CHET.

He was standing off to her left. Where did he come from? The storage room. Duh. He’d gone in there most likely to grab some supplies. It was a locked room on the back side of the building. Everything from cleaning supplies to old tax records were stored there. Her gaze scanned over him. He had on a white t-shirt and black pants, which she provided as his uniform. He also wore a plain white apron that tied at his waist, which had a few fresh stains on it. His arms were crossed over his chest and his jaw was locked. He looked angry at her. What the hell? She straightened up.

“What?” Her head popped up and she met his cool gaze before his eyes drilled into her.

“Ryder Kincaid. He would never have ended up with you. He never felt that way about you. You were a connection to the wife he missed. He doesn’t miss her like that anymore so he doesn’t need you that way anymore either.”

She sucked in a slow breath as his blunt words cut her deeply and fast. Honestly, he only spoke the truth, which she had already started to understand. “I—I never wanted Ryder. And you’re wrong. He just told me that I could always count on him.”

Chet shook his head. “Yet you’re out here doubled over in fresh pain. You know, he took Tara’s side because it was the right thing to do. And he only tolerates you and your irrational resentment toward her from a sense of sympathy for you.”

She stiffened. “Who are you to try and explain what Ryder and I are to each other? For that matter, what I am and how I feel about anybody is none of your business. Especially when it concerns Ryder and Tara!” she snarled at him. She was not screaming, however. She refused to sound hysterical and irrational again, lest everyone assume she were being driven mad by grief and acting crazy. They would not listen to her even if she meant it. So she had to talk calmly and unemotionally. Using her sanity. Even if she felt insane along with everything else in her life now. “And you know something else, Chet? I can fire you too, anytime I choose to. Or your mother. So don’t you stand there judging me and acting as if you know anything about me.”

Chet’s gaze narrowed and his mouth tightened. It might have been the first time she ever got an emotional reaction from Chet to anything she said or did. “You leave my mother fucking out of your spewing hatred.”

Of course he was right. Dok had never been anything but a valued, loyal-to-a-fault and upstanding employee, up until today. She was never late or even took vacations, only missing a handful of shifts due to actual illness.

“I didn’t mean it,” Chloe mumbled, feeling contrite for the first time. But she was only sorry about threatening Dok. “About your mom. But maybe also about you.”

His eyebrows lifted. “I could claim sexual harassment.”

She gasped. How dare he? Did he really have the audacity to hurl that abominable event that happened between them, two strangers, against her?

“You wouldn’t dare. It was at your instigation. I wasn’t even aware that—”

“—That it was me?” he interrupted her with a scoff. His gaze again scanned over her and she felt like it was melting her shield of scorn like acid on clothing. He spoke to her as if she were naked, exposed, and vulnerable, despite being dressed reasonably decent. It was that damn voice of his. His low voice was sexy, cool, and unemotional. Who knew? It seemed like she never before heard it until now. Now it made her insides vibrate, hum, and warm up, even though she wanted to detest him. And then, damn it, he still spoke so indifferently, as if he weren’t emotionally or otherwise engaged in what they were discussing. It was as if he responded to her out of duty, without any real interest. “Who did you fantasize you were fucking? Ryder Kincaid?”

“I don’t want Ryder. Why the hell do you keep saying that?”

“Three years of watching you obsess over him pretty much cleared it up for me. You spent every day with him and were always fussing over him.”

“He’s my family.”

“No, he’s not. Not anymore.”

“Oh, my God. What do you consider Wyatt? Is he no longer my nephew now? My own blood?”

“Possibly. I just watched you try to fire a woman because you were jealous over the man she is dating.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I did not. It was because…” Why was it again? She couldn’t support her own argument. She glared at him. “I just—”

“You shouldn’t be here today. Ryder was right about that.”

“What do you have against Ryder?”

“Nothing, actually. I always thought he was a fair-minded cop and nice person in general. He’s always been decent to my mom and me—”

“So have I,” she interrupted, her tone sounding fierce.

