Page 92 of The Space Between
She’s quiet but not distant… not cold… just thoughtful and I don’t press.
I hand her my soap, masculine, woodsy and watch her lather it over her collarbone, her chest, her thighs. I itch to touch her, but I keep my hands fisted at my sides.
She looks over her shoulder almost as though she can sense it…the restraint. Lifting my hand, she pulls it to her waist and swallows as she says, “You can touch me, Gruene.” It comes out soft but steady… like she’s not afraid of the parts of me I’ve spent years trying to bury.
Stepping closer, I allow my hands to slide around her waist and pull her back against my chest.
We simply stand there. Skin to skin. Heartbeat to heartbeat. The water rushes over us like it’s trying to carry everything else away.
For the first time since Molly and Aubree died… I believe it might be okay to let someone stay… even if it’s just for a little while.
I walk her back to her cabin before heading back down to check on the shop and make sure everything is locked up for the day.
She’s wearing another one of my shirts.
The soft cotton clings to her breasts and hips and stretches over her ass. It’s so big on her, it covers her shorts entirely.
She doesn’t ask me to come inside but something’s shifted between us and we both know it.
She pauses with her hand on the door and leans up on her toes. Her hands slide over my chest, shoulders, and then, around the back of my neck. She kisses me slowly, brushing her lips over mine before licking my seam. I part them and my tongue meets her. We kiss deeply and reverently… not rushing anymore.
Breaking the kiss, she leans back and whispers, “Goodnight, Gruene.” before slipping inside. She leaves me standing in the silence of a new evening that feels different than any I’ve had in years.
Lighter… Worse… Better…All of it at once.
The day dragslike it’s trying to test me.
The tubing crowd is bigger than usual—louder, rowdier, drunker.
Reece is on edge, snapping orders and barking at the new hires who don’t seem to understand the concept ofliability.
I’m not much better. I lose count of how many times I raise my voice… how many times I have to bite my tongue from taking someone’s fucking head off for being careless with the river.
And through all of it, all I can think about is her.
Blakelyn.
The way she looked curled in my sheets yesterday.
The way she kissed me when I let the ghosts out.
The way she held me after I broke.
She’s carved herself into my ribs without asking permission.
And I’m starting to realize… I might not want to dig her out.
Even if I should.
The shop isfinallyquiet by dusk.
After locking up, I find Reece leaning against the picnic table out front, chugging water and wiping his neck with a bandana.
“Busy one,” he mutters, eyes still scanning the trees like he’s waiting for a late floater to stumble out.
“Yeah.” I nod.
“You good, buddy?” He asks.
