Mended (Connections, #3)(54)

? ? ?

The smell of sausage and bacon wafts through the small one-room bungalow. I sit up, immediately blinded by the assault of light from the large picture window with a view of the lake. Rubbing my eyes, I sniff again and the sound of percolating coffee catches my attention. I glance around and see her, not very far away, but still not close enough.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Come here,” I say with a grin.

She walks toward me with a coffee mug in her hand and I accept the cup, but immediately set it on the table beside the bed and pull her down to me.

“Why are you dressed?”

“Did you want me to go the store naked?”

“No, but I’d like you next to me when I wake up.”

“I am now.” She starts to kiss me.

“But you’re not naked.”

She stands up and takes her layers off before sliding in bed next to me. “I am now,” she repeats.

My hands slide down her body. “Morning,” I whisper in her ear, pushing my erection against her stomach.

“Good morning again.” She giggles as her hands follow a similar path to mine.

? ? ?

An hour later I sip the cold coffee and tie the laces of my boots. “What do you want to do today?”

“Are we staying here?” she asks with a hopeful tone to her voice.

I cross the room as she’s stirring batter in a bowl. “Yes, it’s the Fourth of July, so I thought we would. We don’t have to be back to the bus until tomorrow. Is that okay with you?”

“I’d love to stay here. It’s beautiful.”

I pull her hips to mine. “No, you’re beautiful.”

She blushes, but the crackling of oil has her easing out of my grip way too soon.

On the counter sit a box of pancake mix and a bowl of blueberries. I know I must be wearing the biggest shit-eating grin when I see them. She’s busy taking the bacon from the pan when I open the drawer and grab a black rubber spatula. I hide it in my back pocket and once she’s finished, I scoop her up and set her on the table.

“You know what you haven’t had in a while?” I ask her.

“No,” she says, with more giggles.

I pull the spatula from my pocket and move it back and forth under her ass. “The Aunt Jemima Treatment.”

She laughs some more, and her blue eyes match the color of the water in the lake. “No, no, stop it!”

Channeling my best Bill Murray from Stripes, I ask, “Who’s your friend?”

“You.”

“Who do you love?” I question.

She places her hands on my cheeks and in a moment that takes my breath away she says, “You, you, always.”

We eat breakfast on a blanket out on the grass and then take a walk around the lake. The water looks like a mirror—clear and calm—and we decide to take out the small rowboat that’s tied up to the dock. We stop in the middle of the lake and lie back, absorbing the sun and each other. With my arms stretched behind my head, I can hear fish breaking the surface of the water, and it takes me back to when my grandfather and my father would occasionally take River and me fishing. Those days were good ones—dropping a pole in the water, sitting back, waiting for the fish to bite.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, raising her head off my chest.

I wrap my arms around her and look straight at her. “River. He was so impatient when we would all go fishing. He’d put his pole in the water for about five seconds and then get upset that he hadn’t caught anything.”

“I’ve envied what you have with him and Bell.”

My hand finds hers and I give it a squeeze. “Did you stay close with any of your sisters?”

“No, not really. Not the way you are with your brother and sister.”

I kiss her head. I have no words to respond. I am lucky in that way—in the way that I have a family that will do anything for one another. It’s always been that way. Even when my dad was a drunken mess, even when I caught him in bed with his guitar student and he claimed their relationship had not escalated to sex, we stood together—my brother and I and my sister.

“Ivy, I have some things to explain to you about my family. Things I probably should have told you years ago.”

She sits up and I pull her back to me. I want her close as I tell her about my father’s suicide. I tell her everything, everything except the fact that I’m to blame and what his last words to me were—that he muttered the name of her ex-fiancé before he died. And it’s strange, but in a moment of clarity I suddenly get why River didn’t want to tell Dahlia what he knew about her ex-fiancé—that Ben Covington had cheated on her with our sister, Bell. I get it. Damn it, River. I get it.

She lifts her chin, offering her mouth to take and do with as I want. I kiss her for a long time and then we lie quietly as the boat rocks us back and forth and I’m lulled to sleep.

The next thing I know I can feel her soft touch creeping up my chest. I snatch her hand and roll her over, but the rocking of the boat has me second-guessing my agility. I’m not sure I can actually f*ck her in here and not tip it over.

“We should get back and figure out what to eat for dinner,” she says.

I look down at her, now pinned beneath me. She is so incredibly gorgeous, especially right now—her blond hair shines in the sunlight, her eyes reflect the color of the water, and the warmth from her body makes me wish we could stay like this forever.