He hesitated, but finally nodded. “Yeah. So have you. But it was obvious to anyone that you thought Ryder belonged to you in a way that wasn’t entirely family-oriented.”

She fisted her hands. “Never. Not once did I ever covet my identical twin sister’s husband. Do you understand? She was my exact replica. We shared our hearts and minds and souls. We were closer… closer than any two people can be. The twin bond is stronger than the bond between a baby and its mother. I honestly believe that. More than any husband and wife or parent and child. I never desired her husband. That’s insulting. I can’t believe you’d even suggest that.”

“Maybe you can’t admit it to yourself, but you did.”

Fisting her hand, she resisted the urge to smash it into his cool, neutral face. How could he say such hateful and inflammatory things without even an eye twitch? Who was like that? Was he some kind of sociopath? She stepped back, thinking maybe he was. How could she tell? She knew nothing about him. This was the longest they’d ever spoken to each other. Jolted once more over knowing him without really knowing him at all, she gritted her teeth to hold in the sharp retort. “I didn’t, Chet. Not once. Ryder is my friend. Nothing more. Ever.”

He shrugged and she bottled up her frustration. His body language clearly portrayed his skepticism.

Then he added. “Yeah? You don’t care that he’s in there right now celebrating his engagement to Tara Tamasy? The entire café, your café, is full of people toasting their engagement.”

Like a blunt knife being shoved into her gut, Chloe’s surprise and shock made her mouth drop open. “What the hell are you talking about?” She was ready to storm back in there. But Chet had the gall to grab her arm. She jerked her bicep away, but his long fingers clung to her more tightly, rendering her immobile. He was strong, but his grasp wasn’t bruising.

He pulled her nearer and she was unable to stop him. He stared at her up close now. He bent down and she was gripped by that same strange apathy she felt before. She wondered how to react to his sudden proximity, just as before. His hot breath whispered in her ear and traveled to her cheek, sensuously creating goose bumps all over her body. “Don’t, Chloe. Don’t go in there. You’ll only make a fool of yourself and them. Ryder might have forgiven you for what you just did, but he won’t if you go after Tara again, not so soon. Besides, what would you do? What would you do if he didn’t forgive you?”

She sucked in a breath as his soft, clear, insightful words sunk in. She tried to ignore the surprise, and the undeniable attraction that fluttered like butterflies in her stomach at his touch and his warm breath on her face. She tugged away, trying to indicate she wanted him to release her. “I can do whatever I want.” Uttering the stupid response, she realized she sounded like a petulant child. She bit her lip, ashamed she had become that. At least, that’s what she was acting like.

“The only person you’ll hurt is yourself. You’re already hurting enough. So much you can’t function properly. You can’t even comb your hair nicely. Just stop. Go home. Stop making everything worse.”

She licked her lips to reply, but the truth of what he said smacked into her head-on. She stared up at him. Strangely, it was the comment about her hair, which was always a source of pride and something she spent a lot of time and money on, that evaporated her anger. She touched her head, grimacing when she realized she hadn’t even glanced in a mirror before she left her house. On the spur-of-the-moment, she decided to come in. Dressed in… Shit. She glanced down at her outfit. Her shirt didn’t match her slacks and she wore tacky socks with slip-on, brown flats. Her hair was wild and snarled from the messy knot she haphazardly tried to arrange it in. She might have looked crazy. Like an escaped mental patient off her medication.

She quit fighting Chet and he loosened his grip, but still didn’t let her go. “Come on. Let me take you away from here.”

She nodded vacantly. He pulled her hand and she followed him around the corner of the building and they walked towards the front of it. Then, drawn by something she knew better than to indulge, she stopped beside the front window. Surprisingly, Chet let her go. She was aware he stood behind, towering over her. She sensed he wasn’t looking into the window as she was, but somehow watching and protecting her. Probably from her own terrible tendencies right now.

