Pretty Instinct (42 page)

“We’ll take it,” Sommerlyn raises her and Hope’s joined hands and Lil’ Bit nods enthusiastically.

“Sommer and Hope, porch,” Libby says aloud as she titles the page.
Yeah, cannot fathom where Cannon got the list making thing.

“I’d say we need,” this will be a challenge eons away from my forte, “welcome mat, porch swing, paint for the front door cause eck, peephole cause uhh scary, pots and plants and maybe a pretty flag. Anything else?”
Maybe I’m not so bad at this after all!
“Oh, and a table for by the swing for drinks and stuff. And a rocking chair!” I finish, wistfully picturing it.

“Daddy!” Sommerlyn yells and Marshall trots over. “I need your truck keys. Hope and I have big items to get.” He digs them out of his pocket agreeably and smiles down at Hope. “You ladies need help loading stuff, or money?”

“No, no!” I bust in, holding up a hand. “Cannon and I will pay for everything, let me go grab a card out of my purse. And the men at the store will load them up. There are lots of jobs, so we’ve gotta spread our troops thin.” I giggle.

“No, no to
you
,” Marshall kindly contradicts me, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket. “Me and the Missus thought money’d make a great housewarming present.” He hands the envelope to Sommer. “Just what she asked for and bring
her
back the change, Saks Fifth Sommerlyn.” His brow crinkles.

“Daddy, you wound me. Oh wait, Liz, what color for the rocker and front door?”

See—here I was thinking I nailed it…curveball.

I glance around and find Cannon watching me from across the yard with a look of sweet adoration. I chin nod him and he saunters over, Levis and boots making the simple act pornographic. “Siren?”

“What color rocking chair for the porch and front door?” I ask.

He glances over his shoulder at the spot, debates, then turns back to me. “White rocker, maroon or royal blue door? You pick.”

“Royal blue,” I instantly tell the girls. “And,” I subtlety elbow Cannon in the ribs, “your parents are paying with our housewarming present.” I regard them both with a huge smile. “Thank you.”

“Thanks, Moms.” He hugs and kisses her. “Thank you, Dad.” One-armed man thing.

“Come on, Hope! See y’all!” Sommer calls over her shoulder, and they’re off.

One project down.

“Jarrett!” Nessy hollers this time and I swear I don’t recognize the man who sprints to her side. I repeat, Jarrett Playboy Foster
sprints
to her side. “You got any money?”

He shrugs. “Couple hundred, why?”

“Our labor is our housewarming gift. We’re gonna need the card,” Vanessa says to the ground, ashamed. “We’re taking the master bedroom, since a bed may become a priority, unless you like sleeping in rocking chairs.” She snickers. “What color you want it painted and stuff?”

Cannon wraps his arms around my waist from behind. “You pick this one, love.”

I lunge, gripping my waist. “I don’t feel so good,” I croak.

“Lizzie?” He dips his head to look at me, worried.

I shoot up and point at his eyes. “Ness, see that color right there, that light, bronzy molasses? That color.”

“Gotcha!” She smirks.

“So getting it for that later,” he grumbles in my ear and I lean up to kiss him soundly.

“Sorry, had to nail it. Love you.”

I quickly google furniture types and colors on my phone to show Vanessa, hand her my credit card, and Libby passes them their list.

And we’re two down.

And so it goes—Dad, Conner, and Bryson take Conner’s house, all possible things needed purchased since he mostly bought supplies to make a fort—and a treehouse—last time we tried shopping.
Who needs a bed and what not when you can just live like Bear Grylls, right?

Libby takes the kitchen; we decided on a muted yellow and whatever color dishes and small appliances she liked…which oddly, seems to make her day. Alma takes the flower beds since she loves that sort of thing. And in a mind altering twist, Vaughn appears before me, sullen and apologetic, and offers to mow, weed-eat, and trim hedges. I thank him with a hug and a ruffle of his hair and tell him that’d be great. Marshall takes to meeting the fence and security team at the end of the driveway, coordinating and overseeing both projects.

Just when things seem sublime, Rhett and my Uncle Bruce pull up together and make it that much better. As they get out, Bruce’s face is hesitant and cautious, but I square up and walk fast to embrace them both. “How?”

“Cannon called,” Rhett explains.

“Told me everything,” Bruce adds. “Loved my sister, proud as hell of you, and plan to have a beer with your dad later. End of. Where you need us?”

“How about the living room? Cannon?”

He chuckles. “Right behind ya.”

“Why don’t you give them specs on couch, chairs, end tables, TV, rugs? Kinda a man thing. I’m going shopping with my soon-to-be stepmother for my bathroom and guest room. Thank you both for coming, and helping.” A slobbering sap, I hug and kiss them both then run to search down Laura as fast as possible so I can hide my happy display of threatening waterworks.

“I’ll do back deck and walkways and clean the flues for fires, babe!” Cannon yells, getting a thumbs up over my shoulder.

