Page 29 of Sterling Touch
I take the bear from him, smile into its soft head, and walk it over to Amelia who smiles in appreciation.
After a quick check on the boys, I remind Hudson to power off his phone and shower. I have a no-electronics-in-bed rule. Atticus groans before reluctantly turning off his.
Once I leave Hudson’s room, I’m approaching mine when I hear a knocking sound. I pause a beat, thinking I’ve misheard the light hammering noise. When the rapping occurs again, there’s no mistaking that someone is at the front door.
Certain it’s Henry, I rush down the staircase ready to rip into him.What a thoughtless father.
Making it down the stairs in record time, I open the front door with a flourish.
“You have some— Cort?”
13
[Cort]
It’s been a helluva week. On Wednesday, I missed my massage therapy session due to a roofing crisis over in Huntington. I was able to reschedule my appointment for Thursday but was assigned to someone other than Vale.
I walked out.
Thursday night, Vale was not in her typical spot at Milton Roadhouse, and within thirty minutes I’d realized I’d reached stalker level tendencies, waiting on her appearance like a Tennessee Terrors fan hoping for a glimpse of his favorite player.
However, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the woman after our interaction at the Sylver Seed & Soil last weekend.
The way Vale was glaring at those innocent bee smokers. The way she eventually looked at me, all teasing and playful.Her face softening at the mention of my mom who was devastated when Stone and I fell out.
At one point during our interaction, I’d lost Vale a second. Something dark and worrisome came over her face, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what I’d said to cause the shift. Cause her sudden turning away from me, glaring back at those tin canisters like they’d offended her.
Deep down, I knew it’d been me somehow, and the anxiety was eating me up.
I wasn’t a man who over-processed a look or overanalyzed a sentence, but I was second guessing everything with Vale.
Like why I felt the need to touch her in some small way after every massage. Just run my hands over her fingers or caress her skin, like some weak token of my appreciation. My gratitude for her touch. The comfort of her hands on me has been both confounding and titillating, igniting an unexplained but not unwelcome craving for more connection with her.
Earlier, I’d been at a small Italian bistro in Rogue River, seated at the bar, eating alone, when I saw Henry Stanton on a date, and it just pissed me off. Like, how is it that bastard was entertaining a woman, and I was eating alone in public, which I typically hate to do. However, I hadn’t been ready to go home, alone, and face my empty house on a Friday night after this shitty week.
Afterward, I drove over to Randy’s Bar, the dive located between the two towns. Making an appearance in his uniform, Stone entered, sending a signal to some of the riffraff who have been wandering into the dark place lately. Seated at another bar—alone again—Stone’s entrance and exit was another gut punch on this week.
Every time I saw him was a reminder of what I’d done, what I’d lost. And it’s a good reality check that I’m not worthy of Vale’s attention.
Still, I relish every time Vale touches me. Every gentle placementof her hands. Every tender stroke of her fingers. Sometimes I even imagine her lingering a little longer in a spot. Like I’m not paying her to help me, but she actually wants to touch me. I’d never complain.
Thinking of her hands on me, I sit straighter on the hard wooden stool, admonishing myself for being such a damn sourpuss tonight, like a spoiled child not getting to play with his favorite new toy.
Vale isn’t a plaything. She is a beautiful, considerate woman, and I’d wronged her in the past. The boundaries of therapist and patient need to be respected. Same with the off-limits lines around her as a mother to a kid I coach.
Only sitting upright, my back pinches, and I’m reminded why I need Vale in my life.
At least that’s the excuse I use to stop moping and give into the pull I feel toward her. A desperate desire that started as a niggle of doubt now morphed into an anxious longing inside my chest. I need Vale’s hands on me. And I want to earn the chance to touchheragain.
So, standing on the dark porch of the Sylver family home is the last place I should be.
“I know it’s late, but I need a massage.” I hate how much that sounds like a proposition for more. Even hate how greedy I sound, but I can’t exactly explain this newfound and unsettling, yet not wholly uncomfortable, yearning to have her touch me.
Whipping my straw cowboy hat off my head, I spin it by the brim round and round in my hands.
“Are you serious?” Vale gapes. “Now?”
She’s staring at me, a queen bee preparing to sting, with one hand on her hip and the other hand holding the door like she’s ready to slam it in my face.
