*This scene is best enjoyed after having read CHERRY PICKED, which you can do HERE.
Jack
Life with Hawk Sunday was never boring.
“Psspss. Tch, tch, tch. Pssspsspsspsspssst.”
It was shortly past sunrise and I was still a little bleary as I followed the strange sounds down the wide, oak staircase and around the corner to our large farmhouse kitchen. The floor was chilly under my feet and though the radiators were dutifully clanking and hissing, there was a distinct draft blowing through the house—enough to make me wish I’d thrown on more than a pair of flannel pajama pants when I’d noticed the empty spot in the bed beside me and gone in search of my missing fiancé.
Most mornings, Hawk was the late riser of the two of us. Not only did he work every bit as hard as I did, especially now that he was taking on a more active role in some environmental initiatives around the Hollow, but my man also had a late-night reading habit to keep up… and he didn’t shirk his duty. Sometimes I’d come home from the diner and find him passed out in our hidden library with a paperback on his chest. More often, a stifled gasp or muffled groan would rouse me from sleep in the wee hours of the morning, and I’d roll over to find him curled beside me in the darkness, reading some brand new Pride and Prejudice variation—Hawk’s drug of choice—on his Kindle with the brightness turned low.
Hawk claimed it was the most satisfying feeling in the world when he could wake in the night, glance out the window at the stars flickering over the dark treetops on our land, cuddle against my warmth, and listen to me snoring softly as he cracked open a story.
Personally, I thought it was much a more satisfying feeling to reach over, haul his lean, naked body against mine, watch him toss his Kindle on the bedside table, and get him to gasp and groan for entirely different reasons.
Also, I did not snore, no matter what Hawk claimed.
But all of that nocturnal reading (and, ahem, not-reading) meant that it was unusual for Hawk to wake before me, and even more unusual for him to drag himself out of our bed before I did, especially on a rare Saturday when neither of us were scheduled to work.
“Baby?” I reached the kitchen and glanced around the cheery space with a frown. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, but the room was cold and Hawk-less.
One of the French doors moved in the breeze and I walked around the island to glance out at the back porch… which was where I found the love of my life sitting cross-legged on the deck, shivering slightly in only a t-shirt and pajama pants, and making strange hissing noises in the direction of the forest.
Well. Okay, then.
I grabbed a striped throw blanket from the little nook where we ate most of our meals, grinning a little as I did so. I’d gone my whole life without seeing the point of shit like throw blankets—if a house was warm enough and a person had adequate clothing, why clutter up a space with useless textiles?
Hawk, on the other hand, claimed they gave the space character. That they’d made our house a home.
Frankly, I thought Hawk was the one who did that, and since the blankets made him happy, I didn’t utter a single word of protest—not even when the silly things began taking over each room of the house, since it seemed every member of the Little Pippin Hookers needed to crochet, knit, or weave something for their precious Hawklet.
And damned if the blankets weren’t occasionally useful. Like when snuggling in front of the television on a Sunday afternoon. Or when your future uncle-in-law dropped by unexpectedly mere moments after you and your very naked partner had finished fucking on the kitchen floor. Or, like now, when the man you loved had awoken in the morning and decided to begin speaking in tongues while courting hypothermia.
I slid out the open door, closing it behind me to keep the warmth inside, and knelt to drape the blanket over Hawk’s shoulders. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Hawk glanced up at me, brown eyes shining in welcome. “There’s coffee in the—”
“Mmhmm. I saw.” I sat behind him, spreading my legs on either side of his body, and pulled him back to wrap my arms around his chest. Still half-asleep, I buried my face in his neck and inhaled deeply, feeling my cock stir. Hawk smelled like clean laundry and the bodywash—my bodywash—I’d used on him in the shower last night. As I nuzzled his ear, I strongly considered beginning our day with porch sex…
At least until a distinctly cold breeze gusted through the trees, skittering leaves and pine needles across the porch, and I dismissed the idea.
