Page 75 of Finding Forgiveness
“Yes.”
“Tell me why you really called?”
The hand in her mouth drops to her side as she blows out a puff of air. “Are you planning on eating Chris P Bacon, Pork Chop, or God forbid, one of their sweet little babies for Christmas dinner?”
“No,” she screeches. “Those animals are my family, why would you think that?”
Cassandra’s head snaps in my direction and her eyes narrow. “Never mind. Let’s pretend I didn’t call, okay?”
I hear Martha’s boisterous laugh down the line as Cassie quickly ends the call and slides the phone back into her pocket. When I notice the heat rising to her cheeks, I step up onto the bottom rung and throw my leg over the fence, closing the distance between us in three long strides, so I can wrap her in my arms.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble as I rest my chin on top of her head. But when my body starts to shake with silent laughter, it earns me a punch to the stomach. Lucky for me I have abs of steal.
After I toured the farm, meeting the rest of the ridiculously named animals—including Dingbat the donkey that we had to rescue twice because his head was caught between the wired fence—we collected the eggs from the coop, freshly laid by McNugget, Sir Clucks-a-Lot, Chick Jagger, Meryl Cheep, and Hen Solo, just to name a few, before heading back to the cabin to get some well-earned sleep.
Despite our history, I got to experience a lot of firsts with Cassie today. Including soaking in a bubble bath together, feeding each other in bed, and having her sleep wrapped in my arms, which may have been my favourite thing. I’ve never considered myself a cuddler … I don’t do sleepovers,ever, but I want it all when it comes to this woman.I always have. The whole nine yards. Marriage, babies, and a lifetime with her by my side.
I even leant against the doorjamb at the entrance to the bathroom and watched her apply a dusting of make-up to her face before we left for dinner. It’s something that never interested me in the past, but I’m finding myself wanting to learn all those insignificant parts of her, that make up the woman she is—even the most mundane of tasks, like her skincare routine. For some reason, I found it fascinating. I love how well she takes care of herself.
We are currently sitting at the dining table at Martha’s. She made roast lamb, and I noticed Cass stare down at her plate for far too long before she eventually started eating … pushing the meat to the side of her plate, and sticking to the vegetables. I’m gathering our conversation about the animals earlier was the reason for that. Bless her sweet heart. I, on the other hand, tucked right in.
Martha must’ve noticed the same because she suddenly says, “Are we going to talk about the phone call today.”
Cassie’s eyes widen for a split second before she schools her face and sits up straighter in her seat. “What phone call?” she questions, trying to act innocent but failing miserably.
I raise my glass to my mouth to hide my amusement as a cheeky grin tugs at the corners of Martha’s lips. I can tell she’s thoroughly entertained by Cassandra’s antics. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot I was supposed to pretend you never called. My bad.”
After dessert, we helped with the cleanup before heading back to the cabin hand in hand. Tonight, the walk is uneventful, as far as rogue kangaroos and spiders go anyway.
“It’s so peaceful here, isn’t it?” she mumbles.
“It is, a big change from city life.”
“Martha’s great too.”
“She is,” I agree.
We fall silent again, Cass more than likely lost in her own head, and me trying to find the courage to ask her how long she plans on staying here. It’s a simple enough question, but my uncertainty about her answer is what’s holding me back.
When we arrive at the cabin, Cassie asks, “Do you want the first shower?”
I step forward and cock one of my brows as I slide my arms around her waist. “We could conserve water and shower together.” If she agrees, it will be another first to add to the list.
“We could definitely do that,” she replies with a grin. I brush my lips with hers before we head into the bedroom to grab our things. As I’m collecting some clean clothes from my suitcase, her phone starts to ring. I eye her across the room and don’t miss the tensing of her body as she stares down at the bedside table where it sits. “It’s my dad’s number.”
“You probably should answer it, he’s been worried about you.”
“You’ve spoken to him?”
“A few times, yes.”
“What if it’s my mother again.”
I drop the clothes I’m holding onto the mattress and round the bed.
Leaning down, I scoop up her phone and answer it. “Hello.”
“Connor, is that you?”