She put her face to the glass and sucked in a breath as if someone just socked her in the gut. Sure enough, Chet was right. The café was crowded with people raising their glasses to Tara and Ryder, who stood in the center of everyone. Everyone was toasting their happy announcement. They were being celebrated as a future couple in a relationship based entirely on love. She pressed her face closer, watching and remembering another toast for Ryder. It was at her parents’ house with just their parents, her sister and her, all staring up at Ryder. So clearly she could picture the scene: short, petite Ebony under his arm, her face full of joy as he gazed at her before announcing their glad news. Chloe and her mother squealed with delight as they went around the table to stare at Ebony’s ring and hug them. Happy tears glistened from her parents’ eyes as her dad rose to call for a spontaneous toast of their milk glasses to celebrate the new couple.

But now that man, whose face hadn’t changed, was gazing into a different face. The face of a different woman. A woman who was taller as she stood beside him than Ebony had been. A woman who was white and blonde, the very opposite of Ebony. Though if Ryder had chosen a woman who was Ebony’s doppelganger, Chloe would have hated it too. It was mostly the fact that Ebony was no longer there. No one could have pleased Chloe as Ebony’s replacement.

But what hurt Chloe the most was seeing that his expression was just as happy now, today, while staring at the tall blonde as she remembered it being with her sister. She held in a startled gasp.

It struck her hard all at once. Ryder wasn’t hers. Or theirs. He didn’t belong to her family anymore. Not how she used to feel ever since he first asked her father to marry her sister and he became her brother. But now he gazed at the tall, blonde woman without any regret or pause for his first wife, whom they now knew was dead.

Ryder’s eyes lifted and he zeroed in on Chloe at the window. She nearly ducked down in shock until she saw his expression, which was sad and contemplative. Holy shit! Chloe knew, deep down in her gut, that he was thinking about Ebony. He hadn’t forgotten her in his newfound life and happiness. It struck her hard and it helped her too. Ryder remembered Ebony in that moment, despite celebrating with Tara. Perhaps he also remembered toasting his engagement the first time when it happened with her family. He cared. She was glad to know he still cared and remembered her sister.

She couldn’t help smiling softly at him despite all the shock and longing and sadness around Ebony. She realized Ryder was thinking about Ebony in that same moment.

He smiled back and tears streaked down her face. Lifting one hand to the glass, she pressed it as if she were symbolically giving him her blessing. He nodded, and his gaze was deep and sincere. Chloe stepped back once, then twice and spun around to cross the parking lot to get away from all their newfound happiness. No matter how it was spun or how magnanimous she tried to feel, their new beginning remained indelibly attached to her sister’s ending. And it would eventually become part of her and Ryder because neither could ever forget it. Or forgive it. And the stupid part was: it was neither of their faults, or Ebony’s. Death by murder doesn’t just go away or heal, it rips relationships apart and ruins families, as she was witnessing it doing to hers.

Suddenly, a hand took hers. She was blindly running away from it all. Chet. Duh. Of course. He was waiting for her but she acted as if he showed up out of nowhere again. She was supposed to be following him. He took her hand in his and tugged her towards his car, which was parked beside Ryder’s. She ducked into the passenger seat when Chet opened and held the door for her. After he closed the door, she just stared out the window. Not crying this time. But not enjoying the scenery either. She felt numb and fuzzy and weird and sad.

Why did Ryder have to do that so soon? Why did he have to fall in love again? Now he would be getting married again, and in the midst of it, why did the timing have to coincide with Ebony’s murder being brought to light? How could he? It seemed so ironic. Before Ebony’s body was found, Chloe kept thinking, why doesn’t he?

The car moved and she didn’t question where Chet was going or why she was even with him. A while later, he pulled into an empty parking lot that overlooked a huge, rolling, prairie beside the river. It was surrounded by a large copse of trees. It was a popular walking trail and lookout. But on this weekday it was very quiet. They were the only ones there. She stared out at the appealing view and the river blurred in her eyes. The sky was overcast, but several wispy clouds allowed sunlight to slip through in spots, highlighting the water and its reflection.

