Page 44 of Seale the Deal

God. What is happening to me?

A week ago, I was getting dropped off on his porch like an orphaned stray, nervous of what my new home would be like. And now, I’m whatever this is. When he turns slightly, shifting his weight to steer, and his hand briefly brushes my thigh to stabilize us, I don’t move. I press my cheek to his shoulder and let my eyes fall shut for half a second and allow myself to forget this is a very elaborate lie.

We roll to a stop in front of the house, and for a few seconds, neither of us moves. The engine ticks as it cools, and the smell of pine and exhaust lingers in the air.

I loosen my arms around Ruger slowly, half expecting him to say something. He doesn’t. Instead, he hops off first and offers me a hand, which I take and force myself to ignore the electric sensation that shoots up my arm and through my core.

But the second my boots hit the ground, it’s like a switch flips. The spell of the woods is gone, and suddenly, I don’t know where to look or what to say.

Ruger clears his throat and gestures toward the trailer. I’ll unload. You probably want to change before Remi’s.

I’d almost forgotten she had invited us to dinner again.

I nod. Right. Good idea.

I half run into the house and up the stairs, and I don’t stop moving until I’m in my room with the door shut behind me. I press my back to the door and blow out a breath.

My chest feels tight in a way that has nothing to do with chopping wood and everything to do with Ruger Seale being incredibly patient and unbearably attractive in his element. This arrangement is supposed to help me rebuild my life, not complicate it further. I’m starting to worry that my heart is starting to get bad ideas. Ideas that will make everything harder for everyone. And that’s the last thing I need.

I pull off the hoodie, hesitating only a second before I press my face into the material and breathe in his scent one last time. It’s starting to fade and be replaced with the floral-nutty mixture of my body wash, and I wonder how I could get another sweater or T-shirt from him. God, I need to get it together.

I toss the hoodie onto the bed and rummage through my things. Not owning a lot of clothes makes it easy to get dressed. It’s just about taking what I own and pairing it in a way that fits whatever event I’m going to. I find a fitted black turtleneck that hugs my waist and brings warmth to my brown skin. It makes my eyes look deeper and richer somehow. I slip on a pair of dark grey cotton slacks and twist in front of the mirror, making sure I’m satisfied with the fit. Gold hoops go in next, small but bold, and I fix the ponytail I made earlier to try and contain my curls.

When I step back into the hallway, I hear Ruger downstairs. There’s a sudden thud that I assume is firewood dropping into the bin beside the woodstove. I wait a second longer than necessary before heading down, hoping the weird tension that’s been hanging between us has lifted. It hasn’t.

He looks up when I enter, eyes landing on my face, flicking to my mouth, then drifting lower before snapping back up like he hadn’t meant to. His throat bobs when he swallows, and heat blooms low in my stomach.

He’s changed… sort of. Still camo, obviously, because God forbid he wear a different pattern. But it’s a fitted long-sleeve thermal this time, stretched across broad shoulders and tucked neatly into dark cargo pants. There’s a dark smear on the hem and a streak of dirt on his forearm, and somehow, it only makes him look more rough, more rugged, and just more hot. Exactly the kind of man who could throw me over one shoulder while battling a bear with his free hand.

Ready? he asks, already grabbing his keys.

Yep, I lie because I am not ready. I’m not ready to spend an evening with Remi, trying to avoid thinking about how good he looks in that shirt and how hard it is to hide it.

The cool evening air hits me as we step outside, and I cross my arms against the sudden chill. Ruger opens the passenger door for me without a word, and I climb in. The way his hand brushes the small of my back as I pass sends a shiver up my spine.

The truck smells like sawdust and leather and simply him. I buckle my seat belt, staring out the windshield, overly aware of the way he moves around to the driver’s side and climbs in next to me. We sit in silence for a second before he starts the engine.

It’s barely a five-minute drive to Remi’s, but somehow, the cab of the truck feels too small. We don’t talk on the drive, and I’m okay with that. I take the time to take in the views of my new town. I try to remember the little stores I might visit when I have time. I can only imagine that having someone move in with him has been a difficult adjustment.

I immediately recognize Remi’s house when we turn onto a street. It’s hard not to see a little yellow square with a bright red roof. The flower boxes, which usually feature beautiful arrangements in the summer, are wilted and colourless.

Ruger kills the engine, and it takes him a full second before he pushes open his door, and I follow. I meet him at the front of the truck, where the light over the garage glows warm and inviting.

He takes my hand as we walk up to the door. I look at him quizzically.

In case anyone is watching, he murmurs.

Ruger doesn’t knock on the door; he just walks in. I pause to take my shoes off, and my abrupt stop causes Ruger and me to overextend our arms because we’re still linked, and we crash into each other. Chest to chest, I stare up into Ruger’s dark eyes. His beard brushes my chin as he presses his lips together.

Sorry, I whisper, still pressed to his chest.

Remi rounds the corner with two wineglasses in hand. She stops when she sees us, her gaze flicking from Ruger to me, to our still-linked hands, then back up. It all happens in a split second, but it feels like slow motion.

Oh, she says. You guys are really committing to the honeymoon phase bit, huh?

Ruger lets go of my hand, and I take a half step back, suddenly overly aware of everything. My flushed face. His beard still brushing my skin. The faint smell of pine coming from him.

Remi walks toward us and holds out a glass of wine to me.