A new beginning where we could forget the past and be two adults and not two children. Where love would finally nod with pride and say, ‘Okay, I made you suffer enough, now crawl into that tent and get busy.’
It didn’t quite work that way.
When Ren had said he had it harder than me accepting this new us, I hadn’t agreed. We’d both grown up together. We both had memories and love and connection that no amount of time or distance could steal.
I’d been hurt that he could say that, to be honest.
But now, after tasting his kisses and knowing the exact moment when he stopped kissing me and started thinking of the past, I agreed he did have it worse than me.
He was right.
He’d raised me. He’d seen me in every stage of cute, embarrassing, plain disgusting, and everything in between.
And that was the difference.
I’d been raised by him; therefore, I worshipped him.
I’d seen him in every mood of possessive, angry, distrusting, hardworking, and forever untamed.
Two very different ways to see somebody.
One practical and parental. One fantastical and fanciful.
Funny, how my memories don’t just see a skinny boy with nine fingers, dirty and wild—I only remembered power and strength and the undeniable safety I felt in his presence. I didn’t remember Ren as a teenager with a zit on his forehead and the Mclary cattle brand on his hip—I saw him as lanky and incredible and not afraid to plough an entire field on his own.
I’d never seen the ugly messiness of life that he had by raising me.
So, yes. He was right.
I didn’t have to overcome as much to be able to kiss him.
I had no fear we were doing something wrong.
My only fear came from his fear and, for once, I wouldn’t make it worse on him.
I wouldn’t push him.
Not this time.
Or not for as long as I could help it, anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY
REN
* * * * * *
2018
FOR TWO DAYS, we learned how to be friends again.
Mornings, we ate breakfast of squashed bread and jam, packed up our gear, and walked until exhaustion made our backs sway and bones creak. Nights, we’d stop, set up our home, then cook harmoniously, eating pasta and canned supplies by moonlight and sharing tales of the past few months as we caught up with what we’d missed.
It was exactly what I needed.
To find my friend again.
To accept that there was no place, no person, no scenario I would rather have than this, right here, with her.
By the time we found the meandering river that had been our faithful friend since leaving Mclary’s all those years ago, we were both ready for a bath and itching for clean clothes.
Summer was still in the air even though autumn was only days away. Muggy temperatures and no breeze found us deep in the forest. The sun teased low in the sky, not quite ready to go to bed as we finished putting up the tent.
Della wiped her brow with the back of her hand.
Blonde curls stuck to her sweaty neck. Heat glistened on her upper lip. Leaves clung with foliage fingers to her ponytail, choosing her over their branch and willingly committing suicide.
The polish of house living and city conveniences had faded from her skin, leaving her as wild as I remembered, slipping back into the surname she’d given us.
“Ren?” She waved a hand in my face, snapping me back to the present and out of my daydreams of licking away her heat, pushing her onto the ground, and stripping her free of every sweat-wet piece of clothing.
Clearing my throat, I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah?”
“I asked if you want to go for a swim.”
Glancing at the narrow river, the babble and bubble hinted it might be too shallow to do anything more than sit and sluice.
Pointing downstream a little, she said, “The current is calmer there. I reckon there’s a place deep enough to submerge, at least.”
“Okay.” My heart picked up into a pounding tempo. Bathing had been a regular thing with us even when we were young. When age didn’t matter, we’d skinny-dipped with no thought of doing anything wrong. But then, my body had changed and become a master over my mind, and I’d refused to be naked around Della.
And now…what was the correct protocol?
She saw my wariness, laughing gently. “Underwear stays on. Is that what you were about to say?”
I half-smiled. “Would you be shocked if I suggested naked?”
She blinked. “Were you?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Her shock faded under a thin glaze of disappointment. Ever since I’d hugged her two nights ago, keeping her trapped in my arms almost the entire night, we hadn’t discussed when or how we’d leap over the divide from family to lovers.
I didn’t know how to bring up the subject and didn’t know what to say if I did. Della had relaxed around me but only on topics we both knew were safe. The moment we stared too long, or that sneaky, burning lust became too painful to ignore, we suddenly found other tasks that urgently needed doing.