“Hawk. Baby. What the hell are we doing out here?” I mumbled into his skin.
Hawk snorted and leaned forward just enough to remove the blanket separating us. With a bit of finagling, he draped the blanket over my shoulders instead, then nestled back into the shelter of my arms with a happy sigh. The feeling of him squirming against me was distracting enough that I almost missed his explanation. “We’re waiting for Potato.”
“For…”
“Potato,” Hawk repeated. He pointed to a small ceramic bowl a couple of feet away, which seemed to have been freshly filled with cat treats. “I got him his favorite Greenies. He always comes when I have Greenies. And I’ve been psp-psp-psp-ing at him for five minutes.”
“Ohhh. Right.” I’d always known Hawk was an animal lover, but I hadn’t realized just how deep the love affair went until we lived together. He didn’t just enjoy his family’s pets or livestock, he loved all kinds of animals–even the beady-eyed, acorn collecting, trash-picking, garden destroying kind. But he really, really loved the stray cats that roamed the area, and had even tried to lure them inside when the weather started getting chilly, probably to make sure each one had an adequate supply of throw blankets.
Unfortunately, the closest he’d come after several weeks of effort was getting one cat—a tiny fluff-monster with bi-colored eyes and russet-brown fur that Hawk had named Potato—to eat treats from a bowl on the porch and consent to be petted. Ordinarily I wouldn’t care much about this, not being much of a pet-person, but I knew Hawk cared a lot.
“Maybe Potato’s sleeping in,” I offered. “It’s Saturday, after all.”
Hawk shook his head, worry in his voice. “He hasn’t come in days, maybe even a week, and last time he was here, he seemed… off.”
“He’s a stray cat, babe. Who the heck knows what kind of health problems he, ah…” I broke off with a wince. The last thing I wanted was for Hawk to torture himself thinking of what might have befallen his feral friend. “I mean… he was probably adopted,” I declared. “By the family that bought the house over on Chicory.” I hooked a thumb down the mountain in the direction of town. “You know, I bet that’s exactly what happened. I bet he’s playing with their kids right now.”
Hawk turned his head to give me a withering look that said he knew exactly what I was doing. His lips twitched with amusement. “Golly gee, Jack, do you think so? Or maybe he and the Muellers’ dog have stowed away on a train and are headed out west for a big adventure!” He rolled his eyes. “Maybe with little hobo sticks on their shoulders?”
“Shush,” I grumbled, poking his ribs lightly to make him squirm. “I’d rather think of him that way than have either of us assume the worst.” I paused for a moment. “Though personally I’m voting no hobo sticks, given that Potato lacks opposable thumbs.”
He let out a burst of startled laughter, but a moment later, the laughter ended in a sigh. He pulled my arms more tightly around him. “I know you’re right. You are. But I can’t help worrying. And there’s a part of me that just wants to know, you know? It’s really rough feeling like the one who’s always…” He swallowed. “Left behind.”
“Ah.” I propped my chin on his shoulder. “We’re not actually talking about Potato, are we?”
“We are!” he protested. Another sigh. “Partly.”
“No word from Reed, I’m guessing?”
Hawk shook his head. “Gage texted. I left him a message. Luke DM’d him on Instagram. Drew sent him an email. Even Porter called to ask him some advice about a literature professor at school he’s got a problem with. And I know it’s not super unusual for Reed to go radio silent, sometimes for a lot longer than two weeks. I know he travels constantly and his work keeps him hopping doing…” He turned his head and wrinkled his nose. “What do think-tanks do exactly?”
I shrugged.
“Anyway, I’m sure he’s fine. But it was nice having him home for a while there, and I… I miss him.” Hawk’s shoulders slumped. “A lot.”
“Uh huh. And?” I prompted.
“And…” Hawk sighed. “I miss Crys. She was a good friend. And I knew she didn’t plan to stay in the Hollow forever, but she left really abruptly.” He glanced up at me, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “She didn’t even give you two weeks’ notice at the diner.”
