Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“When I was ten, I wanted to run away.”
She turns just her head so that our gazes connect.
“I was tired. Tired of being one of three. Tired of being the middle child. Hunter was my dad’s favorite, and Evan was my mom’s. It wasn’t obvious, but I felt it. The bear thing felt overwhelming. I was learning to control it, but Hunter was always better. I just felt smothered. So, I walked all the way to the edge of Blackwood Forest. I made it into town and sat on a bench. I watched people living their mundane lives for hours: shopping, walking, driving, arguing. It wasn’t unfamiliar to me. We weren’t isolated. We had to leave the house for necessities, and our parents were careful to integrate us where they could. But I still felt like an outsider. The secret of what I was weighed heavily and I knew it always would.”
“What happened?”
“I walked home. My father asked me where I’d been. I told him I’d fallen asleep in the forest.”
She blows out a breath and runs her hand over my bearded face, tender fingers and a soft expression tightening my throat.
“I ran away, too,” she admits. “At around the same age. My mom was always tough on me. She called me flighty. Said I wouldn’t achieve anything in my life because I never stuck with anything. All I wanted was to experience new things and not get bogged down in expectations. We lived in a different town, around eighty miles from here, but I ended up sitting on a bench, people-watching until I was hungry. Then I went home. I felt like an outsider wherever I went.”
I try to imagine what she looked like then. Was her hair longer or shorter? Did she braid it or wear it in pigtails? Was she a tomboy, or did she like dresses? The idea she felt as unsettled as I did at that age unravels me. “I wish we met on that bench,” I say. “I wish we found each other sooner.”
“Maybe we wouldn’t have been ready.” She smirks. “We're fated, after all. Doesn’t that mean the universe has a specific time for us to meet?”
The last part is said with a mocking edge, but I don’t take it personally. To an outsider, our understanding of the world must seem crazy.
“We wouldn’t have sensed it back then,” I say. “We would have just been two lost kids.”
“I feel like a lost adult most of the time.”
Her confession is spoken so softly, I would have missed it if I wasn’t looking directly at her. I take her hand in mine and kiss her knuckles. “You’re not lost anymore, Goldie. You’re found.”
She snuggles closer, her scent of sunshine, apples, and custard enveloping me. I wrap my arms around her, cradling her against my chest. We don’t talk much after that, and eventually, she falls into an exhausted sleep.
I hold her close and listen to her breathing for the longest time, still feeling like everything that’s happening is just a dream, and finally feeling the sense of home that’s been missing my whole life.
18
GOLDIE
Robert is a cuddler. He’s also a man who respects a woman’s boundaries. We were in bed together for the entire night, and he didn’t once try anything sexual.
I was waiting to see if he would, half expecting him to and half not. It’s not clear-cut why. Maybe he’s a gentleman and didn’t want to overwhelm me after his confession. Or maybe he only likes sex one way, and it doesn’t appeal to him without the cuffs and whips and clamps. I don’t feel comfortable asking, though. At least, not yet.
I wake when Robert stirs. It’s so strange to look across the pillow and see his face. He looks good in the morning, sexy in a rumpled and scruffy way that makes me want to lick him. His arms and chest are bare, and the warmth of his skin travels even though I’m not quite close enough to touch him. To be honest, he’s a furnace. Maybe it’s his bear genes.
He came to bed in black cotton shorts, which hugged just about everything he’s got going on—a gorgeous ass and that big cock that he wields so confidently. Hell. There’s no rational explanation as to why I’ve woken so horny. Maybe it’s because I’m nearing mid-cycle, and I’m probably about to ovulate.
Ugh. Will they detect that from the way I smell?
“You ready for breakfast?” he asks, smiling.
My stomach grumbles in response to his question, and Robert chuckles.
“Better get onto it.”
He kisses my forehead and springs out of bed, full of the kind of energy that I never seem to muster. Our conversation from last night comes back to me, our confessions seeming too intimate in the cold light of day.
“Come down,” he says as he’s about to leave the room. “As much as I’d love to bring you breakfast in bed, my brothers will be pissed. I can’t keep you to myself forever!”