Flock (The Ravenhood #1)(45)
As a veteran wallflower, I’ve spent years simply observing people, some more than others, to try and figure out what makes them tick. Though I’m in the midst of shedding my introvert skin, old habits die hard. Dominic is definitely a new focal point for me.
The bigger question in my mind is why is an MIT graduate working at a garage, instead of looking for a job to get him into a higher tax bracket? Surely Dominic didn’t get a degree at one of the best schools in the country to replace brakes and mufflers for the rest of his days.
But I keep those questions to myself. One, because it’s not my business. Two, because Dominic is a motherfucker and still engages me at every turn. However, I’ve been giving back just as good as I get. Since that day we called a semi-truce, we’ve grown more playful in our sparring matches.
Despite my curiosity about Dominic, the majority of my attention outside of work belongs to Sean. A few times since that day at the pool, I’ve felt a little guilty for trying to shut him out, though I got the apology I think I deserved. But some part of me is still holding back. Maybe it’s the jaded part that keeps me on edge. I think most of it is because some part of me can’t believe he’s real. The irony is the cynic in me doesn’t want to be right, because even she’s falling for him.
The summer nights have been alive, full of electricity as we split our time, going to Eddie’s on occasion to throw darts, or shooting pool with guys at the garage, or simply driving around as I try and up my skill behind the wheel of his life-sized Matchbox car.
Tonight, we’ve decided to forgo all our new norms for some one-on-one. Through a set of unlocked gates, I pull up next to a large barn and park in a space to see Sean waiting for me. I can’t help the elation that stirs when he peers up at me with a knowing smile before he crushes out a cigarette with his boot.
“Hey, baby,” he pulls me to him, kissing me deeply as I lift up on my toes and return his kiss.
I glance behind him at rows upon rows of apple trees, the angry branches filled to the brim with the blossoming fruit. There are a dozen or more farms in Triple Falls, and the locals take their pride in their apples seriously. Annually, at the start of autumn, Triple Falls holds an apple festival in the square that most townies consider the highlight of their year. Townies, including Melinda, who insists I cannot miss it.
“What are we doing here?”
“Midnight picnic,” he turns to gather the supplies stacked on his hood. He hands me a familiar blanket before gathering the rest, which consists of a battery-operated lantern and plastic bags before starting us down a path through rows of trees. It’s picturesque, especially under his small camp light, the mountains in the distance silhouetted by the night sky.
“How did you get access to this place?”
“A buddy’s parents own it. But it’s all ours tonight.”
“This is incredible,” I look around as I follow him down a line of trees, and he stops when we’re far enough down that our cars are impossible to see.
“Good apples, but I’ve got the goods here.” He lifts a plastic bag.
I eye the lid of the container which reads The Pitt Stop. “From your parents’ restaurant?”
“Yeah, it’s lukewarm, but it’ll still be good. Let’s park here.” I toss out the blanket and begin spreading it out. “I’ll take you there on our next day off.”
“Promise?”
He pulls the light toward his face. “Scout’s honor.”
I roll my eyes. “You were never a Scout.”
He chuckles. “What makes you say that?”
“Maybe because of your issue with authority. I can see you arguing with your troop leader about rules and principles you refuse to abide by because they were created by self-righteous assholes.”
He sets the lantern on the blanket and pulls me to him, kissing me soundly. “You’re getting to know me pretty well.”
“I am.”
We take our seat on what I now consider my lucky blanket before he carefully unpacks a small feast. Aside from our one fight, it’s been almost idyllic with him. At times, I try to imagine life in Triple Falls without him and can’t stomach what it would be like if dinners with Roman and shifts at the plant were all I had to look forward to.
He’s not just a distraction with a nice penis, although, his penis is incredible. Emotion swells in my chest as I study his profile in the soft glow of the fake camp light. Whatever reservations I have, I want to let them go. But I still have lingering doubts I’ve kept to myself to keep the peace. Yet one question gnaws at me daily, and if I want to give myself over to him fully, I need an answer.
“Sean?”
“Yeah?” Distracted with his task, he kneels on the blanket, opening the first container. The crickets sing loudly around us and I take in the scene, the gnawing to ask growing at the setting, the sounds around us, a romance addict’s fantasy. I’ve had so many firsts with Sean—at twenty-five, adventurous as he is—I’m sure I would be hard-pressed to give him one of his own. And that’s some of where my hesitance lies, with the question I don’t want to ask because I know how it will sound. I slip off my shoes and socks and run my feet in the cool grass, deciding it’s best left alone for the moment.
“Cecelia.”
“Yeah?”
“You had a question?”