“I’ll be fine. I just had my winter tires put on. Sweetie, I gotta go.”
Robin reaches her hand across the table, and I cover it with mine as the faint sound of a woman speaking filters from the phone.
“I will. I promise. Love you too. Night.”
“Daughter?” I ask, when she puts her phone facedown on the table.
“Yeah, Paige. She’s flying in for Thanksgiving.”
“I gathered as much.”
I’m still smiling like I never told this woman my deepest darkest secrets just a few hours ago. I don’t even recognize myself as I rub my thumb over the back of her hand.
“Are you hungry?”
The question is innocuous enough, but my body’s response is immediate. Her eyes darken when she catches the flare of my nostrils.
“Starving,” I growl, already getting to my feet. I keep a firm hold of her hand and pull her up with me.
My turn to lead the way to the bedroom, where I rip my shirt off her body, her lush tits bouncing as she pulls her arms through. My breath sticks in my throat as I take in her soft curves.
“Jesus, Sunshine.”
I reach out and run the tips of my fingers down the slope of her breast before weighing it in my hand, rubbing my thumb over its hard tip. A slight hiss comes from Robin’s lips. I lift my eyes to hers and see the same heat I feel reflected there.
The same intense need I felt earlier surges to the surface, and I suck in a deep breath fighting to stay in control. This time I’m going to make absolutely fucking sure her needs come first.
With a light shove she falls back on the bed, her legs draped off the end of the mattress. I hook my fingers in the elastic of her panties, pulling them off. Then I drop to my knees, lift her legs over my shoulders, and drag her closer to the edge.
I inhale the scent of her arousal deeply before covering her with my mouth. Her taste, new and yet familiar, floods me. My mechanics may be rusty, but my hungry determination more than makes up for it. It doesn’t take long before I feel her thighs trembling as she presses herself to my mouth.
I’m up and out of my jeans in a flash, poised at her entrance. I seek her eyes before I slide into her body; a light brush of my thumb over her clit has her scream out my name. With her tight channel pulsating around me, I let go of my control.
Embarrassingly few moments later, I buck and groan as my tight balls empty inside her.
Chapter Twelve
Robin
“What happened to that smile?”
I shove my purse in the drawer behind the counter and stand up to face Kim.
“Didn’t sleep too well.”
Kim knows me pretty well, and although I’m not lying, I’m not exactly forthcoming either.
“I figure you haven’t slept well since that hot as fuck kiss in the parking lot when we had our first snow.”
I’ll never live that down. I came in the next day and discovered that kiss had done the rounds through the small community. Of course it didn’t help I dropped Gray off in front of Olson’s the next morning, and did the same a few more times the week following. The resulting friendly ribbing didn’t bother me then, but it bothers me now.
Because I haven’t seen him for the past four days.
At first I figured it was the weather. We’ve been hit with a few early winter storms and that usually results in cars going off in the ditch. Every year it’s like people forget how to drive in the snow and have to learn all over again. But when my message was ignored again last night, I clued in there was something else.
I spent most of the time I should’ve been sleeping mulling over events of the weeks prior instead, trying to figure out what I may have missed. Except for that first night, I’m ashamed to admit there wasn’t a lot of talking involved. Too much time to make up for.
Then the weather turned and he got busy. Apparently, too busy to answer my messages. It doesn’t sit right. The last answer I got was on Wednesday, when I’d messaged and asked what he was up to for Thanksgiving next week. I’d just talked to Mom, confirming I’d be picking her up, when it occurred to me it might be nice to ask him to come. I figured he might appreciate a decent home-cooked holiday meal.
His response was that he’d get back to me on that.
Four fucking days ago.
My last three messages have gone unanswered. At about three this morning, I decided the ball was firmly in his court and I wasn’t about to chase him down.
I force a smile for Kim and breathe a sigh of relief when the door opens and the first table of the day walks in.
“Morning!” I call out to the trio shuffling in, and I’m greeted with subdued hellos.
I grab a carafe and cream and make my way over to where the three seniors sit down in their preferred booth. There used to be four of them, but I heard through the grapevine that Frank Hanson, owner of the Dirty Dog, was gravely ill. Apparently he had moved to a palliative care facility in Clare.
“Coffee, fellas?”
“Sure, sweetheart, hit me up,” John McClusky, a retired school principal, is the first to answer.
“Yup,” is the curt response from former postal worker, Eddie Banks.
The third in the trio, Enzo Trotti, whose family owns the local pizzeria, simply turns over his cup and holds it out.
I fill their cups and it’s on my lips to inquire about their friend, but I don’t want to pry. Kim has no such hang-ups and sidles up to me at the table.
“How’s Frank doing, boys?” she asks, never mind that those ‘boys’ are almost twice her age.
It’s Enzo who answers.
“Not long now.”
“Said he didn’t think he’d make Thanksgiving,” John adds. “Looks like
