Page 79 of Pieces of Heaven

Xenia opens her mouth to speak. I hear the words she wants to say, even if she remains silent.

I’m being stupid. Why can’t I just go inside? Xenia will treat me so well that I won’t notice the cramped quarters. Don’t I want another taste?

I step back. The space behind her is all frilly and ladylike. This isn’t a place where I can breathe. I’d be smart to run now.

Shadowed by the porch light, Xenia doesn’t say a damn thing. No ultimatums about what’ll happen if I walk away. No threats over her heart moving on to someone else if I can’t get my shit together. She doesn’t even ask me to stay.

Her delicate fingers just wrap around my wrist. I’m startled by the soft touch she offers me. I don’t want to enter her tight, boxy home. I can’t tolerate the sense of doom crawling over me.

Her fingers remain around my wrist as she watches me. I know this isn’t the end. If I walk away tonight, she’ll be waiting for me tomorrow. Xenia’s spent her entire life in a waiting pattern. She doesn’t know how to truly give up on a dream. She’ll alter it, shrink it down, tear away the best parts, yet keep the shell of her old hopes alive.

For me, she’ll do the same. I can disappear for days, even weeks, and she’ll still welcome me back. I’ve been added to her list of hopes. I have the power to keep my freedom and her heart. No one is making me stay.

Yet, I drop my pack on the ground and cover her lips with mine. Breathing in her hopeful gasp, I accept how this woman is the home I never knew I craved.

If I leave tonight, I won’t break her heart, but I just might destroy mine.

XENIA

Hobo seems so wrongstanding in the house. His masculine aura clashes against the feminine décor. Plus, his muscled body swallows up the space, breathing unease and looking ready to flee.

Only my lips tempt him to remain. Hobo kisses me and doesn’t let up. I hear him kick his pack inside the house and shut the door behind him. His arms fold me against his hard body. We’re perfect as long as his eyes are closed and his lips busy.

Eventually, Hobo breaks free and looks around. His expression hides nothing.

“I’ll be moving soon,” I blurt out as I reach for his pack and hurry to the small bedroom.

“Because of me?”

“Because I don’t like having a landlord who wants to micromanage my love life.”

I stick his pack between the bed and dresser, making it less accessible if he chooses to run. I glance at an imposing Hobo, standing in the living room. If that man wants to leave, I can imagine him just smashing through the wall. Hiding his pack won’t deter him in the least.

“But I also want a home you feel comfortable stretching out in.”

Hobo lifts his arms, testing his surroundings. His fingers scrape the ceiling. He makes the small house seem impossibly constricted.

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