The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

her things yet but I figured I could make a small dent in her closet since I noticed she had a bunch of old shoeboxes in there. I don't know why she kept them but I decided to open them because I figured she might've stored old bank statements in there or, I don't know, more coupons for stores that don't exist anymore."

He nodded as he flipped open the buttons at his cuffs and it was inconsiderate of him to roll up his sleeves while I recounted today's trauma. Seriously inconsiderate. I loved those forearms. The muscles, the hair, the veins. It was so strange to love veins but I loved his veins. And when he crossed his arms over his chest with his sleeves rolled up? My god. There was no saving my panties from that.

"And…what did you find in those boxes?"

I pressed my hands to my eyes and turned to face the windows because Linden's forearms could not exist in the same world as today's discovery. "Adult products."

"What? I didn't catch that, babe."

"Adult products," I yelled, my back still turned to him.

"What does that mean?"

Since he wasn't making this inference on his own, I said, "I thought it was a box of old broken chains. Like, bracelets or necklaces or something. I dumped it out because it seemed like that would be important. Come to find out, it was a comprehensive and varied collection of nipple clamps."

In the window's reflection, I saw him push to his feet. "What the fuck did you just say?"

A slightly manic laugh stuttered out of me. "You heard right. A whole box of nipple clamps."

Linden laced his fingers around the back of his neck. "Oh my fucking god."

Nodding, I banded my arms around my torso. "And I figured it was okay, you know, she was a vibrant woman. She was allowed to have an equally vibrant sex life. Who am I to judge any of that? Not my place. Not my business."

"Good for you," he murmured.

"But then I opened the box with the double-ended dildo which didn't take me nearly as long to identify because I have the same one."

"Holy fuck." He rubbed his eyes, asking, "So, what did you do with all that?"

"I shut the closet door, shut the bedroom door, and walked my ass out of there. I have to throw them away, right? What else can I do? They're not recyclable. It's not like I can donate them to needy kinky people."

"Holy fuck," he muttered.

I turned, saying, "Yeah, I know."

"Hey, Peach?" He gestured toward me, an odd frown on his lips. "Some other time, we'll talk more about that dildo, right? The one you have, that is."

"Sorry but I'm not sure I can ever look at it again without thinking about finding one in an old shoebox." I shook that memory out of my head. "And just so you know, they can be very tricky to use well. It's a lot of coordination. You'll feel it in your abs for a week."

"Looking forward to it." With a nod, he walked over to the refrigerator, saying, "Get your coat."

I glanced out the windows. "Isn't it a little late for a walk in the woods? The sun's almost set."

"We're not walking." He held up a bottle of wine—my bottle—and plucked a glass from the cabinet. "We're going out back. We'll start a little bonfire and then I'm going to do my best to get you drunk. You deserve it, babe. After this conversation, I do too."

"Seems like a reasonable solution."

He knocked his knuckles against the box he'd brought in. "One of my stops today was at a dairy farm. They sent me off with a cheese plate."

I reached for my coat, held it to my chest as I studied him. "Do you usually get paid in cheese?"

He popped the cork on the wine. "When I ask if they'd put together something for me, yeah, I do."

"And how often is that?" I didn't know why I was pushing on this. I didn't know what it was I hoped he'd say.

He set the open wine bottle beside the cheese and grabbed a beer from the fridge before putting his coat back on. "Only when I have someone at home who lives for toast, wine, and cheese."

"The Old World Parisian way of life has always appealed to me," I joked as I shoved my arms into my coat.

I followed him outside to where the sun was low in the sky and the November air was cold enough for me to see my breath. Linden led the way off the deck and toward a small stone fire circle in the center of the yard, a pair of white Adirondack chairs stationed on either side.

"Sit down," he ordered as he dragged the other chair closer.

"You know, I would've done that without your instructions."

"Maybe." He set the beverages and cheese plate on a narrow table and stalked off toward the side yard. A moment later, he returned with a bundle of wood tucked under his arm. He pointed at me, saying, "Drink that wine."

"Didn't need that order either," I replied.

Linden only shook his head as he arranged the wood in the stone circle. It didn't take him long to get the fire going and then he settled into the seat beside me. He busied himself with removing the plastic wrap from the cheese plate and popping open his beer while I obediently sipped the wine.

Since I couldn't keep it in any longer, I asked, "You just keep sauvignon blanc on hand?"

He returned the plate to the table between us. "Why is it so difficult for you to accept that I have it for you?"

I stared at the fire, watching it crackle and climb. "It's not."

"Clearly, it is."

"You really don't have to do that, you know." I sighed. "You don't need to—"

"Has it occurred to you that I want to keep your fruity wine in my house? That I have a case of it in the basement because I