“Y-you can’t love me. We just met. It doesn’t happen like that.”
“You can’t tell me how I feel, baby,” he countered softly. “And if you want to stand there and claim that you don’t love me, too, then you’re in denial.” He tilted his head, lowered his voice. Gentled it. “You love me, Cherrie. And that scares the shit out of you.”
“No,” she murmured. Then more adamantly, “No, Maddox.” She lifted her hands between them, palms out. “Just because you say it doesn’t make it so. This is what I didn’t want. If I’m scared of anything, it’s this. I shouldn’t have let this go on. Let this happen.”
“Let what happen?” he growled. “Like I said on that hill two weeks ago, this was inevitable. You lost control of your health, of your life months ago. And now you’re so determined to regulate everything. Your diet, your lifestyle, your body. Well, some things don’t work like that. When life, fate, God, or whatever you believe in offers you a thing of beauty and faith, you don’t analyze it to death. You don’t question the hows or whys. You just leap. I’m asking you to leap with me, Cherrie. I swear I will never let you fall.”
“You think you’ll be there,” she rasped, a tear slipping down her cheek. “And I believe with all my heart that you want to be. But Maddox, you didn’t want the life your mother led. It’s why you settled here. You need a woman who will be here by your side day after day. Who you can make a home with. Like you said, someone you can wake up to. I am not her. I can’t be. I’ve tried being someone I’m not for another person, and it only ended in pain and disillusionment. You’ll only end up resenting me like Kenneth did.”
“Don’t compare me to that asshole. Would I love to have you here every day instead of on the road several weeks out of a month? Yes. That’s because I want to hoard every minute, every second I can spend with you. But it’s not the amount of time we spend together, it’s the quality of the time. It’s what we do with it. Baby.” He reached for her, but at the last minute, curled his fingers into his palm and lowered his arms, desperate to touch her, but not without her permission. “Your happiness, your success, your peace is more important to me than coffee together. I’ll take those weeks, days. I’ll build you a workshop behind the house. Or we can lease a shop in town. Whatever you need. Whatever brings you back to me. Let me be your home base.”
“I can’t.” She backed away from him, her face twisted in such pain that he nearly rocked back on his heels. “Don’t you get it? I can’t. Kenneth said he loved me, but he ended up despising my job, despising me. I got over that. But if you... Maddox, if one day I saw that same look on your face, I wouldn’t get over it. I don’t know if I could survive that. So maybe I am scared or a coward. But at least now, you don’t hate me for not giving you what I can’t. For being who I’m not. I’ll take that, Maddox. It’s not much, but I’ll take it.”
She turned, pushing out the storm door and onto the porch. For a moment, Maddox stared, frozen to the floor. But then he charged after her, his heart pried open, pain a living, breathing entity in his body. And still, he couldn’t let her leave like that.
“Cherrie.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice thick with the tears she hadn’t shed.
He didn’t reply, just enclosed her in his arms, and on a sob, she turned, burrowing against him. For several minutes, he held her. Imprinting the feel of her against his body. Branding her lavender and vanilla scent in his memory.
“I could never hate you,” he murmured. “Never.”
With that, he released her and stepped back. Cherrie didn’t move, standing there with her head bowed, her thick curls hiding her face from him. But eventually, she lifted her head, met his gaze.
“I’ll miss you.” She brushed her fingertips over his jaw. “Goodbye, Maddox.”
He should’ve gone back in the house, but call him a masochist, he remained on the porch, watching as she climbed into the RV. Waiting as the sound of the ignition turned over. Staring as she carefully turned the vehicle around in his huge yard and pulled away down the driveway. Only when she hit the edge of his property did he turn around.
But then a car door slammed.
“Maddox!”
He spun around, and his heart stopped. Then kicked into high gear, revving like the engine on his beloved bike.
Cherrie ran toward him across his lawn. Full out. Like the devil pursued her.
He would’ve charged down the porch steps. Would’ve met her halfway. But once more, he was paralyzed. Only his heart and lungs worked, both pumping to keep him standing.
But when she dashed up the steps and crashed into him, leaping and wrapping him in her arms and legs, his body snapped back online. He locked his arms around her, crushing her. Part of his brain nagged that he might want to ease up his vise grip on her so she could breathe, but he couldn’t. And she didn’t complain. Which was good. Because again, he couldn’t let her go.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” she chanted, breathless, scattering frantic kisses over his mouth, jaw, cheek, temple. “Jesus, I almost left you. I can’t leave you. I need you. I love you.”
Maddox laughed, joy pouring out of him. Joy and love. So much love for this woman.
“I was scared,” she said, cradling his face between her palms. “Hell, I’m still scared. But I’d rather face that fear here with you, us conquering it together, than be alone without you. I believe in you. I believe in your faith in us. And I’ll get there. I’ll get over my fear. Because God, I love you, Maddox Holt. I want you to be my home base.”
He took her mouth in a kiss, thrusting between her lips and claiming those words off her tongue. She gave him her all, holding back nothing from him. Offering him her honesty, her fears, her trust and most of all, her love.
And he would make sure she never had cause to regret it.
“You’re my heart, so I think it’s only fair that I’m your home.”
“No, Maddox,” she whispered, brushing a kiss over his lips. “You’re everything.”
* * *
ISBN-13: 9780369702623
Slow Dance at Rose Bend
Copyright © 2020 2021 by Naima Simone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.