isn’t wrong.

That’s the conclusion I came to, when I focused on the shadows the sun cast on the craggy mountain tops and tried to rid my mind of all the doubt.

I did kiss her like it meant something. Because it did.

And I did touch her like it meant something. Because it also did.

And, Jesus Christ, hearing the wordrailcome out of her mouth gave me an instant boner, which made me regret my choice to go without underwear. But I was so focused on the panic that overwhelmed me this morning, that she knew my secrets and nightmares, that I decided last night couldn’t happen again, and it became urgent I find her and kick her out.

Until there she stood. Pretty as a fucking picture. In the Iron Outlaws T-shirt I wore yesterday, and my head leapt to how it would feel to walk out every morning and find her there. Maybeadd aProperty of Smokepatch to that T-shirt so we both knew she was mine.

Cowardis such an ugly word, but she’s also right about that too.

I was being a coward, because my feelings for Quinn Moran are complicated.

But while she showered, I focused on them, trying to still the voices in my head that tell me to be scared of genuine feelings. The part of me that has suffered so much loss through my family, my brotherhood, and my job that I can’t bear loss the same way anymore.

I focused on what my life could feel like in the next twelve months if I let Quinn be a part of it, rather than going back to old habits.

I asked myself the tough questions. Like, will I be happy fucking the same woman over and over instead of sampling many?

And each time, the equation fell on Quinn’s side.

I rub the oil between my palms to warm it up and then rub my palms over her entire foot with deep long smooth strokes that ensure the oil is evenly spread. Will probably get oil all over my jeans but don’t really give a fuck.

Her feet are pretty, like her.

Trimmed toenails in a summery pink instead of the turquoise they were the first time I saw them.

Her skin is soft, and I can smell the scent of oranges, not lemons. Likely from the body lotion she used after her shower, given the way her skin shines.

I start massaging the arch of her foot, using my thumbs to dig right in. As I’m kneading her arch, Quinn sighs and lets her head fall back against the swing.

It takes every ounce of control I have not to rip the towel from her. But that isn’t what this is about. This is doing something for her because I want to.

This is doing something for her because I want to set the world right.

And it’s probably weird, but I made the connection between building a solid foundation and massaging her feet. I want to give us something solid to stand on so I can prove to her I’m not the things she accused me of.

Even as I accept that’s exactly who I was being.

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