Page 29

MYRA

“Wow.” I walk in the back door of my house, shocked yet again at how much Simon’s accomplished while I was at work.

He’s spent nearly every waking minute here—finishing the drywall, priming and painting, adding trim to the windows and thick crown molding around the ceilings.

His plan for today was to start laying down the reclaimed hardwood Christian took out of an old Victorian some dingbat with more money than sense wanted to modernize.

I assumed it would be a multi-day project, but Simon’s basically got the front room and family room finished.

And it appears a little has even crept into the entryway.

He straightens, looking sexy as hell with sawdust clinging to his jeans, messy hair, and a T-shirt with a hole at the hem. “What do you think? Still like the color? Because we can sand it down and refinish it if you want something different.”

A pang of something vicious stabs through my insides.

A violent penchant I didn’t know I was capable of until I started getting to know Simon and learned about the people who’d hurt him in his past. He’s the most giving, kind, selfless person I think I’ve ever known, and I can imagine how easily he could be taken advantage of. Unappreciated.

Used.

I’d very much like the opportunity to meet with everyone who’s done any of those things, starting—and maybe ending—with his dad and Lenore.

“I love it.” I’m being truthful, but I’m also hoping to show him my appreciation. It’s not one of my strengths. Not because I don’t want to do it, but because I haven’t had much of an opportunity.

Not until Simon. Now I’m getting a crash course.

“Yeah?” The smile he gives me is wide and has a hopeful edge. “You sure?”

“I’m positive.” I slide my bags onto the counter before walking to where he stands so I can look over everything he’s accomplished. “I can’t believe you got so much done.” I smile up at him. “You must have been going non-stop today.”

Simon shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal that he’s been working his ass off on my house every day.

And dishing out mind-numbing orgasms every night.

The man works hard at everything he does. Laying flooring, making us dinner, playing on stage—Simon gives it his all. And that for sure carries over into the bedroom.

At least in all the ways I’m aware of.

Unfortunately, even after sharing my bed for nearly a week, Simon hasn’t come close to fully sealing this deal between us. And I’ve been too chicken to ask for it.

That’s likely why I haven’t been given the opportunity to take on that monster of his. I appreciate that consent and enthusiastic participation is a non-negotiable for him, but it makes things tricky when you don’t really know how to ask for what you want.

When you’ve been taught that asking makes you bad.

I make a show of looking over everything he’s done, taking in the pretty pale blue paint we picked out, and the slightly elevated design of the crown molding.

“It all flows together perfectly.” I turn to the man beside me—the one I’m starting to realize might have a little bit of a praise kink he’d likely never admit to.

“I’m surprised Christian doesn’t try to get you to come work with him when you’re home visiting. ”

My compliment has the desired effect, and Simon’s shoulders push back just the tiniest bit. “He knows there’s no way in hell I would ever work for him.”

I laugh as I step a little closer. Normally by Saturday evening, I’m exhausted from working all week.

Knowing I have someone to come home to—even if it’s just for a little while—has really taken the edge off that a surprising amount.

“Then I am extra appreciative you’re willing to do all this work for me. ”

Simon’s expression is soft as he looks down at me. One hand comes up to smooth back my work-frizzed hair. “I will do anything you ask me to, My.”

I pinch my lower lip between my teeth, hoping he really means that. Because what I want from him is a big ask. I know that.

To be fair, what he wants from me might be even bigger.

And while an actual relationship with Simon was terrifying to me when he first proposed it, I’m starting to come around to the idea.

But coming around to the idea and genuinely being able to open up and trust another person enough to be together are two totally different things.

And I’m scared I’ve been through too much to be able to let that happen.

Closing the last bit of space between us, I wrap my arms around Simon’s waist, resting my cheek against the center of his chest. It’s weird that he’s sort of the one stressing me out, but also the one I go to for comfort when worry and fear starts making me spiral.

I can’t explain why it happens, just that it does.

“Thank you for working so hard to get all of this finished.” It’s important to me that Simon understands how much I appreciate him, because I know that hasn’t been the case for him throughout most of his life.

