Page 43 of Covert
I expect a smile, a hug, or a 'yeah, it's great', even if it's fake. What I don't expect is her lower lip to wobble. Oh, God. Is she about to cry?
Before I can ask her what's wrong, she slams her face into my chest and wraps her arms around my lower back.
I hold her head to my chest tenderly and just wait for whatever is happening to pass.
I don't know what's happening. But I do know I'll be whatever my girl needs me to be in any given moment on any day.
She pulls back and swipes at her eyes, before big, brown, watery eyes find mine.
"No one's ever made anything for me before."
Ah, Christ. That made me emotional. This poor, sweet woman. How had she been so neglected? No one ever made her a daisy chain crown? A hand-written card? Anything?
Pride suddenly fills my chest where self-doubt sat before. "I went to three different antique shops before I found the right spoon. See this here?"
I hold up her hand and point to a detail on the spoon's handle. "There's a little blemish in the scallop there because it's hand-carved and the maker's hand slipped." Her eyes narrow in on the detail as a small gasp escapes her lips.
"It's literally one of a kind, and when the antique dealer told me, I knew it was the one for you."
Her eyes find mine again, and the depth of emotion in them is humbling. She doesn't share a lot about her past, or even about herself, but she wears her heart on her sleeve, and I'd gladly spend the rest of my life making her happy.
"You didn't have to do this," she says, her voice small and low.
"I know. But I wanted to." I catch her eyes with mine again. "You're special. And you're important to me." Her lower lip starts to wobble again.
"Can I take you for a ride. There's a place I've been meaning to take you," I suggest, hurriedly, ready to distract her from crying again.
She looks to the back where the other guys are wiping down their stations and preparing to leave.
"Hey guys, do you mind if Diesel takes me home tonight?"
Three sets of eyes studied us. But no one complained.
"Let me get my stuff," she says quietly, as she walks to the small closet, slips her shoes on, and grabs her purse.
She jogged behind me to my bike and let out a little squeal of joy as I mounted, turned over the engine, and she hopped on behind me.
Forty-five minutes of warm summer air, darkness punctuated by streetlamps and then starlight, and the sweetest fucking arms around me, and I roll us into a small, manmade beach in Maryland.
Technically, it's closed because it's nighttime, and technically, we're supposed to pay to get in here, but I maneuver us up over the curb and around the gate blocking the main entrance. Because technically, I don't give a shit.
I kick my kickstand back down, cut the engine, and then help her off my bike. It's the middle of the night, and I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be here after sundown, but fuck it. I'm here to show my girl that I'm worth it.
I pull a rough blanket from my other saddle back and loop it around one arm, before extending the other to Nikki.
Silently, I walk us onto the sand. Both she and I pause to kick off our shoes before we walk towards the water again. It's not an ocean beach, but it's enough that it's quiet and peaceful. Tiny tidal waves hit the shore, and the Chesapeake Bay Bridge looms in the distance.
I take a moment, her hand in mine, to simply exist. I breathe deep, the brackish water, the cool night air, and the beautiful woman next to me.
And then I bring up what I really want from her. "You pulled away," I say simply, trying to keep my voice calm and steady and not demanding or accusatory.
I can feel her shoulders slump next to me.
"Is that why you brought me out here?"
I turn to face her and tug her to face me. "Did I fuck up by rushing things? Should I have taken things slower with you?"
Her face tips down, but I bring my knuckles to her chin and tilt it back up. Sad brown eyes meet mine before they dart to the side.
