15
Jamie
The dishes are done,the chickens are fed and the coop is closed, the kids had their bath and are sound asleep, and Gavin is standing in the door of the bedroom looking at me like he has a whole lot on his mind.
When I agreed with Diedre and Gran that I was going to teach Gavin Williams a lesson he’d never forget (even with amnesia), I didn’t think the whole thing through. Clearly. I never pictured him in my shower, sleeping on my couch, eating at my table, and I definitely didn’t picture him looking at me the way he’s looking right now.
Mainly, like he wants to back me up three steps, push me down on the bed, and devour me. My legs go wobbly, and suddenly, I really need to sit down. I grab the old blanket at the foot of the bed and hold it in front of myself like a shield.
“You bedding down?” My voice comes out in a squeak.
Gavin shakes his head. He’s leaning against the doorframe, blocking my way out of the bedroom. I can’t slip past him without touching him, and after what happened when he brushed my hand at supper, I don’t know that I’ll be able to handle touching him again.
“No. I’m not tired.” He smiles at me and my cheeks burn. Why oh why did I have to be born a redhead? Why do I have to have my feelings painted all over my face?
He lifts an eyebrow and I know he’s taking in my pink cheeks.
Yes. You’re a good-looking man. We both know this.
Yes. I find you attractive. We both know this too.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Clearly, clearly I didn’t think things through.
I believed Gavin was a selfish, narcissistic, rude, thieving, dream-killing peckerwood. Four days ago, he was. And maybe if and when he gets his memories back, he’ll be that man again. The one who tells me I’m ugly and ignorant and that me and my artwork aren’t worth anything. But without his memories, the ones that shaped him and made him into that selfish prick, well…he’s actually…this is hard to admit…but he seems…decent.
He slept on the couch with Scooter slobbering on him all night and he didn’t complain. He got egged and covered in chicken poop and feathers by the kids and he didn’t lose his temper. He worked all day with Big Tom, and by his stench when he came home, he worked hard, but he didn’t make a fuss. Instead, he showered off then complimented me on my subpar (I admit, I’m not a great cook) cornbread. And then, then, when Elijah got upset, he went after him, and by the way Elijah asked him to read the bedtime story for the kids, I think he and Elijah came to a truce. Which means, no more egging. And it means that he’s won my dog over, my kids over, and that maybe, while Gavin Williams was a peckerwood, this other man, he’s not.
Does that make me the bad guy?
I have a horrible, sinking feeling that it does.
Gavin’s been studying me, his eyes running over my face, my lips, my pajama shirt and my bare legs. It’s only nine o’clock, but I’ve been up since four, and I’m ready for bed.
Gavin pushes off the doorframe and sends me a small smile that makes my heart stutter. “So. What do we usually do after the kids are in bed?”
The image of him taking three steps into the room and pushing me down to the bed flashes through my mind. My mouth goes dry.
It’s been too long. Too many years. I should’ve realized that a six-year spell of nothing meant that when feelings came back, they’d come in like a flash flood.
“We…uh…well…” I lick my lips and Gavin’s eyes grow hooded as he watches me. My mind short-circuits. Sex. He’s thinking about sex. “You…uh…you do the crosswords.”
Oh boy. I give him a bright smile.
He shakes his head. “The what?”
“Well, see. You’re tired at the end of the day, so you like to go outside, sit with the chickens, smoke a pipe, except you don’t smoke anymore, and do the crosswords.”
I send up a prayer for forgiveness. If Gavin had his memories, he’d be enraged. I’m sure.
“The crosswords? A pipe?” He plucks at his suspenders, holding up his too-large pants. “What am I, ninety?”
I shrug. “You like exercising your brain. Learning big words. Facts about the world.”
Oh jeez, I can’t believe he’s buying this.
He studies me skeptically. Okay, maybe he’s not buying it.