I stroked a hand down his forearm beneath our shared blanket. “I appreciate your loyalty, baby, but I’m not upset. Shit happens, and we made things work. Van and Ernie at the Bugle, though, they were way worse off. Crys and that other kid quit right around the same time—”
“Other-Chris,” he supplied.
“Right. Him. And Van and Ernie were down two barbacks at once.”
“Yeah.” Hawk was silent for a moment. “And did you hear Mrs. Nordwick from the Hookers is moving in with her sister in Portsmouth? And Alan Tracey got a job down in Worcester, so he’s leaving too, which means he won’t be able to play Santa in the kids’ play in December and they might have to cancel it? I dunno.” He thumped his fist lightly into my knee. “Change sucks, that’s all.”
Christ. Even after months with Hawk in my life and in my bed, after weeks with my ring on his finger, there were moments when my feelings for this sweet man simply swamped me. He was the kindest, purest soul I’d ever met; a person who cared about not only every square centimeter of Little Pippin Hollow, but every being—whether crotchety human or feral cat—who lived here.
“Sometimes change does suck,” I agreed gently. “Sometimes when relationships change, it means you’re pulled away from the people and places you love, and that’s hard. But I’d argue that sometimes it’s necessary. Things have to change so you can find the life, the love, that’s meant for you. Sometimes change is a good thing, baby.”
I bit his shoulder lightly and felt his body come alive, primal need and deep affection arcing like electric currents between us as they always had… or, at least, as they had since I’d pulled my head out of my ass last summer and recognized the beauty in front of me for what it was.
“Welllll, when you put it that way…” Hawk arched his neck, giving me better access to lick over the place I’d bitten. “I suppose there are certain changes I approve of,” he conceded. He twisted in my arms and wrapped his arms around my neck. “For example, last year, I wouldn’t have been able to do this.” He pressed a soft kiss to my jaw.
“Mmm. So true. And last year I wouldn’t have been able to do this.” I nipped at his lower lip, and when he opened his mouth on a gasp, I cupped his jaw in my hand and tilted his head back to kiss him deeply, savoring the sweet-tart flavor of his moan on my tongue.
When Hawk pulled back, his eyes were glazed and his hands were tangled in my hair. “You make…” He sucked in a shuddery breath. “A compelling argument.”
I laughed. “Very open-minded of you,” I said solemnly, “to admit that you were wrong.”
“Hey! I didn’t say wrong.” He shifted further so he was straddling me. “Just that I’m willing to be convinced that change is good.” His hard cock rubbed against my stomach and he groaned. “Preferably someplace warmer. Preferably now.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
Hawk
“And then she fell from the horse, hit her head, and woke up with amnesia—”
“Hold up,” Jack said from behind me. “Elizabeth Bennet fell from her horse—the spirited thoroughbred she’d insisted on buying because she’s a talented equestrian, with the money that she inherited because she’s secretly a nobleman’s daughter—and got amnesia? Baby, how long is this book?”
I stifled a laugh as I clomped down the narrow trail in the forest behind our house, with Jack on my heels. The sun was warm enough that I’d stripped off my windbreaker on the way up the trail an hour ago, and although the weather forecasters claimed we were in for a cold and snowy November, there was no sign of it on this October day. The air was autumn-crisp, the trees had donned their most colorful leaf-peeping ‘fits, I was feeling pleasantly sore after spending the morning doing dirty things with my fiancé on the hardwood floor and the afternoon hiking—two of my favorite activities ever—and since Jack and I both had the day off, I was looking forward to an extended round two when we got home… in approximately five more minutes.
In short, life was perfect. Perfectly perfect. The kind of perfect that I would never, ever want to change because, no matter what Jack said, change almost always equaled awful.
I gave Jack a teasing glance over my shoulder. “I haven’t even told you about the pirates yet.”
