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He held her there, between him and the wall, for a breath. And she felt it, hot and powerful on her neck. She wanted more. She wanted him.
It was the more that scared her. The certainty. The depth of it.
She clung to him because if she didn’t, she feared she would detach from the earth completely.
How had she not realized that one of the best things about being invisible, wallpaper Shayna was that she always knew who she was?
She was anchored by it—usually. So certain of what would happen tomorrow—usually. And how she would respond—usually.
But she’d stepped off the trail, metaphorically as well as literally, and it hadn’t just taken her to a new place, it had taken her to being a new person. And she didn’t know what this person would do tomorrow, or any other day. She had no idea at all.
He moved away from her on a gust of breath and she found herself sagging against the wall, breathless and spent.
“Thank you for bringing dinner,” he said.
His voice was rough, so she knew he wasn’t entirely over what they’d just done, but he was putting his clothes to rights and she dimly realized he’d moved away from her to discard the protection that he’d used.
“Oh. Right. Of course.”
She wasn’t sure she was hungry for dinner. Not anymore.
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” he said.
And that statement, the vaguely hopeful note in his voice, the underlying vulnerability of it, reverberated within her like a struck chord on the church’s piano.
“I was hardly going to give you my virginity and never return, not my style.”
“I couldn’t have guessed what your style would be,” he said, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Me either, I guess. But I know now.” And that realization made her feel more certain, not less.
Maybe she was still just Shayna Clarke, but she acted in a different way because she’d done different things. Maybe what she dreamed about wasn’t a part of a whole separate person, but maybe this was simply who she was when given the chance?
It was a strange thought, and one that grounded her without him holding her there, all on its own, which was some sort of miracle from where she was standing.
“I’ll dish up,” she said, softly.
“No,” he said. “I will. You can go get yourself together.”
She didn’t take offense to that. He wasn’t calling her a mess, and she knew it. He was giving her a minute to herself.
She took it.
She slipped into the bedroom and put her clothes back into their place. She smoothed her hair down and took a couple of deep breaths. He didn’t have any mirrors in the house. Not as far as she could tell and maybe that shouldn’t be shocking. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who was at all vain about his appearance.
But even so.
It was slightly inconvenient for her. Maybe he’d get them someday. Maybe some other woman would look into them. She had no idea what he imagined for his future, what he wanted. Because he was a stranger and that was the issue with having sex with a stranger.
She didn’t know what this meant. If it was something he often did.
Well, she was the one who’d come to him.
The one who’d kissed him.
So it was maybe safe to say that unless women found themselves wandering the woods and flinging themselves into his arms on a Tuesday, he didn’t do this specific thing often.
So that was a comfort, she found, even if she didn’t want to know why.
