Emily
"You ever used an axe before, Red?"
Kade and I stand in the center of the deep green woods, in an open glade. A hefty piece of cedar sits on a large stump in front of us. The sun streams through a small opening in the trees, directly on the axe now being handed to me.
I take the axe, it's weight heavier than how light he made it look. "No, actually."
"Let me teach you." He comes up behind me, his muscle imprinting into my back. His warm hands covering mine. "Keep a firm grip. Focus only on where you want to hit. Trust that it'll strike true." Strong fingers run up my arms, travel down my shoulders and rest on either side of my waist. "Give it a shot."
I nod, strengthened by Kade's belief in me, fuzzy and content from his hands on my skin. I lift the axe high, staring at the center of the log, and strike down with all my strength.
The log cracks in two. I smile wide, turning in Kade's arms. "I did it!"
"Yeah, you did, sweetheart." He cups the back of my neck, and kisses me with stunning heat. Tongue sweeping mine, our mouths moving in delicious, natural sync. His palm runs up my shirt to cup a breast before retreating to the edge of my yoga pants, his fingers dipping under the elastic waistband. "Now it's time for your prize."
He gets down on his knees. Looks up at me with an impossibly amber gaze. Slowly pulls my waistband down a fraction, revealing hipbones, the flame of trimmed hair at my mound. His breath hitches at the sight, eyes growing more hooded before he licks between my thighs with a fierce movement of his head. Vicious. Desperate.
"Kade..."
His tongue is slippery, searing bliss. Knowing exactly where to lave and suck."I could smell you getting wet for me this morning." Another hot lick. "Such a particular scent. Sweet. Honey and salt." He grasps the flesh of my ass and-
I wake up gasping. Covered in a thin film of sweat, my blanket on the floor, a sheet of red hair plastered over my face. Uncomfortably wet and sticky, especially where Kade was...feasting.
What the
hell
was that? I've never dreamed that vividly before. That erotically. None of my previous sexual experiences compare. My thighs are shaking, my body still near-orgasm. A few more seconds and I would have. I'm tempted to finish myself off.
My thirst is interrupted with a loud
thwack:
the unmistakable sound of Kade's axe. A piercing reminder that in reality, lover-boy hates me, doesn't want me anywhere near him. I groan, picking up my cell to check the time.
Eight o' clock sharp.
How punctual of him.
Well, I guess I'm never looking him in the eye again. Which- if basing things on our last
real life
encounter- is probably exactly what he wants. His glare is permanently etched in my brain.
I don't like how much my heart sinks at the thought of him disliking me.
Wait. Who cares what he thinks? I don't need his approval.
I force myself off the couch to brush my teeth, feeling more antsy and restless than ever, no thanks to that messed up dream.
My stomach growls. I rummage through my suitcase. Find a chocolate protein bar to chew on before beginning part two of my dusting spree. I get dressed in jean shorts and a tank top, walk up the creaking stairs to the master bedroom and begin wiping hardwood down from top to bottom.
As I tackle the ensuite clawfoot tub, I realize that cold water and a cloth rag isn't doing much in terms of actual cleansing. At the very least I need vinegar. Borax. Something with more
oomph.
I sigh, tying my hair up in a low bun as I glance out the hazy window.
My limbs turn to jello in one turn of my head.
There he is. Kade, in his backyard. But in a surprising situation: perched on a ladder, picking cherries off a tree. Admirably shirted this time, though the thin gray cloth clings to muscle in a way that's just as indecent. He pops a cherry in his mouth, chews thoughtfully, spits out the pit. Stains his lips red.
My hand flutters to my chest like a flustered Victorian. Heart pitter-pattering at the sight of jaded tough guy gathering ripe fruit.
Not
a normal reaction for me, especially for someone I just met. What's even more interesting, unexpected, is the fact that his backyard is a gardener's paradise: wooden beds filled to the brim with fresh greens, corn, squash, flowers. Emanating life. Pebble walkways in between. A hummingbird buzzing by the rosebushes, a chicken pecking its way across the lush lawn. Small box-like figures that I'm sure are beehives.
It's all just so...wholesome.
My eyes settle on Kade again. The dedicated pinch of his brows as he puts all his intention in his work, cherries falling into a silver bucket below. His tongue sliding across his lower lip in concentration.
The movement catches me off guard. Heat explodes in my lower belly as I immediately cut to last night's dream. That expert tongue between my thighs. The raw desire on his face. All for me.
Fuck. I clamp my legs tight together. Breath hitching at the hot throb, inadvertent but fierce.
