I kept my eyes on the distance when I repeated, “I get your beard back. I haven’t decided if I think you’re more handsome with the beard or without it. I’m glad I get it back so I’ll have another opportunity to try and figure it out.”
This was true but it was also a lie because I was never going to figure it out.
This got me another squeeze and a short, low chuckle then, “Anytime you want it back, my Finnie, you only need say. Shaving is a pain in the arse and I’m pleased to give it a rest.”
“All righty then,” I agreed. “I’ll give you a head’s up when I’m in the mood for whiskers.”
“My thanks,” he muttered, voice still amused but something weighed on it, I could hear it, I could even feel it.
I just didn’t know what it was.
Except I knew what it was for me.
The last two months had been perfect, sailing south over the emerald waters of the Green Sea, the days becoming warmer and longer, feeling the sun shining on my skin, experiencing the fairytale beauty of Bellebryn and the breathtaking fantasyland that was Hawkvale, making new friends, eating new foods, working with Skylar and seeing progress as his tension ebbed and his personality began to flow.
Not to mention, I’d gotten my first bulls-eye.
And all of this happened with my gentle, quick to smile, quick to laugh, handsome husband who I knew enjoyed, just like me, the heat of the sun, the longer days, the food, the vistas, the people and being with me.
And he made no bones about that.
As ever, he was often at his own tasks but these were few when he didn’t have me close. And as our days slid by and with it our time, nothing had cooled, nothing had faded, in fact, everything, including the time we spent alone and naked, heated, grew brighter, more intense.
All this, I told myself, meant Frey had to love me.
He had to.
He just hadn’t told me.
And therefore I hadn’t told him.
And, considering we were again at sea, we were again on the move, we were off to face whatever was next and that weight still pulled at his tone, I wondered if it was because he was waiting for me to say it so he could.
He was a virile, hot, action guy and although he never shied away from demonstrations of affection, both physical and verbal, maybe declaring his deep, abiding (for mine was both so his had to be too) love was a shade too far and he needed me to assure him that these feelings were mutual.
But I was nervous at the thought of putting that out there even though Frey gave me not one, single indication I should be.
Still, I was.
But I shouldn’t be.
Nevertheless, I was.
Shit.
Shit!
I sucked in breath and let the emerald of the sea and the green of the shore fill my vision.
Then I whispered to my husband, “We’re breaking the cardinal rule.”
“The what?”
“The cardinal rule, the most important rule there is, the one you never, ever break,” I explained.
“And what is this important rule we’re breaking, wee Finnie?” Frey asked.
I studied the vista as I answered, “Dad always said, never look back. Always look forward. Always look where you’re going; never waste time on where you’ve been. You’ve been there so you don’t have to take that time and wasting any time, even a breath, is a mistake. Memories can be shared of the good times but they need to be shared while your eyes are to the horizon, faced forward. No matter where we went, when we left, he didn’t let us look back. When I was young, he made a game of it. By the time I grew older, I did it out of habit, never looking back, not even a glance.” I pulled in a soft breath and finished, “And now we’re looking back. Dad would be disappointed.”