The Life That Mattered (Life #1)(29)

That was it. When the time came, life couldn’t stop it. Like your heart would burst if you didn’t share the emotions that dominated your existence. It was too much for one person to bear.

So we slipped.

We fell …

“Roe … don’t say it,” I whispered.

He loved me.

And I loved him.

It had never been said, but it was always there.

He pulled back enough to see my eyes, a ghost of concern sliding across his face.

“It’s too late.” I eased his concern with a little grin, feathering my fingernails down his back. “It’s too big for words now. Don’t belittle it with a four-letter word. It’s too intangible. Too undefinable. Don’t ever tell me what you can show me.”

He did.

He kissed me. He moved inside of me.

We rushed nothing because nothing mattered more than us, more than what we had to say without actually saying anything at all.





CHAPTER SEVEN





“Ronin awake yet?” Lila asked, wearing designer jeans, a white sweater, the perfect blond ponytail, and a shit-eating grin. “I told your mom and grandma that you were in the shower and Ronin wasn’t awake yet.”

Mom and Grandma smiled at me from the sofa. Grandma picked up Ronin’s book from the end table, inspecting the back cover.

I returned a guilty smile, pulling my hands out of my hoodie—Ronin’s red ski patrol hoodie that I stole whenever I could because it smelled like him, and it felt big and warm like his embrace.

“He’s in the shower now. Hey, Mom …” I leaned down and gave her and my grandma hugs. “What a surprise.”

“Mmm … yup. Big surprise.” Lila nodded, scraping spoonfuls of oatmeal from the sauce pan. She’d been on a strict wedding diet, but she ate when she was overwhelmed. Apparently walking in on Ronin inside of me for the fifth time overwhelmed her.

“I’d planned on driving to Denver today to see you. Why the unexpected trip here?”

“Is … someone singing?” My mom cocked her head a fraction, eyes narrowed.

I giggled and so did Lila. “Ronin sings Sinatra in the shower. It’s his thing.”

“He’s good.” Mom shot me a wide-eyed expression.

“He is. So why the surprise?”

“It was Lila’s idea.” Mom gave Lila a weak smile. She thought of her as a third daughter. Always had. “Grandma hasn’t seen the cabin since you moved in. I told her you had it decorated differently and that she’d love it. So Graham sent us up here on his jet. Took less than thirty minutes.”

I felt honored to live in the log cabin my grandfather built. It meant Katie would get everything else from their estate when Grandma died. But I was okay with that.

Grandma nodded. “I do love it, sweetie. You’ve made it your own. And grandpa would be so proud of all the chopped wood you have piled outside.”

“I can’t take credit. It’s all Ronin.”

“What’s all me?” Ronin made his appearance in faded ripped jeans, a white tee, and messy wet hair. “Hi, Mrs. Taylor.” He leaned over the back of the sofa and dropped a kiss on Mom’s head.

Mom reached up and patted his cheek. “Good morning, Ronin. You have a beautiful voice.”

He chuckled while shifting a few inches to my grandma and kissing her head too. “Thank you. Good morning, Mrs. Burns.”

“Good morning, sweetie.” Grandma reached up and patted his wet head.

I stood so he could sit in the recliner. He grabbed my waist and pulled me onto his lap as he plopped into the chair.

“They were talking about your wood, Ronin.” Lila smirked from around her spoon.

“Yes. Benedict would’ve been proud of all your wood.” Grandma nodded.

I bit back my grin. “Ronin is good with wood. And he definitely has a lot of it.”

Lila choked on her spoon.

Ronin shifted me on his lap, so I could feel his wood. “I do my best. Evelyn likes it hot, so that requires lots of wood.”

I loved how my mom and grandma were oblivious to the innuendos of the conversation while Lila looked ready to pee her pants in the kitchen. My lips hurt from biting them so hard.

“Your grandfather was the same way. He used to pack so much wood. But sometimes he’d forget to cover it, and it would get wet. Of course it was always my fault. He’d make up some reason why I distracted him; therefore, it was my fault the wood didn’t get covered and ended up wet.”

“I can see that,” Ronin said like his mind wasn’t just as far down the gutter as Lila’s and mine. “It’s quite easy to get distracted and forget to cover the wood. If I’m honest, my wood has been wet quite often.”

“And it matters if you’re burning softwood versus hardwood,” Mom added.

This conversation wasn’t happening. Was it? How the hell did we let it get so far? My stomach ached from containing my laughter.

“It really does.” Ronin nodded.

Lila snorted, turning toward the sink and running water in the oatmeal pan.

“We like to use hardwood. Right, Evie?” Ronin squeezed my leg.

I hummed my agreement, rubbing one of my eyes like I had something in it. “Uh-huh.”