Page 49 of Finding Her (Lore of the Fields #1)

The pub door blew open with a gust of frigid winter air.

Snowflakes were falling sparsely, the wind pushing them sideways in rapid blurs.

What could have been a gentle cascading of white crystals felt like knives biting into my cheeks.

I shoved my hands into my armpits to keep them warm, cursing myself for not having brought warmer accessories so I wouldn’t be a bother to anyone.

In retrospect, I couldn’t figure out what was bothersome about asking where to leave a coat and gloves.

I walked slowly down the road, layers of compact snow forming plates of ice where the heaviest traffic had melted things during the day.

The gravelly pavement was treacherous without the heat of civilization and starshine, and I watched my feet with every cautious step.

How had Stella managed to get to her shift in one piece in her heels?

My boots were proving plenty treacherous even with their hefty treads.

I heard Graysen rustling beside me before the weight of his tweed coat rested onto my shoulders. His arm snaked under the jacket and pulled me to his side, blocking the worst of the gusts. “Was everyone kind to you, Little Fae?” He leaned his head affectionately into mine.

“I think so.” Honestly, I’d been too busy to consider anyone’s tone or read into their word choice. On the surface, yes, everyone had been decent.

“If anyone ever isn’t—” He paused. “Or, of course, if anyone makes you uncomfortable, please tell me. Our locals are mostly harmless, but I worry about those passing through.”

I tossed my head back and let loose a cloudy laugh into the cold night air. “What are you gonna do? Beat them up?”

In one long stride, Graysen stepped in front of me and turned, blocking my path and leering down at my amusement.

He lifted my chin with his finger, I had no choice but to look into his cool, piercing eyes.

His other hand gripped my waist and pulled me to him so that we were flush against one another.

“If I need to.” His tone was factual, not matching the humor I had offered in my question.

I grabbed the wrist of the hand holding my jaw at attention. “You’re acting awful possessive for a roommate .” A chill ran down my back that had nothing to do with the weather.

“How about a friend?” The way his full lips parted with steamy breaths had me thinking about many things that were not friendship. I squeezed my thighs together in response to the needy throb of my clit.

“Is that what we are?” I subconsciously pressed my hips against his. “Friends?” The word felt wrong in my mouth.

His eyes sparkled bronze. “You can call us whatever you’d like. All that matters to me is that you are cared for, happy, and safe.”

I sighed. He wasn’t taking my bait. Couldn’t he smell me?

Wasn’t the sole benefit to my complete lack of pheromone privacy that he knew how I was feeling, when I was feeling it, without a single word?

It meant that I would always be making the first move, because god damn did I yearn for this man.

Especially in moments like this, where he spoke to me like his very existence revolved around my well-being.

I couldn’t help but wonder if he was purposely leading me on, or if I was just so down-bad that everything he said and did felt like an invitation.

“What do you want?” I stepped back in frustration, his hands dropping from me reluctantly and a wounded look on his handsome face.

“I just told you what I want.” His eyes chilled back to their stone coloring.

“No, you told me what you want for me . What do you want? From this—from us.” I swatted away his hand when he reached back out to me. “Tell me one real, genuine thing your heart wants from our dynamic. I don’t want you to touch me until you have.”

I wasn’t about to let my first remembered “ romantic ” relationship be full of games and miscommunications.

If he was going to taunt me this relentlessly, he was going to need to be a little more straightforward with me.

I was going to break his brick wall down by force if I had to, because my life was complicated enough without falling for someone unpredictable and sitting on a hoard of secrets.

“I’m not sure I have a good answer for that. The past complicates things.” He cocked his head to the side. “I can promise I don’t intend to hurt you or take advantage of your feelings. I can promise I’ll be honest with what I do and say. But you’ll have to forgive me for the things I can’t answer.”

A frustration exacerbated by the annoying tingling between my thighs overtook my composure. “Then we aren’t doing this. Don’t call me ‘ your girl ’. Don’t touch me. Stop with the nicknames, and the sentimental gestures, and the way you fucking stare at me.”