He shook his head, disgusted. “Poor Lizzie. And where was Darcy when all of this bullshit was happening? Don’t tell me—off somewhere brooding about something, and practicing his inscrutable look for when he comes in at the eleventh hour to save the day.”
I stopped short and turned around, arms folded over my chest. “You will not,” I said in my most threatening voice—which, unfortunately, was not very threatening, especially when I was talking to the man I’d been in love with for the better part of a decade, “talk about Fitzwilliam Darcy in that dismissive tone, Jack Davidson Wyatt.”
Jack let out a long, low whistle. “Wow. Middle-naming and last-naming me. Serious stuff.”
“It is.” I lifted my chin. “I have come to feel fond acceptance for your football-watching obsession, Jack. I have even learned to love your snoring—”
“I do not—”
“But this is a bridge too far,” I said. I was mostly—only mostly—teasing, and the look in Jack’s eyes said he knew it… and found it all kinds of adorable… which was the best feeling in the world. “Since it’s a lovely day and I’m feeling magnanimous, however, I’ll accept your apology.” I rolled my hand in a get on with it gesture.
“Magnanimous,” Jack repeated slowly, testing the weight of the word on his tongue. He stepped closer, so his chest bumped against my folded arms, and he grasped my hips. “That’s quite the vocabulary word. And here I thought I sucked your brains out through your dick mere hours ago, Henry Hawkins Sunday—”
My face went hot as flashfire memories of this morning seared my brain, which made it a little hard to come up with a witty retort… But it didn’t seem to matter anyway, since Jack’s eyes were busy scanning the area and his face wore a faraway, distracted expression.
“What?” I demanded, unfolding my arms so I could look around also, but I saw nothing except forest.
Jack shook his head, his gaze focused on me again. “Nothing,” he said, though the tiny frown between his eyebrows belied his words. “What was I saying?”
“You were apologizing for your thoughtless words about our lord and savior Fitzwilliam Darcy,” I reminded him. “At least, you’d gotten to the part where you said Henry Hawkins Sunday, and I’m almost positive the abject apology part was forthcoming.”
He laughed. “Henry. Hawkins. Sunday,” he repeated, like each word filled him with delight. He slid his hands down my arms and laced our fingers together, then lifted my left so he could run his thumb over the shiny gold engagement band there. He tilted his head. “Have you considered what you want to do when we get married?”
“Do?” I blinked. “What do you mean, do? If you’re trying to distract me, Jack—”
“I meant with our names. Like, you could go with Henry Hawkins Sunday-Wyatt. Or Wyatt-Sunday. Or just Sunday. Or just Wyatt.” Startlingly blue eyes met mine. “I don’t care what you choose, but I’d like to share a name with you, I think.”
I tried to suck in oxygen, but my lungs had forgotten how breathing worked and I ended up making a series of short gasping sounds. If Jack was trying to get out of apologizing… he was absolutely succeeding.
Total, unmitigated success.
“I mean, only if you’re into it.” He shrugged offhandedly, like it didn’t matter to him one way or another, though I was pretty sure this was a lie.
“You’d… become a Sunday?” I managed to whisper. “Really?”
“Of course.” His eyebrows rose. “Is that what you want?”
“I… yeah. Yes.” I couldn’t have stopped my smile if I tried. “I mean, let’s think about it for a minute and make sure, but… I want to share a name with you, too. I want to share everything.”
He grinned. “Good.” He wrapped our joined hands behind my back, pulled me against his chest, and lowered his mouth to mine…
Then stopped.
“Do you hear that?” he whispered against my lips. The frown was back on his face.
I paused and listened, then shook my head. “Nope.”
“I’d swear it was coming from over—” He lifted his head. “There. Hear it?”
If I strained my ears, I could just barely hear a faint, high-pitched noise. A bird call maybe. Or an animal.
