Page 53 of Restored By You

My cock slips out of her warmth and she whimpers softly, making my dick twitch, ready for round two whenever she is. We clean up, redress, and she clears a spot on the drop cloth near the window seat while I flip the pizza box open. We sit, our backs against the wall, close enough that our shoulders touch.

She takes a bite, watching the fireplace we’ve been resurrecting, half of it stained dark and rich, half still raw wood. “It’s going to be beautiful,” she says quietly. “When it’s done.”

“It is.” But I’m not looking at the fireplace.

She catches me staring and rolls her eyes, but she leans her head against my shoulder. I wrap an arm around her and pull her in, pizza balanced on my knee. “I really am sorry about this morning,” I murmur into her hair.

“I know.” She hands me the melted latte to hold, stealing a wing off the box instead. “You already made it up to me.”

A laugh rumbles out of me. “That was makin’ it up to you?”

“Mhm. That was a start.” She smiles up at me, teasing, “You’ve got two more months to finish the job, Montgomery.”

Two more months. She means it as a joke, but it lands heavy in my chest all the same. Two months has never sounded more like a dreaded countdown.

I don’t say any of that, though. I just kiss the top of her head and reach for another slice, and we sit there in the dim lighting, eating pizza on the floor, and for a little while, I let myself pretend the clock isn’t running out on us…

Nineteen.

Shea

There’s a specific joy in watching a six-foot-two mountain man scowl at a bow tie. “It’s crooked,” Rhett says, tugging at it in the mirror of my suite bathroom.

“It’s supposed to be a little crooked. It’s charming.” I bat his hands away and fix it myself, smoothing the collar of the chambray work shirt I tailored to fit across his shoulders. It took some doing, since his shoulders are blue-collar made. I tuck it into high-waisted trousers, add suspenders, and a soft newsboy cap. Finishing it off with a measuring tape looped at his belt for authenticity. “There. Did anyone order a classic, old-school handyman? You look good enough to eat, babe.”

He eyes himself in the mirror. “I look like a fella from an expired soup can.”

I can’t stop giggling. “You look like every girl’s fantasy from 1954.” I step back to admire my work, and my chest does a little flip, because he’s wearing it. He grumbled the whole way through the fitting last week, held still while I pinned, let me measure his inseam with a straight face and a slowly reddening neck—and now here he is, in a costume I made with my own two hands, because I asked him to.

I haven’t made a ‘costume’ since I was a kid. I’d forgotten how much I loved the freedom in the creativity of it.

Back before my father’s world taught me that the only clothes worth making were the ones with someone worthy wearing them…

“You going to put yours on,” Rhett says, teasing, “or just stand there gettin’ misty over my suspenders?”

“I’m not misty.” I am a little misty. “Turn around. No peeking.”

I catch him watching me in the mirror as I shimmy into a cherry-red halter dress with white polka dots, nipped tight at the waist and flaring out at the knee. I finish it off with a red lipstick, a silk scarf knotted in my curls, and seamed stockings I will absolutely regret by the end of the night.

When I turn around, Rhett’s gaping. “Baby.” His voice is pained. “You can’t wear that.”

My stomach dips. “What? Why?”

He crosses the room and settles his hands on my waist, thumbs brushing the cinch of it. “Because now I’ve got to walk you down Main Street in front of my entire family and I’ll be spending the whole night aching to take you in it.”

I smile wide. “High praise, Mr. Handyman.”

He steps back, spinning me slowly in front of him. “You made this?”

“Yup. Mine and Callie’s.” I turn to face him, smoothing his crooked-on-purpose bow tie. “We’re matching. Best-friend pin-up solidarity.”

“And mine.”

“And yours.” I meet his eyes, and something soft and dangerous passes between us. “I wanted us to…you know…match.”

His grin is slow, but he doesn’t call me out on the obvious ‘couple costumes’ I made for us. He kisses me instead, full of everything we’re not saying out loud. Until a voice from the living room ruins the moment.

“Seriously? Are you two making out? We’re gonna be late and I am not telling Parker why we missed the ninja meetup.”