In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(132)

“Oh yeah, then why did he leave town right after he kissed me?” Leo blurts out, looking furious and hurt. “Oops,” he says, clapping a hand to his mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“Will kissed you?” Rex asks, sounding curious but confused.

“Will kissed you?” I say. “Jesus, rob the cradle much?”

I’m joking—mostly—but Leo’s lip starts to tremble and his chin starts to wobble. I look desperately at Rex.

“Shit, Leo, I’m sorry,” I say. “I was just kidding.”

“No, you’re right,” he says. “Will just thinks I’m a kid. He doesn’t care that I—” Leo breaks off, shaking his head as tears course down his cheeks.

Rex comes around the counter and pulls a chair up next to Leo’s, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Leo, Will went back to New York because he couldn’t take any more time off from work. He was here to help his sister out for a bit, but he was always going back.”

“But, um,” I say, wanting to do my part in making Leo feel better, “if you do end up going to school in New York, then maybe….” I trail off when I notice Rex shaking his head at me very subtly.

Rex rubs Leo’s back and then gives him a hearty, definitive pat.

“Will’s a good guy,” he tells Leo, “but you don’t want to get involved with him.”

“You did,” Leo says, managing to sound jealous, scornful, and flirtatious all at the same time. Ah, youth.

“Different,” Rex says, and he goes back to making lunch.

“Look, man,” I tell Leo, “it’s Will’s loss, okay?”

The smell of bacon fills the kitchen and Leo perks up.

“Bacon?” he says, and Rex just smiles.




WHEN REX wakes me up on Sunday morning, six inches of snow have fallen and more is predicted for later this afternoon. It’s early—only six or so—and I bury my face in his neck with an indistinct sound of protest.

At Rex’s urging, I’ve started working at his house when I don’t need to use the library. He cleared off a large table he kept in his workshop and set it up for me in the living room, replacing the small one he only used occasionally. Writing felt effortless last night, and I know better than to waste a flow like that, so I didn’t stumble in to bed until about 3:00 a.m. Rex was warm and sleepy and immediately pulled me into his heat. But I definitely do not appreciate having to wake up three hours later.

“’S too early,” I complain into his neck. “Go back to sleep.”

Rex rubs my back softly and I relax against him.

“Wake up, baby,” he says. “I’ll make breakfast. Go get in the shower and you’ll feel better.”

“Ungh, why?” I’m whining. It’s probably not attractive and I make an effort to stop.

“’Cause we gotta go soon.”

“Where?” Rex’s hand is back, running up my spine and into the hair at the nape of my neck.

“Surprise,” he says. Then he kisses my cheek and slaps me on the ass. “Up,” he says.

“Tyrant,” I growl, but I roll out of bed and head toward the bathroom. It turns out that a slap on the ass is a very effective alarm.

After I shower and we eat breakfast, we get on the road. The only concession he makes to my questions is to tell me to wear his extra pair of snow boots, which are way too big on me.

“So help me god, Rex, if you woke me up at 6:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning to take me on some kind of winter hiking trip, I will end you,” I say as we walk to the truck and I trip over my too-big boots almost immediately.

Rex just chuckles and kisses me as he grabs me by the shoulder. He puts me in the truck and reaches over me to buckle my seat belt. When he’s level with my face, he kisses me breathless. He nods, as if satisfied I won’t complain any more, and then gets in the driver’s side, putting one hand on my thigh.

We drive for over an hour but I fall asleep almost immediately despite the coffee I downed right before we left. When I open my eyes, the truck’s parked in a snow-cloaked field. In front of us and out my window, the snow is undisturbed. It looks like we’re in the middle of nowhere. The sun is shining and it’s nearly blinding, like the truck is our boat on an ocean of snow. It’s beautiful.

“Come on,” Rex says. I tug on my hat so it covers my ears and wrap one of Rex’s scarves—plaid flannel, of course—around my neck, already shivering. We walk around the truck and it looks like we’re in the woods, but the trees look too regular, too perfectly aligned.

“Where the hell are we?” I ask. No one is around and the quiet is overwhelming. Rex takes my hand and we trudge through the snow, Rex’s powerful legs cutting through it easily and me walking in the trail he makes. After a few minutes, a little hut comes into view and I can see a tractor—or something like that—parked outside. On the hut is a row of cheery green wreaths twined with red ribbon.

“Holy shit, are those Christmas trees?” I ask. All around us, rows of trees stretch as far as I can see.

Rex nods. As if on cue, a cheery-looking couple steps out of the hut, door bells tinkling their exit.

“Hello, gentlemen,” the man says. He’s got to be eighty years old, but his eyes are sharp and he’s smiling.