Page 83 of Reins

As we walk up the short steps of the porch, I pause her at the door. “Ros? I want a redo.” It’s been eating at me since this morning when I saw her falling in on herself. “This isn’t your home or mine. It’s ours.” I tug her closer, wrapping my hand around the small of her back. “I don’t want you to sleep in the guest room. I want you by my side every night.”

She raises onto her tip toes, leveling her nose with mine. “I’d like that too.” Her arms slip hesitantly around my neck as she searches my expression.

Then those big blue eyes flutter closed to softly brush my mouth with hers.

This can be as far as we ever get and I can say I’ve lived the perfect life. Feeling her give in to her impulse, her body molding against mine, this is the definition of winning.

She drops back to her heels, another flush of red glowing beneath her skin. “I can see why people enjoy that.” Her tongue darts out over her smile to leave a glistening trail over her healed wound.

I’m a man reborn with a new purpose. My sole existence is to keep that contented lift to her lips.

“It’s dessert before our meal.” I grin down at her and lower my palm to pat her hip. “Let’s go inside and eat before our food gets cold.” I won’t give in to my own urges to push her for more.

Tonight was a huge step we both need to adjust to.

I know her well enough that it takes her time to get used to anything new. It could take weeks or months until she’s comfortable with anything more than a kiss. And knowing even a tiny percentage of the trauma she grew up with, I can’t pretend to predict how she’ll react.

She deserves my patience. I can wait.

Setting the wrapped boxes on the table, she stands nearby, wringing her fingers together while chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Ros? What’s going on?” I stop to focus on her, seeing the anxieties warring within her.

“I don’t know where the plates are to set the table.” Her gaze flicks from me to the cabinets with the glaze of worry I’m starting to recognize.

I know better than to tell her to ignore it. “We don’t need them tonight but I’ll show you.” I hold out my palm for her to take.

The relief in her shoulders is instantaneous as she moves next to me.

I open every cabinet and every drawer, showing her where all the dishes, spices, and utensils hide. “You can rearrange this however you want.” I assure her. “Let’s look in the pantry, too.” I’m kicking myself for not doing this earlier.

She’s been raised to follow a strict set of rules. I wish I had a cheat sheet on knowing which ones will send her into a spiral when she falters.

“There’s a little step-stool here inside.” I flip on the light to show the mostly empty shelves. “We didn’t make it to the store tonight, so we can work on a pick-up order for tomorrow. How does that sound?”

“Easier,” she sighs. “Is it like ordering the clothes from the computer?”

“Exactly like that. We’ll get you a phone and your own laptop this week so you can buy whatever you want.” I manage to get her back to the table.

When she sits, I frame her knees with mine. “Ros, I have an idea that I think will help you in the long term.”

The corner of her mouth drops in a tiny frown as she stares at where our legs touch. “Okay?”

“There’s a therapist here who specializes in trauma. She’s taught me a lot about how to process the grief…and guilt.” I let out a ragged breath. I’ve agonized for years over something that wasn’t my fault.

“Am I that messed up?” She pinches her mouth into a taut line while picking at the skin at the corner of her nail.

Damn it, maybe I should have waited to bring this up? Covering her hands, I cup them between mine. “You’ve been in survival mode, which has forced you to hide your tender, beautiful soul.” Bringing her fingers up, I touch the tips to my lips. “I want you to be comfortable enough to own it. She might be able to help you in ways I don’t know how.”

Her legs tremble between mine. “Do I have to?”

“No, you always have a choice.” I let her hands loose and move my knee to give her space, then start opening our luke-warm meals. “Just think about it. I want to give you every tool I have to help you heal.”

She picks up a soggy french fry and chews while her other hand drifts to rest on my thigh. “Thank you,” she whispers after a few moments. “I know I’m pretty fucked up.”

My jaw clenches in the frustration that seeps into my bones every time she drags herself down. Standing, I pick up my empty container and carry it to the trash, then grab a cold beer from my stash in the fridge. “Come here.” I motion her to follow me to the couch where I sit heavily into the thick cushions.

She hovers near me, hesitating.