I also know what it’s like to do so much and get so little, and I never want him to feel like things are unbalanced between us.

Even though I’m pretty sure they are, and the bing of my oven timer proves it.

I lean my head back, peering up at him. “You don’t have to make dinner every night.”

Simon gives me a grin. “You’ve been around me enough to know patience isn’t high on my list of qualities.

I have zero interest in waiting for some stranger to bring me food when I’m starving.

” He leans down, pressing a kiss to the center of my forehead.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, and then we can eat. ”

“You’re a stubborn man, you know that?” I unwind my arms from his body, missing his warmth as I step back. “But you’re also a really good cook, so I don’t hate your stubbornness as much as I should.”

Again, my sneaky compliment lands exactly how I hope it will, and Simon’s chin lifts.

“Good. You’re going to have to learn to live with it, because I don’t think it’s going anywhere.

” Simon backs down the hall toward the entryway.

“Give me five minutes.” He turns when he reaches the stairs, disappearing from view as his heavy footsteps echo through my house.

I’ve spent the past six months living in near silence, and I thought having someone else here would be jarring. But I didn’t realize how lonely I was feeling until I was no longer alone.

During my marriage, being by myself was the goal. I looked for any opportunity I could find to get away from Matthias and the demands he was constantly putting on me.

But being alone when there’s someone like Simon who could be keeping me company is way less appealing.

Since I want Simon to enjoy our time together as much as I do—agree to my end of this bargain we’ve made—I go to the kitchen to figure out what he’s made for dinner and what I can do to finish getting it ready.

Opening the oven, I discover a casserole dish filled with something that looks an awful lot like enchiladas.

They’re bubbly and cheesy and they smell so freaking delicious, my stomach growls the whole time I’m assembling the toppings I find in the fridge.

Again, Simon made a trip to the grocery store while I was at work this week, so I dig out the container of sour cream, a leafy bunch of cilantro, and a container of fresh salsa.

After chopping up the cilantro, I pull the lid off the salsa and fish out a bag of tortilla chips.

I’m just pouring him a tall glass of the sweet tea I’ve discovered he loves, when Simon rushes into the room. His dark eyes scan the spread I’ve laid out and he immediately angles a brow my way. “I was going to do all that.”

I give him a sweet smile. “And now you don’t have to.” I pick up his plate and scoop out a healthy serving of beef-filled tortillas and sauce. “You worked really hard today. The least I can do is put the finishing touches on the dinner you also made.”

Simon’s lips flatten out, but I don’t miss the hint of a smile that tries to sneak in before he stops it. He’s an acts-of-service guy—anyone with eyes could see that. I’m not sure what I am, but I’m definitely not a person who would ever take advantage of someone they care about.

After piling up his enchiladas, I sprinkle on some cilantro, add a dollop of sour cream, and hand the plate over.

I go through the same process for my own serving, then round the island to slide onto one of the stools Simon claims Christian removed from a house he’d been hired to demo.

They look suspiciously unused, so I’m not convinced he’s telling the truth, but Simon’s done so much for me that it felt asshole-ish to argue over something so trivial.

Especially since I still want more from him. And a baby is a big more .

Like usual, Simon waits for me to take the first bite, his dark eyes watching my reaction as I scoop in a mouthful of deliciousness. I don’t have to fake or embellish my reaction at all. I never do when it comes to the meals he makes for us. “This is so freaking good.”

“Better than ordering?” Simon is still watching me, like it makes him happy to witness my enjoyment.

“Way better.” I work on severing another bite with the side of my fork. “I just feel bad that you’re working on my house all day and going to the grocery and making dinner.”

That’s the most frustrating part about all of this. Simon has only really asked me for one thing, and it’s the one thing I’m not sure I can give him. I’ve tried to find other avenues to return all the favors he’s doing me, but I keep coming up empty.

And that includes our time in the bedroom.

I’ve still only gotten Simon off once, and it was that night in the shower almost a week ago.

