“I don’t deserve you,” Holden said, his words barely audible over the roar of the water at the foot of the cliffs.
“You’re really hung up on this deserving-things issue, you know.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Because you’ve gotten used to feeling guilty and wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you didn’t, more likely,” I said. “But if it helps, I’ve spent a lot of time feeling like I don’t deserve you these past couple weeks.”
Holden shook his head again, but finally—finally—he wrapped his arms around me. The blanket pressed against my back.
“At least put the blanket around me,” I said, “if you’re not going to use it. No point in both of us freezing out here.”
Holden snorted softly, but he removed his arms long enough to swing the blanket around his back, then folded me into a hug, wrapping me up in its warmth.
“Better?” he asked
“Better.” I thought for a moment. “That’s what Daisy thought I was doing, the first night I met her, isn’t it? Coming onto your property like a deranged fan? That’s why she asked about my camera.”
“Yeah.” Holden’s voice was soft. “I’m still sorry about that. I should have told her.”
“It’s okay.” I was quiet for a bit, until another thought occurred to me. “That’s why you hate Christmas too, isn’t it?”
“Pretty much,” he agreed. “It just brings it all back. When I first came here, people hounded me all the time. We had to fence in the whole property to stop people from coming to the house unannounced. Now it’s quiet for most of the year, but it always picks up in December. And even if no one came, I’d still know what I did. I’d still have the memories.”
“That’s awful. Not that I agree that you did anything. But having crazy people trying to get to you. I can’t imagine what it feels like to have people chasing you down.”
Holden laughed wryly. “Really?”
“Okay, well, maybe I can. But it’s different with you. Unless I’m also secretly famous.”
“You could be. I wouldn’t know. I mostly live under a rock now.”
“I sorta like your rock.”
Holden pulled me in tighter, warming me to the core.
“I sorta like having you under it with me.”
14
Holden
Gus’s lips were going to kill me.
We were in the library, three days after that debacle of a doctor’s visit. I’d made a fire—Gus kept acting like it was impressive, but let’s be real, with newspaper and birchbark and an unlimited supply of matches, it was hardly rocket science—and was sitting on the sofa, making notes on my laptop for the next book I was recording.
Gus was across from me, treating the armchair he was in like a hammock, legs flopped over one arm, head and shoulders propped up against the other, his body slung low in between. He was reading, and eating a yogurt. Except he wasn’t actually eating anymore.
He’d finished the yogurt five minutes ago and had been absent-mindedly toying with the spoon ever since. He’d smack the back of it against his lips gently, then part them to bring it inside. He’d take it out and nibble on the edge, then flip it over and run the tip of his tongue along the concave side. Then he’d put the whole thing back in his mouth and let it dangle there so he could free his hand up to flip a page.
I tried to keep my eyes on my own work, but do you have any idea how hard it is to do that when a guy you know gives fantastic blowjobs is fellating a kitchen utensil in front of you?
I was uncomfortably hard, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to look at spoons the same way again. I might have to avoid the kitchen entirely. Except that wouldn’t really help, because it wasn’t the spoon that was the problem. It was Gus.
I still couldn’t believe he didn’t hate me. That he’d found out who I was, and didn’t freak out, or fawn, or do anything other than pull me close and tell me he thought I was a good person. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t wanted to leave.
Don’t get me wrong. I was grateful for it. I couldn’t keep my head on straight around Gus, but the thought of him going anywhere twisted my insides up like my computer cords after Frog had been at them.
I glanced over at Gus again, and saw him push a hunk of dark hair out of