Page 29 of Alive and Wells

“Mmm… be warned that it’s very bland in comparison. I’m an only child. My dad’s a history teacher and my mom works for a dentist. I was born and raised in the city…”

“Obviously.” The edge of my lip picks up and our eyes meet. Holding with a playful gaze.

“Hey, I think I fit in pretty well around here now.” Her teasing tone tightens around my chest.

“You do.” It’s not even a lie. She’s managed to fit herself into the ranch somehow. Or maybe the ranch has molded around her. Either way, there’s no denying she belongs now. “Why Wells Canyon? Did you just lay out a map of BC, close your eyes, and point?”

“Pretty sure that’s exactly what my mom thinks I did, yes. She sent me an email yesterday with tips for surviving Grizzly Bear attacks. That reminds me—I should warn Beryl that there might be bear spray in the mailbox.”

“It’s definitely illegal to ship bear spray.”

“What can I say? We’re a family of badass criminals.” The golden hue of sunset cascades across her as she relaxes deeper into the couch. “I won’t give her too much shit for it, though. We haven’t exactly had a close relationship for the last few years. So I’ll happily accept any form of care package.”

“Oh?” Fuck all my previous rules about staying out of my employee’s business. I want to know everything about her.

“I made some questionable choices, and one of them was pushing my parents away. But it would be nice to mend things, y’know?”

I think it’s a rhetorical question, but I answer regardless. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Would it be nice to fix things with my dad? I’m not sure. I was never as close to him as I was to my mom, but I have no real complaints about the kind of father he was. At least, up until he made the choice to chase his middle-aged dreams because his wife was dead and his kids were grown-ish. I’d argue that boys aged twenty-five, twenty-two, and eighteen are hardly grown enough to take care of themselves… never mind a 20,000 head cattle operation. Especially while grieving the loss of one parent. He didn’t need to make us lose both.

After a few more episodes, I can see her attention darting repeatedly toward the cake and then back to the TV. With the sun long gone, and neither of us moved from our respective couch corners, only the cool television glow illuminates her face. She stretches out, her toes pressing into my outer thigh. It’s not quite the soft touch of her hand from my dreams, but it’s the first time she hasn’t acted like any parts of our bodies being in close contact repulses her.

“Let me grab a knife and forks for the cake,” I say.

“What kind of fancy place do you have here? We’re outlaws eating stolen cake—just grab forks.”

“So you admit it’s stolen.” I shoot her a look. “Send me letters from your prison cell. I want to know what Martha Stewart’s like.”

Cecily pushes me with her feet. “Shush. Just get the forks before I resort to using my fingers like Odessa. Also, she’s been out of prison for years. Your pop culture references need some help.” She laughs. The kind of laugh that makes her cheeks rosy and her eyes watery. I didn’t think I’d find myself laughing today, but it feels right. Everything with her feels right. She’s the sunshine of this ranch, bringing light into the parts of me that I thought I’d always keep hidden in the dark.

My legs take a moment to gain full function after sitting for so long. It must be getting close to midnight. Well past my regular bedtime.

I’m notthatstupid, though. There’s no way I’m letting tonight end until she’s ready for it to end.

When I return, I sit on the middle couch cushion. After all, we can’t share a small cake if we’re not next to each other. Cecily’s instant rigidity when I sit down doesn’t surprise me, even if it hurts. After a heartbeat, her body relaxes into the couch. I can feel her everywhere, although not a single inch of our skin is touching. I know we aren’t touching because I check.Repeatedly.

As we eat, Cecily talks. About the book she’s reading and silly stories from her childhood. The vegetables almost ready for harvest in her garden and what she plans to do with them. I don’t say much, but she’s either entirely unbothered or extremely understanding. For a day that I typically spend angry and alone, I can’t get enough of being with her. Even in the silent moments, her presence is soothing.

“Should we get back to the episode?” she asks, just as I’m searching for the right words—something that will lead to kissing her. Hopefully, my mom would be understanding about the fact I’ve spent more time tonight staring at Cecily’s perfect lips than I have watching the show. I have every episode memorized, anyway. I can’t help but stare at the way her tongue darts out to lick a stray cake crumb from her bottom lip. The soft moan at the back of her throat when she takes a “perfect bite”—which is a piece with enough frosting to give you an instant cavity, according to her. It’s impossible not to imagine what those lips would feel like on my lips, my chest, my cock.God.Would she make that same moaning noise with my cock filling her mouth? Without a doubt, I’d make sure she did. I’m silently praising my laziness for not getting up and turning on lamps as the sun went down. There’s no hiding the quickly hardening bulge in my jeans.

I need to make conversation to stop myself from thinking about her on her knees, right here, looking up at me. Or bent over the back of the couch—fucking hell, stop.“Not sure if you noticed, but the lilacs are gone.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“So… Now you don’t have to think about what they represent. Like you said.”

Her fork drops from her mouth, letting her parted lips fill the space surrounding us with a thick, uncomfortable silence.I fucked up again. This is why I keep my mouth shut.

“Yeah. Yeah, um… you’re right. Anyway, I should probably go home. It’s pretty late.” She sets her fork down and moves to stand.

“Cecily.” I reflexively grab her arm to stop her, and she flinches. Shefuckingflinches. In one small, powerful movement, a lot about her becomes crystal clear. I’d suspected that she came here for a reason, but now I think I understand what she’s running from. I understand why she tenses when I get too close.That motherfucking asshole. I drop my grip on her and back away—not like a wounded dog, but more like a spooked horse.

“I didn’t mean to—I would never. If you want to talk.Do you want to talk?”

She’s quick to shake her head no. “I should get to bed. Are you okay… about your mom’s birthday and everything? You’ll be okay alone here?”

“I’m fine.” Is she seriously going to pretend like nothing just happened? Deke me out by switching the conversation back to my mom’s birthday? For a brief second, I consider switching my answer and saying no, purely to see if she’ll stay.

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