Tucking her knees together, she shifted her entire body away from the light and river. Its brightness hurt her eyes.

The ensuing quiet roared between them. At least, it felt that way for her. Minutes ticked by without a word from Chet. How did he do that? Not talk? How could he not fill the silence? She didn’t understand what he was doing there, what she was doing with him, or how it even came about. Until she heard the news of her sister’s murder, she hadn’t even noticed Chet. And now? She slept with him. After suffering through every serious event during the last few weeks, she ended up with him? What the hell?

Angry over his sudden interest and proximity, she snapped. “What is all of this to you? Why are you even here with me? I don’t understand.”

He glanced her way and her intense gaze drilled into him. Her eyes took in the bleached tips of his dark hair and the earrings that adorned his ear. His t-shirt was pulled tightly across his chest, but it seemed more like a casual afterthought than him trying to be sexy. Ropy, beaded bracelets hung on his wrist, and above that was the bold, bright dragon that decorated his skin. He was so not her type. Twenty-four. Yeah, he looked it. He was unusual in his appearance and not just because of his Asian heritage. He had a way of twisting his looks to make them the opposite of what she considered typical, normal, or conservative. All the usual things she valued in her dates, herself, and most especially, her men were absent or lacking in Chet.

He shrugged. “You keep making things worse on yourself. Just picking up the pieces.”

“But why? We aren’t friends. You don’t talk. To me. At me. About me. You don’t say anything. I mean, my sister fucking dies, gets murdered, and you’re right there when I get the news, and you later find me out of my mind in grief on the floor of a restroom and you don’t say anything. Nothing. Not one damn word. Not an ‘I’m sorry. So sorry for your loss. Are you okay?’ No condolences or anything typical and expected after hearing such news. Do you get that? How abnormal you are? You have been working for me for three years and you never ever spoke to me. You grunted once or twice, throwing a few monosyllables out during the rare times I needed to converse with you. You grunted. I seriously doubted if you even spoke English. And then your response to all this is to come to my house… and… and…” She shook her head, dropping her gaze when her face exploded in heat.

“Would it have helped?”

Puzzled, she took in a sharp breath. “What?”

He turned in the driver’s seat, fixing his gaze harder on her. “If I had said any of those things to you? Those banalities that everyone around you repeats and chants, would it have helped you in any way? Would it have made you feel better?”

Her brow scrunched up. “Well, no. I mean—”

“Exactly. You didn’t want or need my sympathy, did you? Who was I to you?”

“But common decency demands it no matter what. You witnessed me hearing about my murdered sister and saw the grief the news caused, and yet you couldn’t even mumble a single word of sympathy? Or sorrow? You—you think kissing me was normal?”

He shifted around, becoming agitated. “What part of any of that sounds normal? Responding to a woman’s murder? What words are normal for that? What are the proper ways to express anything about that? Huh? There aren’t. So I did the only thing I believed would help you, I temporarily distracted you. For a few minutes, you actually calmed down and didn’t sink deeper into it. I chose to do that instead of giving you empty platitudes that wouldn’t have solved anything for you. At least, my approach was constructive.”

“And the sex too?” She had to avert her gaze, and her tone was low, soft and embarrassed.

“Yeah. Sex too.”

She shook her head. It was so strange. Chloe never heard of anyone acting like this to another person. She had no idea how to accept it.

“It worked too.”

“What?” She lifted her head, shocked at his soft words.

He stared straight ahead now. “Sex. It worked for you. You were about to make a total scene at the funeral reception even more than you already did with Tara. You were clean off the rails. So I took you away from there to stop you. Any words I said would have only fanned your internal inferno more. You were looking for a fight. I think I succeeded in putting out some of the fires you wanted to ignite around you. They couldn’t help you. And then you became catatonic. I just wanted you to feel better.”

