Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

I shook my head. “No. I enjoy law enforcement, but I have no desire to go into politics.”

She was silent for a moment, watching me. “Hmm,” she finally answered. “Then . . . what sort of life do you want, Travis? Where do you see yourself, say, in five years?”

Confusion overcame me. What sort of life do you want? Where do you see yourself? What she was really asking me was what were my dreams. No one had ever asked me that question. No one since my father. I’d told him I wanted to be a policeman like him, and I’d seen the light of pride in his eyes. I’d tried so hard to let him go because he’d let me go. But I’d held on to that look. I’d carried it with me, and I’d become the chief of police. I’d bought the land that was my father’s. I planned to settle there. If I had really let my father go like I’d convinced myself, why was I walking in his footsteps?

What sort of life do you want? My mother had certainly never asked me that question. And none of the women I’d dated—including Phoebe—had wondered. Hell, I’d never asked it of myself. I’d thought about marriage, kids. But after Phoebe’s betrayal, that particular idea had been lost. And yet I didn’t mourn it. At least . . . not with her. “I guess I have everything I want,” I said. “This is it. This is the dream.”

She studied me for several beats. “You don’t sound very sure of that.”

I chuckled. “What about you? What sort of life do you want?”

Haven fidgeted again, staring in the direction of the lake. “One that’s peaceful. Stable. We moved a lot as a kid. Usually in the middle of the night.” She let out a small laugh that held a hint of pain and little humor.

Ouch. I took the blow of that one too, watching her for a second. She’d lived a life filled with inconsistency and hunger of at least a few varieties. She’d mentioned several times what a dream our town was. How peaceful. How stable, went unsaid. And I’d seen the longing in her eyes for what she didn’t have, and maybe never did. “Life on the road doesn’t seem very stable,” I said as gently as possible.

“No. I guess not.”

“What will bring you peace?” I wondered. “Where do you see this journey ending?”

She smiled softly. “At a garden somewhere. I see planter boxes filled with plants. That’s as far as I’ve gotten. But it feels like a decent start.”

Do you think that garden might be here in Pelion? I wanted to ask. But I didn’t. She’d made it clear she was leaving, and I didn’t want to hear her say no.

Something crashed inside to a chorus of laughter and Haven gave a small eye roll, breathing out a laugh. “The hooch is flowing tonight,” she said.

“Heavily.”

Our gazes held for a moment before Haven stood. “I should get to bed,” she said. “It’s been a long, eye-roll-filled day. Junie Wellington had a ‘wardrobe malfunction’ at the pool.”

“Again?”

Haven let out a short laugh. “Again.”

“How many guys got trampled this time?”

“At least four.”

I chuckled. Don’t go. “You probably need some rest then.”

I know we said no complications. But . . . that felt sort of complicated.

“Yes, I . . . do.”

Don’t go. “Goodnight then.”

Ask me up to your room. I waited, but she only nodded. “Goodnight.”

She passed by me and I resisted reaching for her, stood, and turned just as she disappeared through the door.



**********



I stared, mostly unseeing, at the blur of the whirring fan overhead, my mind spinning along with the blades.

I wanted her.

Why had I let her go? Why hadn’t I made a move?

I’d felt shy for Christ’s sake.

Scared.

Doubtful.

Because when it came to Haven, I was always the one making the moves and it made me feel vulnerable and uncertain.

She’s right down the hall. Only a handful of steps away.

And she made it clear the “with benefits” part of our friendship was overly complicated.

I’d never gone to a woman in my life. I’d always waited for them to come to me, and I was never left waiting long.

Not with Haven though.

If I wanted Haven, I’d have to go to her.

And face rejection.

Kisses . . . even orgasms in a lake in the dark of night, might be one thing. But what I wanted was much more than that. I wanted her in my bed. I wanted her naked. I wanted to perform a slow exploration of every dip and swell of her body and then I wanted to—

I groaned in frustration, forcing away the sensual pictures forming in my mind, and turned onto my side.

I could still taste her. I could still feel the silky texture of her skin beneath my fingertips, recall in vivid detail the way she’d shivered in my arms as she came.

And it wasn’t enough.

God, the way she made me feel. It was . . . I didn’t even know what it was, because it wasn’t only physical. I liked to talk to her. I liked to hear her thoughts and listen to her stories. I wanted more of her kindness, her insight, and the understanding she held in her gaze.

Oh God, what was happening to me?

I rolled onto my back, bringing the pillow over my face and then, as a thought came to me, I removed the pillow, my eyes opening and hope descending.