I grimace at my horny weakness. Torn between the three versions of Kade that now exist in my head simultaneously: Kade, the mean, axe-wielding bastard. Kade, the fruit-picking green thumb, and Kade, the sinful dream man that can sniff me out when I'm wet.
I know the last one isn't real. Not to mention, I've sworn off jerks like Kade since elementary school. I've been lucky enough to have never been swept away by a bad boy, unlike how so many of the naive girls around me did. I was never boy-crazy. I've always been too smart, too ambitious for that, mainly interested in getting my Master's Degree in Law. In my university years I was lucky enough to have dated two nice guys that respected me. True gentlemen. We're still friends to this day.
However, there was always something missing with them...
passion
.
I know this because for the first time ever, in my latest dream, I felt it.
I felt it for Kade.
It wasn't even real, Em. Don't be stupid.
I tear my gaze away from the window, focus on scrubbing the floorboards with clean strokes of a rag. I can't seem to scour through the grime. The tacky dirt. I toss the cloth in the plastic bucket, hustle back down the stairs and decide right there to take my delirious ass to the nearest grocery store.
*
The hour long bus ride into town is calm, if a bit surreal. I discover that in this small of a community, bus drivers are free to blast Whitney Houston without anyone batting a lash. Then again, the only other passenger is an elderly woman with a pet ferret.
The small town of Dream Hill has a West Coast charm that's soothing, with it's lustrous evergreen and oak, rolling farmland and quaint characters. A far cry from Seattle. A place that was too abrasive to stay in. High stress. Sickness in the head, the soul. A never-ending realm of anxiety between grey sky and pavement. The constant wash of rain never helped either.
I caved under the pressure. Deadline after deadline. Juggling two jobs and an internship that didn't pay. In the end, I had a mental breakdown. Dropped off the edge of the world, alienated from everyone besides my sister. I went from bubbly and optimistic to someone I didn't recognize anymore.
In what can only be divine timing, my inheritance was settled a month ago, a year after my grandma's passing. She left me a decent chunk of cash and her cabin. A place she rarely visited, though she and my grandpa spent a few red-hot summers there when they were young. She essentially freed me from my prison.
Even though my older sister inherited more money, I know I'm blessed to have this place. Pinch-me lucky. Falling apart or not, I'm ecstatic to have an escape route. A haven after so much turmoil.
After my bus arrives, I grab essential supplies (Borax, lightbulbs, actual food) from a cute, tiny grocery store. Then I visit the town square that has been swallowed up the farmer's market today. I browse each unique booth's wares: organically grown produce, homemade knick-knacks, baked goods, and the purest lilac perfume I've ever inhaled.
Everyone's so much...happier here. I feel almost closed off in comparison to the chattering, smile-filled crowd. All the booths are straight out of a homey Lifetime movie.
That is, except for the booth selling honey.
There's a women with midnight-coloured hair behind the stacked jars. Dark clothes and sunglasses to match, pale skin to contrast. Her arms crossed with boredom. Black wide-brimmed hat shielding her even further. Despite her
don't fuck with me
energy, she's clearly beautiful. Soft lips and high cheekbones. I find myself drawn to her table like a magnet.
I wander up to her booth, avoiding the scrutinizing gaze I can feel behind her shades. I lift up a jar to peek at the label:
Dream Hill Honey
in thick, bold font. Minimal design. Local. Organic. Nothing out of the norm here.
Then I read the address and my stomach shoots up my throat.
It's
Kade's
address. His honey.
I dry-swallow, setting down the jar. Try to seem unaffected, but the first thought that comes to mind now is whether or not this girl behind the booth is his girlfriend.
It would make sense, wouldn't it? I can see Kade and her glowering together in a corner somewhere, bitching about every passerby. They're perfect for each other. I need to respect that obvious compatibility. I trudge off from the table, my shoulders a little lower than before.
Why am I so deflated by this? Kade clearly wants nothing to do with me, and we've barely spoken more than a few irritable sentences to each other. Him and I have nothing. Nada.
Except for one little dream.
A dream that he has zero awareness of.
I decide to let the dream lay to rest right there. I straighten my spine, pull back my shoulders and make my way back to the bus stop. I sit down on a bright blue bench and try my best not to slump. If I slump, I'll feel bad. I can't afford to feel bad right now. Not when I have an entire house to renovate.
The pressure of that reality barrels into my sternum. I think of Kade's words:
You ever done a day of manual labour in your life?
I slam that provocation down before it can bob up to sting me again.
I