Licking her lips, she burned up as she realized how well he grasped her emotional state. She was definitely off the rails and no one else noticed. But why? How could Chet recognize that? Someone who didn't even know her? She didn’t understand. Not at all. Where had this come from? Where had Chet come from? He was like no one Chloe had ever met.

“Why? I’m nothing to you. And vice versa. You knew nothing about me. And… and I don’t have sex with strangers. Not like that.”

“I didn’t take advantage of you. You said, ‘please.’ I didn’t misinterpret that.”

She squirmed around. “No. I mean, I wasn’t accusing you of that. I wasn’t in a good place mentally. I wasn’t thinking. It was so wrong and now I regret it since we’re nothing more than strangers—”

His hands gripped the steering wheel harder and he worked his fingers around it, pressing and unpressing until his knuckles turned white. Startled at his sudden intensity, she glanced at his profile. His jaw was locked and his eyes glared forward. Then his voice grew lower and softer as he replied, “Your favorite color is purple. You eat cupcakes for lunch every other day. You hate to exercise but insist on walking three miles, usually around the lunch hour, in town three days a week. Your favorite part of the café is making the desserts and welcoming the guests. You hate the business side of it, and most times either fudge on it or don’t do it at all. You can charm a smile out of almost anyone.” He paused for a moment. White-knuckling it again, he admitted, “Even me.” She stared at his profile and her mouth dropped open in awe, while her brain kept buzzing. Holy shit.

He continued, “You don’t know the meaning of the term bad customer service. You’ll go to the most ridiculous ends to please your customers even when they are wrong. You’ve been on four dates in the last three years and all were black men passing through town. They wouldn’t have gone anywhere, anyway, because you’re such a control freak and you really don’t want a boyfriend. At least, you think you don’t. You didn’t sleep with any of them. You spend most of your time with Ryder and Wyatt and were halfway in love with Ryder even if you refuse to admit it. That’s why all your dates never worked out.”

Riveted on his insightful knowledge, she couldn’t find words to reply. First, she’d never heard Chet speak, but now this? Such a long analysis and totally correct. Well, everything but the part about Ryder.  

“Do you watch me? Or stalk me?” It popped out of her mouth so fast, she shut her eyes. She was determined to make everyone hate her, wasn’t she? That’s what she came up with? Asking him if he were stalking her? No, that didn’t ring true. Not at all.

“No.”

She smiled. He was so Chet-like, she realized. He answered exactly what she asked him without any elaboration. He rarely gave up information except for what was asked of him. Chloe never asked him anything, not in the past three years, so he never offered any explanations. She was a bit intimidated by him. Coming to work, all brooding and blank-faced, but his lack of interactions and smiles only indicated he didn’t want to talk to anyone at all. Any encounters that Chloe found necessary with Chet were purposely handled through Dok.

She had no idea, however, about any of this. He gave no indication she meant anything to him. Not once. Not at any time, let alone, if he freaking noticed her.

“I’m sorry. That popped out. I just didn’t know. Anything. This…” she shook her head and swallowed. “I’m a little intimidated by you,” she admitted, shocked by her own honesty.

He shifted towards her. “Me? You’re the boss lady.”

“You don’t talk. You don’t smile. You don’t interact. I thought you didn’t like me. Figured it was just the way it was.”

“I like you.”

If her life weren’t such a mess, and her headspace weren’t such a disaster, she might have laughed at his reply. He seriously meant it, she realized. If she laughed, it would have been mean even if he didn’t regard his actions as bizarrely as she did.

“Yes, but I didn’t know that, Chet. You started kissing me one day in my office when I was blinded by tears. I had no idea. Nothing to prepare me. And then you were suddenly in my bedroom and I didn’t know anything. It’s been confusing on top of all my grief right now. So you think platitudes are a waste of time but I can’t begin to make any sense of you. You know things about me, honestly, that I’m sure no one’s ever commented on before. I find it—”

“Those are my observations. You said we didn’t know anything about each other. I was proving I did.”

