Page 80 of Perfect Assumption
Tears begin to flood my eyes. I blink rapidly to clear them.
He pushes himself until he’s sitting on top of the stone hearth. Wearing my grandfather’s sweatsuit, he should look ridiculous, but all the change of clothes did was strip him of the facade he shrugs on each day as easily as he pulls on one of his custom-made suits—something I only know because I hung his up to dry in the laundry room earlier. On his face I see his struggle with right and wrong. Much like when I shared my story with my grandparents and his sister. All the illusions I had of him burn away like ash in the crackle of the fire behind him. When he speaks, his voice is low and measured. “What happened to you was revolting—”
I draw in a breath and hold it.
“—but it doesn’t define you. It shouldn’t. I know for some small-minded people it might. I’m not one of them.”
I let out with a whoosh. “I never thought I’d have to explain this to someone because…”
“You didn’t think you’d reach the point where it would become an issue?” He stands.
“I never thought it would become an issue with anyone.”
I don’t move as he approaches me. “You’re not afraid of me, are you, Angie?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Why? Not that you should be. Nothing’s going to happen tonight.” He holds out his hand to me when he’s a few feet away.
I step the rest of the way toward him, my own outstretched. “I don’t fear what I face head-on.”
Realization crosses his features as the strength of his fingers grips mine. “It’s when someone comes up behind you…”
“That’s how one…” I let him tug me closer before I raise my other hand to grip his forearm.
Ward brushes a light kiss over my forehead, against my wet cheeks—when I didn’t even know I was crying—before pressing his lips gently against my lips. “Come on. It’s time to get some sleep.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to his side. Together we bank the fire and bury ourselves beneath a mass of blankets. For a moment, I blink in the darkness, wondering why he doesn’t wrap me in his arms. Didn’t what I tell him repel him after all?
Then his voice reminds me not to make assumptions. Not about him. “Take my hand, curl up with my arm, or lay on my heart. I’m right at your side, Angie. It’s where I’ve wanted to be for a long time.”
I swallow hard before I reach out in the dark for everything I always wanted but thought I could never have.
The possibility of him.
Thirty-One
Angela
We understand most of the tristate area is out of power due to the ridiculous amount of snow. But trust us. We’re professionals. Do not use your spare turkey fryer inside.
— Fab and Delish
Iwake up warm with the smell of bacon sizzling the next morning. And alone in the huddle of blankets. I frown. Was it all a dream?
Then above me, I hear Ward’s laugh. “No way, Carrie. There’s at least eighteen inches of snow here. We still don’t have power. Fortunately, Angie is well prepared with supplies, and we charged our phones. I’m not wasting my battery taking a call from Becks unless it’s truly an emergency.” There’s a pause before a much softer. “She’s sleeping still. I’m making breakfast. No, I won’t say anything about how last night went. That’s Angie’s to share.”
I can’t prevent the curve of my lips as I snuggle deeper beneath the warmth of the blankets. Then my jaw drops when I hear him say, “I’m so angry with you for intimidating me away from her two years ago.” A pause. “You may havebelievedyou had a good reason, but it was Angie’s decision to share. And I’ll tell you exactly what I told her last night: Ineverwant to hear that phrase used in conjunction with her again.” He sighs. Finally, “Yeah, you always were smart. I love you too. Yes, I’ll be careful.”
I wait a few moments until I spy him beneath my lashes moving with a plate of bacon into the kitchen. He comes back with a bowl of scrambled eggs before pouring them into—thank, God—my cast iron and scraping them. “You’re handy doing that,” I comment, hoping he doesn’t startle easily.
Fortunately, he doesn’t. “Boy Scout campouts. Plus, Dad would cook on a grill when we’d come out to the Berkshires.”
“Really? You were a Boy Scout?” I struggle to sit up.
“Yep, so if you want to relax, I’ve got this covered if bacon and eggs work for you.”
“I’m not moving because I’m offering to help. I’m just not missing a moment of one of the world’s most eligible bachelors cooking me breakfast,” I drawl. “Especially when he’s wearing an eighty-year-old man’s sweats.”
