fall apart. Tears come with my orgasm, and I can’t say which I needed more.
He leans down so he's holding me and kisses my neck. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head.
“Are we going to anyhow?”
I snort. “Probably.”
He stands up, letting me have space to come to my feet. He treats me with a level of kindness I'd found uncomfortable initially. With Andrew, everything—no matter how simple—requires consent in some fashion.
"Tea?" he asks.
“What’s with the tea thing? Uncle Micky has corrupted you, hasn’t he?” I tease.
“So, coffee?”
I bend to pick up my clothes. I’m not going to bother getting dressed, but if I don’t pick my things up, they’ll end up in his wash—as if too long on the floor makes things instantly dirty--or perhaps it’s just his theory that washing our things together is an encouragement of a primal bonding. Andrew’s current research area is biology, and it’s led to a few peculiar theories.
“I can stuff my bag in the closet.”
He grins and holds out a hand. “Or . . .”
I give it over. His quirks are more than made up for by his kindness and tolerance of my own eccentricities.
He says nothing as he takes my clothes out of my bag and sees the stack of manila files under them. Instead, he pulls the files out and puts them on his table before he folds my clothes. It’s as close as we get to him offering to help me. A lot of our conversations are ones with no words in them.
“Coffee?” he asks again.
“Please.”
He glances at the files again and makes enough coffee for both of us. Tea is more of a social drink for him. He doesn’t drink alcohol, and it’s only on rare occasions that he drinks anything other than coffee, fruit juice, or water. People often assume he’s a recovering alcoholic, but in truth, it’s a lot like his fastidiousness with cleanliness and order. Andrew likes things the way he likes them.
I’m not interested in poking at his reasons why, and he gives me that same consideration. Maybe that’s all love truly is: two people who accept each other as they are without needing to change or control the other. Still, ‘love’ is not a word I’ve ever used. There’s a stability to our relationship that makes me wish we could use that word sometimes, but using it would mean things changing. I don’t want that. What we have is enough for me.
“You’re a good man,” I tell him as I get out a couple of cups.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “Really bad day, eh?”
“Body dump.”
He nods, waiting for the rest.
“Carolina Creeper,” I add.
“Those are always hard.” He motions to the fridge. “Do you need food?”
“No.”
For several moments, the only sound is the steady flow of coffee. It’s comforting. Like everything with Andrew, there’s a familiar warmth to the simplicity of it. There’s nothing confusing or complicated between us. It’s peaceful.
And I am about to ruin it.
“He sent a note.”
“Who?” He meets my gaze. “Who sent a note?”
I hear it, the unspoken urging to tell him he’s misunderstanding me. I want to. I want to lie. To him. To myself. Saying it aloud, telling Andrew, makes it real in a way I have been trying to avoid.
“The Creeper.”
“Jesus, Jules!” He’s across the few yards separating us in a heartbeat. His arms are around me, and his hand cradles my head like I’m precious and vulnerable. If I hadn’t cried when my orgasm hit earlier, I’m fairly sure that the tears I prefer to never shed would be impossible to ignore now. Sex is a much better way to release emotions.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“You’re not.” He only leans back far enough to look into my face. “What’s the plan? What are they doing to keep you safe? Do you want to move in here?”
I shake my head.
“No what? No there’s not a plan or no to moving in?” An edge creeps into his voice, and I know it’s fear.
“No to all of it. I sort of haven’t talked to Henry or any of them since I found out. I had to take care of the woman and—”
“Bullshit.” He steps back then, arms releasing me, putting distance between us. Anger. Worry. Frustration. He's feeling all the things I can't, and I wish briefly that he was a bit less in touch with his emotions. “You’re avoiding dealing with it.”
I walk around him and pour the coffee. I add the creamer and sugar