“But you acted first and explained nothing. Can’t you begin to see why I don’t know what to do or say? How can this be? I don’t know. Not anything.”

He stared at her and she was caught by his dark gaze. His eyes flicked down and back up before he nodded. “You want me to ask what I already know? And not just act?”

“Um. Yeah. But what do you think you know?”

“Your outfit doesn’t match and your hair hasn’t been tended to in...” His gaze scanned over it as he added, “in a while. So I know you’ve stayed in bed most of the time you’ve been off work. For some irrational reason, you decided on the spur-of-the-moment to come in. You took one look at Tara and everything you hadn’t said, as well as all the grief about losing your sister, culminated once again, and you saw her as an easy target. You didn’t know you were going to do or say those things. Your eyes are red-rimmed, so you’ve been crying. A lot. You don’t sleep. Or else you have to take a lot of those sleeping pills you keep on your bathroom counter.”

She licked her lips. “That was… actually, that was eerily, right on.” She shook her head. “How do you know all that?”

He shrugged and his gaze was heavy on her. There was no shyness to this guy. She always thought he was but now she realized he wasn’t quiet, shy, or reserved. He replied just fine when he was spoken to or had something to say. Except when he didn’t. He wasn’t into the feeble pleasantries of chitchat or idle talk. “So, you only speak if you have something to say?”

“Why else would I?”

She bit her lip and tilted her head, trying to figure him out. Yes, he seemed to be serious and not joking. “Umm, for the sake of communication? And filling in long silences. Because that’s what people do?”

“People recite empty platitudes that don’t help. Does it help at all if I tell you I’m sorry your sister is dead? I’m sorry Ryder loves someone else now, and you are no longer his main priority. Isn’t that just obvious? Anyone would feel that way.”

She winced. He was being brutally honest. Not shying away from anything. “Well, no, I thought you might be a sociopath who felt nothing. So there’s that too. And maybe not quite so honest. Stop telling me about Ryder moving on.”

He threw his hands up. “Why? Because it’s too honest? How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

“I have no idea how to explain it. People just usually know. They have a feeling, or they pick up on—”

“What?” He threw her a sideways glance.

Social cues. Body language. That unspoken factor that can’t always be explained or articulated, but is just freaking known by most people in any situation. It’s a way to convey the gist of things. She shook her head. Not now. Too much to figure out. She didn’t know what, if anything, this all meant.

“Nothing,” she mumbled.

He fell silent and so did she. They both stared forward for a long while. His voice was clear and firm when he interrupted the quiet. “I feel things.”

She turned again at his statement. It was so sincere, it grabbed her and pulled her out of her own heartache and grief. She must’ve hurt his feelings. Yet he didn’t really express that. He simply stated a fact. He felt things. Something melted her heart a little bit. Did he really not see the quirks in how he interacted? And communicated? Actually, he didn’t communicate.

“I should have realized that.”

“I was just trying to help you. Ryder was talking to you and you looked more miserable with each moment. I just tried—”

She sucked in a breath and finished his sentence, “To make me feel not so sad.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She gulped hard. She only just then realized, during the few scattered moments with Chet, and no one else, she was a degree less sad. She was slightly more engaged in figuring him out and his interactions towards her. And in those few moments, she did forget her sister. Wow, that would have been otherwise impossible.

“I think… I think you managed to do that. And then I mangled it.”

He turned and leaned across the seat, taking her chin and holding it still. Startled, she found herself staring into his dark eyes. Her breath caught and she gasped. She assumed he was just shy and even meek, but holy shit. He was the opposite. Bold and sure. A man who went for what he wanted without hesitation or apology.

“I’d like to kiss you. May I?” She held his gaze, her heart swelling.

“You don’t like it when I say things like that, do you?” The thought stole her breath away. It was so novel to her. “You don’t like it when I’m self-deprecating.”