If I didn’t already know what I was fed growing up was bullshit, his behavior would have absolutely convinced me men are significantly more in control of their bodies and needs than I was led to believe.

Never once has Simon pressured me into anything.

Not a single time did he act like he was dying due to an unmitigated erection.

If anything, his reassurances that he doesn’t need to get off have made me a little. ..

Insecure.

I know I’m not as thin as I once was, and I like that.

I like the idea of having a body that is nourished and loved and appreciated just as it is.

But after so long of being so ashamed of so many parts of it, that’s a tough point to get to.

Simon’s ability to resist his baser urges only digs those insecurities deeper. Which is stupid.

And a little sad.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asks.

He already knows me well enough he can sense the shifts in my mood. Can tell when I start getting caught in a spiral of self-doubt. Or overthinking.

Unfortunately, he also knows me well enough to identify when I try to feed him a fib about the reasons.

And maybe tonight that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe I need to tackle this struggle I’ve got head on. Because if Simon doesn’t want me—sexually speaking—it’s going to be real difficult for me to get the baby I want.

Setting down my fork, I turn, twisting the pivoting seat until I’m facing his side. “Do you want me?”

Simon stops chewing the mouthful of food he just shoveled in and quickly swallows it down. “What?”

Having to clarify what I mean makes my stomach twist with nerves, so it takes me a second. When I do manage to get words out, I start by repeating myself. “Do you want me?” After taking in a quick breath, I specify, “sexually.”

Simon stares at me, looking a little like a deer caught in the headlights. Like I just said the last thing he expected, and he has no clue how to respond.

Running my slightly sweaty palms down the front of the black jeans I wore to work, I slide my tongue over my lips, trying to remedy the sudden dryness of my mouth.

“It’s just been a few days in a row of you taking care of me, and not letting me take care of you, and I’m starting to worry that maybe you don’t want me taking care of you because.

..” Somehow I manage to put my eyes on his. “Because you don’t want me.”

Simon’s dark gaze stays on mine for a few seconds before slowly drifting down my body. “I don’t think you’re prepared to hear how much I want you, My.”

The twist in my belly shatters, splitting off into a thousand butterflies. I swallow hard, trying to calm them down. “Then why won’t you let me touch you back?”

After setting down his own fork, Simon slowly turns to me, his chair swiveling until our knees touch, his bracketing the outside of mine. “Because I know where you’ve been.”

I get what he’s saying, but I’m so tired of my past. I know it will probably always control my thoughts and my actions on some level, but I don’t want it to have a featuring role in my life. Not anymore.

“What about where I’m going?” I manage another shaky breath.

“You’re always making plans and thinking about the future.

What you want and how to get there.” I rest my hands on his thighs, leaning forward, hoping he hears how truthful I am when I say, “That’s what I want to do.

I’m tired of living in the past. I want to plan for my future.

” When Simon’s eyes drop, I try to regain his focus, leaning forward more as I slide my hands higher so I can maintain my balance.

“And I may not know exactly what I can offer you yet, but I do know whatever it is can’t be one-sided.

Even if it’s to my benefit.” I hold my breath, waiting for his reply.

When Simon remains silent, my hope dips. I don’t want to be in another skewed sexual situation. I don’t want?—

I look a little more closely at Simon’s eyes and notice he’s not simply avoiding mine. He’s looking somewhere very specific.

He’s looking at my hands. Staring at where they rest right at his upper thighs. Very, very close to the part of him he’s worked hard to keep away from me outside of the little meet-and-greet I had with it in the shower.

And it is well beyond time for another get together.

I watch Simon, excitement amping up as his gaze stays fused while I move my hands higher, slowly bringing them to the front of his jeans. I flip the button free and pinch the zipper tab between my fingers, slowly raking it down.

“ My .” There’s a hint of warning in his tone, but I don’t think it’s for me.

If it is, he’s going to have to get over it. Because I might not know what I am, but I know what I’m not.

And I’m not the kind of girl who is okay with only taking.

I want to give too.