His nostrils flared in response to my verbal attack. “Don’t use your affection as blackmail to get into my head.”

The words were a dagger to my heart. Did he really think that was my intention?

Graysen turned on his heels and led the way home. I stood frozen for a moment before hurrying after him, even though I knew if I stayed put, he’d turn around and carry me home. Even though I had just told him, basically, to fuck off, he would take care of me.

I suddenly felt wrong under the warmth of his jacket.

I hadn’t meant to give him an ultimatum.

I just wanted something from him, something real and something vulnerable.

Hindsight being twenty-twenty, putting conditions on our intimacy was definitely not the way to make him feel more comfortable with me.

I hated that I wanted to force his hand at anything.

Had I really romanticized the idea of breaking down his walls by force to grant myself access to his trauma?

His past was clearly agonizing for him. Maybe he saw me as his opportunity to restart without the weight of those memories?

Mykie was a constant reminder of that history; she was still in the pit of misery that he was emerging from.

But I was new. I didn’t know what was behind that door.

I didn’t know what he’d lost. I hadn’t seen the rage, the pain, the spiraling.

Maybe what he needed was to build himself anew, just like I’d been forced to do when he found me.

We could both start from scratch together.

I could earn his trust. That would be far more satisfying and healthy than mandating disclosures.

I watched the square movement of his shoulders as he walked down the street, head held high in an unbothered air I knew was deceptive.

I won’t make you tell me, Graysen. I promise my love won’t be conditional.

I tried to swallow my guilt as we ate the home-cooked meal he’d prepared ahead of time for me.

Graysen was being kind, asking questions about my first day.

Despite continuing as if nothing was wrong, he looked tired.

He felt so far from me across the cold granite countertop.

More than anything, I wanted to throw myself into his arms and apologize, get things back on course to where they had been going before I’d been so demanding.

But that whiplash wouldn’t be fair to him.

I would apologize, make sure he knew my intentions, and leave it at that before we went to bed, separately.

I would sleep on the couch tonight strictly so it was clear my apology wasn’t a desperate attempt to regain physical connection.

I found myself a blanket while Graysen cleaned the kitchen. I had offered my help, but as usual, he wouldn’t hear it. If taking care of people was his love language, I would let it speak.

As I spread the throw blanket over the couch for myself, Graysen appeared by my side. His expression grew increasingly injured as he observed the makeshift bed I had prepared for the night.

“Graysen.” I took in a steadying breath.

“I’m so sorry. You don’t owe me your past, your secrets, or your thoughts.

I want them because I want you, and those are part of you.

But there are so many other parts that I adore, and I want you to choose which ones you share.

If and when you do let me in, I want it to be on your terms.” My words came out in a rambling purge, but they were raw and honest. I would no longer hold back my affection. He earned it by being himself.

Graysen was silent, his eyes flicking around my face as if reading every word I had left unsaid. I hated that he was still holding back, planning a response based on his perception of my feelings. Gathering information about me so that he can calculate a risk assessment on how to proceed.

When he didn’t respond, I forced an understanding smile despite the tears threatening to well. “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

I clicked off the living room lights, leaving only the faint cast of illumination from the stove.

I needed a good cry, and I couldn’t have that until he left for bed.

I had already slipped my bra out from under my work shirt, figuring the rest was comfortable enough to drift off in.

Now, in the cover of low light, hopefully, he would leave me to my pitiful self-loathing.

I was about to lie on the couch when his deep voice broke through the suffocating silence. “I want you to stop sleeping on the fucking couch.”

“ Excuse me ?” I breathed, surprised by the sudden intensity of his tone.

“You want to know one thing I desire from our dynamic? I want to go to sleep every night beside you. I crave your presence constantly and cannot stand your insistence on staying in the living room.” His voice grew louder, building with passion and some sort of frustration I didn’t understand.