Page 36 of We Can Stay
I listen without interrupting but by the time she’s done with her story, my pulse is racing and it’s taking every ounce of my control not to tear the entire island apart looking for whoever is behind scaring Flick.
“—at first, I thought I might be imagining things or blowing it out of proportion, but now I’m not so sure. The messages today really freaked me out.” She finishes with a shrug.
“Flick, you’re not imagining things or blowing anything out of proportion. This sounds serious.”
She looks relieved but still worried. “I didn’t want to bother you with it. It might just be an internet troll trying to scare me.”
“No,” I say firmly. “This isn’t something to brush off or ignore. You’ve got every right to be scared. I’m glad you told me.”
The vulnerability in her eyes tugs at my heart. “What should I do?” She whispers.
“First, we’re going to lock down your accounts—I can help you tighten up your security settings and block this person sending you messages tonight. Then we’ll look into security cameras for the doors.” I rub her cheek gently with my thumb. “You’re not alone in this.”
She leans into my touch, closing her eyes for a moment. “Do you think that will be enough?” She asks.
“If it’s not, we’ll do more. Anything it takes to keep you safe.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
“Hey, I got your back,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “Always.”
Her arms hang loosely over my shoulders, and my hands find their way to her waist—their new favorite place to be. There’s an eyelash on her upper cheek, and when I softly brush it away, her breath hitches.
I catch her gaze, drinking in their myriad of colors. Brown gives way to gold, gives way to green, gives way to amber. It’s like watching the seasons unfold right in front of me.
Ducking my head, I brush my lips against hers. Gentle and slow as it is, there’s nothing tentative about the kiss. We’re taking our time, savoring the perfection of the moment.
The kiss deepens, and a primal hunger rolls through me. Framing Flick’s face with my hands, I explore her mouth with my tongue, savoring every millimeter I can find. She moans softly into the kiss and presses her body closer to mine.
She breaks off the kiss, her lips swollen and cheeks flushed.
“Now that you’ve seen the office...” Flick’s hands tighten on my shoulders. “How about the bedroom?”
My heart races at the mention of it. With my pulse roaring in my ears, my hands shaking from raw desire, I don’t even trust myself to speak. So I just nod and, once again, let her lead the way.
CHAPTER 11
Sebastian
I’m up before dawn, up before the birds, up before the upcoming stress of the day has a chance to creep into my consciousness. Up before Flick.
The pre-dawn quiet reminds me of those months after Jessica left. I’d wake at this hour, the house too empty, too silent. Back then, the early mornings were my escape route—straight to the clinic, burying myself in surgeries and appointments until exhaustion finally silenced the questions.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, I prop onto my elbow and gaze down at her. Her chest softly rises and falls, her eyelashes twitching the slightest bit in her sleep. The morning light filtering through her curtains catches the auburn strands in her hair, turning them to copper.
Warmth spreads through my chest. I can’t believe I’m here, waking up next to her. It’s such a one-eighty from the life I normally lead that it’s hard to wrap my mind around it. How did I get this lucky?
She shifts slightly, her face scrunching up for a moment—pain, even in sleep. I’ve noticed the way she moves sometimes, careful and deliberate, like her body’s betraying her. Another thing we have in common, this tendency to hide our hurt.
As tempting as it is to pull her close, I don’t want to wake her up, and so I carefully get out of bed and put my clothes on. The kitten follows me down the steps, mewing at my heels.
“Hungry, Cat?” I whisper, then shake my head at her name. As ridiculous as it is, it’s sticking.
In the kitchen, she circles around my feet as I locate her dry food and fill her little bowl. The kitchen smells faintly of vinegar and wet wool—remnants of Flick’s dyeing work. There’s something comforting about it, these traces of her passion filling the space.
“You drink coffee?” I ask the kitten, opening Flick’s fridge.
There’s no coffee bag in there, though, despite the fact that a coffee maker sits on the counter. Frowning, I locate the coffee bag in the cabinet. Flick must not know that the beans will stay fresher longer in the fridge, so after getting a pot going, I move the bag to the fridge door.