“Do you think something got hurt?” I wondered, suddenly worried. “Come on, let’s look.”
I tugged Jack along the path toward home, stopping every so often to listen for the noise. Eventually, when we were so close to our house that I could see the chimney through the gaps in the trees, the sound became a bit louder. Closer.
Jack and I exchanged a look, then he moved left into the underbrush, his heavy boots clearing a path through the ferns and his strong arms helping me over a fallen log, until finally we saw what we’d been looking for. Under the low branches of a pine tree sat an ancient wooden crate tipped on its side, and inside the crate was…
“Potato!” I cried softly. “Oh! Oh, wow. Look, Jack, he—”
“She,” Jack corrected, staring at the cat… and the four tiny, brown-and-white kittens crawling around her. “Definitely a she.”
“I don’t want to get too close and spook her right now, but we need to bring things for them,” I decided. “Food. And water. And something to keep them warm—”
Jack darted a look at me. “I know where we can find a blanket or two.”
“—and if Potato will let us, we should try to take her and the babies home with us, at least for the winter. I think we should call them Jane, Lizzy, Mary, and Lydia,” I said seriously. “Not Kitty because that would be too on the nose.”
“Are you being—?” He gaped at me. “Five cats, Hawk. One, two, three, four, five. You want us to take in five cats.” He shook his head. “Baby, I’m not sure if I’ve ever explained to you that the reason I never had a pet of my own is because I’m not much of a pet guy—”
“Or maybe you didn’t used to be a pet guy?” I suggested, biting my lip.
He narrowed his eyes. “This is going to be like the throw blanket situation, isn’t it? You say, ‘Jack, you don’t mind if I get one or two little cats for the back of the sofa, do you?’ And I say, ‘Hawk, this is your home. You don’t need permission.’ And suddenly, there are multiple cats in every room, draped on every chair and bed—”
I rocked up on the balls of my feet. “But you admitted that the blankets came in handy, remember? That time you wanted to try countertop sex, and Uncle Drew stopped by to surprise us with a pumpkin flax loaf, you pulled the plaid one around me like a kilt and I think Drew really believed I was wearing it on purpose—”
Jack snorted. “No, sweetheart. He really didn’t.”
“Would you consider it, at least?” I pleaded. “I won’t insist, if you’re really against it, obviously. And we don’t know if Potato will even be happy with us, if she’s not socialized, and we’d need to get a vet involved, but I’ve always wanted a cat. Or… five cats.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Hawk. That would be quite a… change.”
“It would,” I agreed with a sigh. “I know. But—”
“And my fiancé tells me change sucks, so…”
I looked up and caught the teasing glint in his eyes. “Oh my god. You’re still trying to get me to admit I was wrong, huh?”
Jack shrugged, unrepentant, and grinned broadly. “Hawk, you wound me–”
I cupped his gorgeous face in both of my palms, running my thumbs over the stubble there. Nothing in the entire world had ever made me as happy as I was every single minute I was with this man, and I knew nothing ever would. So I lifted up on my toes and kissed him gently… and then not-so-gently because my fiancé was seriously fucking hot and I couldn’t help myself.
“Fine. Fine,” I admitted breathlessly, several minutes later. “Sometimes change doesn’t suck. Sometimes it’s totally and completely necessary. Sometimes it brings you all the things you wanted and didn’t think you could ever have.”
Like a new home. A new name. A new purpose. And love. Always love.
“So now will you think about becoming a pet guy?” I demanded.
Jack grinned and traced one blunt fingertip over my cheek. “Pretty sure I don’t have to be a pet guy, ’cause I’m already a full-on Hawk guy.” He rolled his eyes. “We can keep the damn cats.”
I threw my arms around him exuberantly. “You’re gonna love them,” I promised. “Eventually.”
His big arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight. “I’m gonna love you, Hawk Sunday,” he whispered in my ear, his voice strong, his promise unwavering. “And that’s something that’s never going to change.”