“No, I don’t. There’s no reason to be. You’re hurting plenty as it is,” he answered, and his tone was even and calm. “So may I?”

She held her breath, frozen by his gaze. She had to know. She could not just keep going along with him without further clarification of what was going on and what that entailed. “Because you want me to feel better, right?”

“Yeah.”

She could never have foreseen anyone feeling like that about her, or reacting to her like that. She nodded despite feeling unsure and confused. Uncomfortable, and yet inexplicably drawn to him, she was intrigued by her own needs.

He leaned forward and his mouth met hers. Shifting his body closer to her, he gripped the back of her head where it met her neck and pulled her towards him. She closed her eyes and let his kiss warm her body, which slowly started to melt as she drifted closer to his heat. It felt so good. Just like the day on her bed, and his warmth made her feel less alone, when nothing else could. As he deepened the kiss, she was overcome by an aggressive need for more. She longed to feel more. Everywhere. She wanted him to take away the burning anger and hurt she felt over Ryder and Tara, as well as the humiliation of her reaction and having everyone witness it.

Her lips moved to his cheek and she leaned forward to pepper a trail of kisses along his neck while her hands touched his chest, pulling him closer. His head bent back at her touch. “Please, just make me feel better.”

Chet returned to the silent man he was before. Grabbing her around the waist, he pulled, tugging her upwards. Ungracefully, she somehow climbed over the console and was facing him. With the steering wheel jammed in her back and her legs straddled on either side of him, she bent her knees. He slid the car seat all the way back to free her from the wheel. Their mouths frantically connected and a frenetic energy overtook her. She attacked him. She pulled on his shirt and pants as her hands shook. He pressed his hands on her breasts and she tore her mouth off his, leaning forward and pushing his face onto one breast. He responded instantly and his warm breath moistened the material of her shirt and bra as he sucked her through the layers of fabric. His hands snaked up her shirt to her bare skin and she worked her slacks downwards. “Touch me. Please. Now,” she begged him, forgetting herself and any propriety as to where they were. Daylight in the park parking lot. But the car windows were tinted dark so no one could see inside. Chloe reassured herself with that thought.

His hands responded and gave her what she was frantic for. Dropping down directly into her panties, he began touching her. She was dripping wet already and moaned at his gentle touch with both satisfaction and lust. His fingers slid up inside her and she took his tongue deeply into her mouth as she moved her hips over his hand. There was nothing subtle or polite about her gestures. She was crazy, frantic, and uncouth. And so selfish. She needed this badly. Her blood was boiling hot… and yes! She threw back her head as an orgasm slammed her hard and long. His dexterous fingers kept stroking her so it was even more intense and extended.

She went limp against him. He withdrew his hand. She voluntarily tucked up against his chest and felt him hot and hard under her. Her climax exhausted her and she wilted beside him. Her head was below his. She easily curled up into this former stranger, who was kind of strange in his need to touch her instead of giving her sympathetic condolences, and yet? He was right. It worked and she now basked in it. She loved being spoiled by it and took advantage of the situation.

All at once, she unexpectedly began to cry and clung to his chest. He stroked her back, while remaining silent. She guessed that was his way. She knew Chet wouldn’t act in any that he didn’t want to. She firmly believed that. If he didn’t want her against him, he wouldn’t hold her, no matter what. He didn’t soothe her with words. He let her cry and cry until she collapsed from exhaustion and grew totally silent. For the first time in far too long, she didn’t feel the need to break the silence. She indulged it. She let it be and reveled in it. It seemed to soothe her ragged, raw nerves. She could finally be alone without feeling lonely. And feel supported without being smothered. She no longer felt she had to help or talk or do something for anyone else using energy she didn’t have. She was being helped. And cared about. And soothed. She had no words to say, she ultimately realized. Not being alone felt so much better than all those sleeping pills she used to ease her grief at being left all alone. And now she wasn’t. She wasn’t alone and it helped more than any words she could have heard.