Old Wounds: (A Havenwood Falls Novella) by Susan Burdorf

Author:Susan Burdorf [Burdorf, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ang'dora Productions
Published: 2017-08-03T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 8

When Rusty came back inside with an armful of wood, which he laid in the box next to the fireplace, Sherry was sitting in the living room again, freshly clean and a little distracting in his clothes. She’d somehow managed to find some popcorn he didn’t remember having. She pointed to the television, but when they turned it on, hoping to watch a movie, only snow greeted them. He thought that was rather ironic—snow outside and snow inside. Not to be disappointed, Sherry suggested they play a game. He couldn’t find anything that appealed to her.

Sighing, Sherry collapsed back into the chair, her disappointment and boredom evident in the droop of her shoulders.

Rusty couldn’t stop staring at her. She was fascinating. From the way her hands moved, so delicate, like they were conducting the very air around her, to the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. She wore her emotions on her sleeve, and he could smell them as if they were flowers. His house was full of so many interesting textures, butuntil she’d arrived, he’d never known he was missing out on any of it. No other woman had ever excited or awakened his senses like she did.

Her dark hair, a rich brown with golden highlights, drew his eyes to her every time she turned her head. The way her hair fanned out gently, like angel wings resting on her shoulders, made him want to reach out and touch the ends to feel how soft they were.

He wanted to explore every one of the hollows at the base of her neck. He wanted to bury his face in her skin, taste the magic that was her. He pulled his eyes away from her before he revealed his desire. He’d only just met her, and her first impression of him had been fear that he was going to harm her. He couldn’t make that fear come true.

His eyes fell on his guitar, and he said, “How about some music?”

He wasn’t’ sure what drew him to do this, as he rarely played in front of friends, let alone a woman he was desperate to impress, but without her permission, he walked over, picked up his guitar, and brought it back to his seat.

“So, I’m not a professional,” he said with a nervous chuckle, “but I will give it my best shot. Any requests?”

Sherry pulled her legs up under her and rested her elbows on her knees as she set her chin in her hands.

“Surprise me,” was all she said.

He ran through his repertoire and tossed out a couple of the rowdier songs Joshua Breem, the local mechanic, and he liked to play together. Those were best left to days filled with beer and touch-football games. He tuned the guitar while he considered the options remaining to him.

Finally, he thought of the song he’d written a few years ago when, in a fit of loneliness, he’d first sent his wish up to the moon goddess. Strumming a few chords, he found the key and began.

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