Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(102)
My sluggish brain only required a few seconds to recall why he was in my bed and how I’d bawled all over him before summarily passing out. I didn’t feel embarrassed by the memory. I felt curious, slightly numb, and an erect penis through a layer of his jeans and my pajamas, pressing against the inside of my thigh.
“Are you awake?” he whispered hoarsely. “Please say you’re awake.”
I swallowed and closed my eyes, not willing to yield my position on top of and next to him. This was a surprise. I’d never enjoyed sleeping in the same bed with anyone. I’d never co-slept with my kids. In my youth, I couldn’t sleep at camp or other situations where sharing a bed had been required. With my ex, I’d tiptoe out of the room once he was snoring and spent most of our marriage slumbering on the couch.
But this? Waking up with my leg curled over Hank’s groin, my arm flung over his chest, and my ear resting over his heart? I could get used to this.
“I’m awake,” I said haltingly. “But unless the kids are up, I’m not ready to move, if that’s okay with you.”
His hand moved on my bare back. I realized belatedly that he’d slipped it under my shirt at some point, tugging me closer until my entire torso pressed more fully against him.
“You’re still sick,” came his rumbly voice, giving me the sense the words were more for his benefit than for mine. “You will be sick for a while. I should keep my hands to myself until you are well . . . unless you ask me not to.”
My head was still a bit cottony, my throat a little dry, but I didn’t think I had a fever and my ears no longer ached. I felt almost normal. It’s amazing what hydration, rest, and the presence of a sexy boyfriend can do for a person.
“I don’t feel very sick,” I said, my mouth curving with giddy pleasure before I could prevent it. He must’ve felt the movement against his chest because he chuckled.
“Oh no. Don’t smile,” he groaned, sounding pained. “I can’t resist your smiles.”
“You find my smiles irresistible?”
“You know I do. Smile at me and I’m yours to command.”
Oh my goodness. I liked the sound of that. Warmth unfurled in my chest and I ducked my head.
He shifted at my silence, his hand sliding from the center of my back to my bottom, resting above the fabric of my pajamas. “Charlotte Mitchell, are you feeling shy?”
“A little,” I admitted. I did feel shy. I also felt many other things, all of which were too large and unwieldy to contemplate or share at present.
Hank kissed the top of my head. “Then, you be shy. I’ll stay right here, ready to be of service, just in case you start feeling bold.”
My heart wanted to erupt with happiness and I let it. After spending the last month accepting that Hank was on the precipice of losing interest and walking away, it felt like being sun-warmed on the first day of spring after a long, grueling winter. I basked in him.
Wearing my shy smile, I sighed contentedly and snuggled closer. I also stretched the arm that rested over his chest to thread my fingers into the short hair at the back of his neck. And there we lay—his fingers drawing light lines and circles from my bottom to the middle of my back, my fingers playing with his hair—in the peace and quiet of a Sunday morning.
We’d missed church. That was all right. Frankie and I needed a recovery day, and obviously Kimmy, Joshua, and Sonya needed the sleep too, otherwise they’d already be up and asking for food. At some point, I’d need to message my mother. We typically met her at the church for mid-morning service after her garden club meeting and she’d likely fret if I didn’t check in.
I could borrow Hank’s phone; I’d texted her from Hank’s phone once before and she almost lost her mind. Hmm . . . No matter, she’d need to accept Hank being part of our lives sooner or later.
That thought made me smile again.
It was unfathomable how much had changed in the span of twelve hours, and the incomprehensible nature of it prompted me to break the comfortable silence between us and ask, “You really tricked Jackson into making him think you were paying back a debt by patching my wall?” Remembering his concise sharing of events in the wee-early hours of the morning, this part of the tale struck me as dubious. “And he believed you?”
“I don’t think he believed me—not in the end—but it doesn’t matter. Just as long as those other folks overheard and believed the story, that’s what matters. It might take me a full week to patch that hole.” He gave me a squeeze, and I felt his mouth curve against the top of my head. My heart fluttered. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so relaxed and content.
But then his hand stopped its gentle glide and Hank’s hold grew tighter. “Charlotte.”
“Hmm?”
His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “I missed you so much.”
The words reverberated through my bones, real, and raw, and true.
I closed my eyes against the renewed threat of rising emotions but did manage to reply, “I missed you, too.”
“I know you’re dealing with a lot. Based on what I saw and experienced last night, I understand that you’ll be dealing with a lot for the foreseeable future. You’re incredibly busy.” The statements sounded rehearsed, his hold squeezing me. “Furthermore, I accept that you don’t want the kids to know we’re together. That’s obviously your call to make. However—as much as I wish I could hold my tongue, keep my distance, and wait until the right time—I think . . . I think I need you. I need to be here. I’d like to help, be part of this team, if you’d let me.”