Page 23 of The Spinster & the Sock

My pulse slows to the exact speed of disappointment.

At least a minute passes before I fully wrap my mind around it.

It has worked. Blaze has left—no. Blaze is gone.

Then something swampy surfaces, choking and sputtering on what appears to be a slimy lily pad. Not something, someone. My heart skips a beat. It’s Blaze. He blinks rapidly, brushing pond-goop from his eyes before his other hand shoots victoriously into the air and he announces gleefully: “Look! It’s my lucky sock!”

It’s afternoon when Blaze enters my room, freshly bathed, dressed in a white untucked button-down shirt, and in a remarkably good mood for someone whose best shot at getting home just failed.

“Feel better?” I ask, drawing my knees to my chest and straightening from a reclined position.

“I had to dig pond plants out of my butt crack, so that wasn’t my favorite thing,” Blaze answers with a cheeky grin, and I can’t help but laugh at his lack of dignity. It’s endearing.

“If you don’t mind,” I say, pointing towards a top hat sitting on my dresser, “my father has ordered a whole new wardrobe. I am exchanging services for his old items, and I will resize them to fit you while you’re here. If that hat fits nicely, I will make you a few basic items from scratch to match them—try it on.”

Blaze flashes me an appreciative smile and picks up the top hat, twirling it between his fingers before setting it on his head and posing. “How does it look?”

“Well, for a start, you look like a gentleman.” I admire the man before me, sleeves rolled just above his elbows for God-knows-what-reason, his slightly damp post-bath shirt sticking to his broad chest, and rough cheeks swelling in this wildly beautiful grin that he seems to almost always wear, even in defeat. “Yes,” I nod with a slow gulp. “It’s perfect. I will have the rest of your wardrobe altered in the next few days. I know how attached to socks you are, so the top drawer there has several 1813 suitable options for you.”

Blaze glances through my open door at the newly rescued ‘cock sock’, as he calls it. It droops from the mantle, drying before a roaring fire. “It’s a shame you got rid of the other one. I would feel more myself if I had the set.”

I think of the match which sits in the drawer next to the one I emptied for Blaze’s items and I make my way to it, digging past the piles of scraps until I find it. “Who said I got rid of it?” I tease, revealing the faded yellow sock to the joy of my husband. His brow rises and his jaw falls open.

“Hey! My sock!” He scoffs happily and races to the hearth, retrieving the sad and droopy pond match.

I follow him slowly, holding it hostage behind my back. “It would be a crime to fashion everywhere if you were allowed to keep these,” I coo, trying to ignore the flutter in my belly when he turns to face me, closer than I intended. He stands over me, looking down like a prowling animal ready to claim its prey. My words wobble now, and I try not to laugh. “Offer me one good reason why I should give this back to you.”

Blaze’s smile transforms into a smirk, and he takes another step, trying to reach quickly behind me, an advance I dodge with a giggle. “Because,” he responds, “they’re mine and they make me happy.”

“Fine,” I say now, dangling the sock overhead. “If you want it so badly, come and get it.” With a gleeful screech, I challenge him and then turn to run, tinglingly aware of him thundering after me. The thrill of him chasing me through my loft makes me wonder what it would feel like if he tackles me, like he did coming out of that pond, but onto the bed. Perhaps I am happy he is still here. Is that so bad? He hollers playfully after me, and I think it can’t be.

“Josephine,” he uses my full name, and my heart flutters. It sounds nice when he says it. “I’m not above wrestling a woman!”

My shriek turns into a squeal of delight when he catches up with me, and his strong arm curls about my waist to spin me around. I face him now, mere inches between us.

He is still here, and I am happy about it. My original impressions of him and his effect on my life are dispelling, and I am realizing, to both my joy and horror, that his strange humor and idiotic tendencies come with a certain warmth and security.

Without thinking, I chase the feeling. I didn’t become the town spinster by doing exactly what I was supposed to. Why start now?

I roll onto my tiptoes and sigh a breath of relief against his mouth before claiming it with my own, savoring his taste.

I’m thankful when he doesn’t recoil, doesn’t reject me. Instead? His hand, which grips my wrist, surrenders its conquest for the sock and presses gently to my cheek instead.

He kisses me back.

Sock? What Sock?

Blaze

“I’m not above wrestling a woman!” I call after Jo. Her giggling form slips through the door to her room. I’m only two steps behind her, and she’s out of her mind if she thinks that’s going to stop me from chasing her. I lurch forward and catch her by the waist, whipping her around and reaching for her outstretched hand where she seems to think she can still keep the sock from me. Tunnel vision has me locked in on the sock so hard that I don’t realize how close we are until I feel her breath on my lips.

And then she kisses me.

As soon as her mouth presses onto mine, that damn sock is the last thing I’m thinking about. Instead, I think about how soft her skin is as I cup her face, and how I still have her caught in my embrace, pressed close enough that she’s standing with her feet between mine. She hums with contentment, parting her lips for me and hooking her arms around my neck, one hand idly twisting a lock of my hair.

I can’t take it anymore, and a low grumble escapes me as I step forward, herding her toward her bed. She doesn’t resist. If anything, she pulls me after her as we step again, hungrily licking and sucking at each other’s tongues. She falls back when her knees meet the edge of the mattress, and I tumble after her, careful to keep my full weight supported on one arm, bent above her head. She’s abandoned twirling my hair in favor of burying her whole hand against my skull, denying me an inch to retreat—which is fine by me.

She’s writhing torturously beneath me, arching off the bed to press into me. I slide my palm from her waist down her leg, fisting the silk dress and hiking it up to her bare knee. With a gentle squeeze, I coax her leg up to hook around my hip, then begin sliding my palm up her thigh, relishing her goosebumps as she shivers underneath me.