***

Maybe I dreamt it, because I wake up in a new, fabulous bed practically identical to my request, décor all around, including pictures on the walls, which are painted the exact shade of Cannon’s eyes that I kinda shamefully captured…but I have an image of actually collapsing in the hallway from exhaustion in my head.

Imagine what the rest of them must feel like.

What feels most like Heaven is the lean, hard body draped across, around, and under me. “Morning, babe,” I whisper in his ear, lavishing kisses up his thick, corded neck.

“Morning to you my love. Your turn for coffee delivery or go back to sleep,” he says croakily and swats my butt.

“Did you happen to find me in the hall and carry me to bed, oh brawny man of mine?”

“Guilty.” He chuckles softly, a morning rasp making it an even sexier sound than usual.

“Thank you. I love this house,” I sigh happily, “everything turned out so perfect. We’ll have to host a barbeque or dinner to thank them all.”

“Sounds great. Just as soon as the discs in my back slip back to their normal positions,” he mumbles into his pillow.

“Roll on your stomach,” I nudge him, then straddle his back and start massaging. Either tight with strain or shear physical perfection, his muscles are hard against my fingertips, making it difficult to really penetrate.

“Feels great, babe,” he moans. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” I dip my head, placing kisses intimately across his back. “I should probably check on Conner,” I suddenly worry.

“Alma stayed the night with him and an alarm sounds in here if any of his doors open.”

He thinks of everything.

“But feel free; a hard-on against a mattress isn’t exactly comfortable.”

“Then roll back over,” I hum sexily.

He does with a sleepy smile, none the less seductive. “Gonna have to do all the work, Siren, I’m sore as shit.”

“I think I can handle that.” I take off my shirt, pull my panties aside, and glide down on him in one motion, all the way home.

“Mhmmm,” a deep growl rumbles in his chest. “You feel so sweet and snug, Lizzie. Give it to me good, babe.” He props both hands behind his head, smug smirk in place as he watches me ride him gently, but effectively.

When we’re both depleted, glistening in sweet sweat, kissing every spectacular part of each other, I make a breakthrough decision, my love for him infinite and never-ending. As we lay tangled in
our
bed, I roll to my side, propping up my head in one hand and taking his left in my other. “Cannon Powell Blackwell, will you marry me?” I propose.

“Anytime, anywhere, as many times as you want,” he raises our joined hands to his mouth and kisses mine, “but I will be asking you, my beauty. Be ready for a grand display of romanticism.” He tsks and smiles, shaking his head. “Look at you, you witchy thing—trying to take my glory. What am I gonna do with you?”

“Love me,” I whisper. “Do every single thing the best couples in the world do, with me, at least once, and pretend you like it.”

“Let’s hear this list.” He pulls me back on top of him, my head sneaking into its spot under his chin, both his hands finding their spot, one on each cheek of my naked ass.

“Well, I don’t have the whole list ready right this minute, but I’ll be compiling it. You just have to agree to do it.” I giggle and kiss the end of his nose.

“I promise, Lizzie love, anything you want.”

“Oh shit, wait!” he panics. “I don’t want to hang from a Ferris wheel until you agree to date me.” He puppy dog frowns, begging me for a pass.

Geez, I thought something was on fire.

“We’re already long pasting dating, and watching
The Notebook
with me was enough. Free pass on death hangs at carnivals.” I wink, staggering off him and up to get dressed. “But you are so orchestrating a band and singing your way down the bleachers to me while I pretend to be a high school girl on a soccer field.”

“Please,” he rolls his eyes, “at least challenge me.” He stalls, one finger in the air. “I’m not drinking any poison, though, my Juliet. That’s all; those two are kinda biggies.”

***

Six amazing months after
that
night, there’s a beige and red rug in the spot Cannon and I first christened our home, which is where I’m sitting and folding laundry when Vaughn knocks on the edge of the screen door.

“Come on in.” I smile, waving him inside.

He drags his feet, head down, shoulders strung tight as a bow. “Need any help?” he mumbles at the floor.

“No, but thank you.” I love Vaughn. After our “Come to Liz,” we’ve made giant strides, developing a pretty close relationship. He’s a good boy, a little over sixteen now, and he’s worked through a lot of misplaced anger. “Vaughn, what’s up?”

“Is, um, Cannon here?”

“He is, down in the studio.” The studio is our basement, which we converted when we felt the need to still collaborate. “Head on down, unless there’s something I can help you with?”

“You’re kinda my sister now, right?”

“No, not kinda. I am your sister, Vaughn, and I love you. And I changed my mind, I could use some help.” I pat the rug beside me. “Let’s figure it out over laundry.”

He lifts his head now, a relieved and grateful smile peeking through the uncertainty. He plops down beside me and digs in folding. “Promise not to tell my parents?”

“Nope, not if it’s illegal or harmful. They need to know about that, and I’ll go
with you
to tell them, but tell them we will. Other than that,” I nudge his shoulder with my own, “then yes, I promise.”

“What, uh about…” he looks out the window on the other side of the room, “sex?”

I should remind him Cannon’s in the basement. I should pierce out my eardrums, or…be a good big sister and keep my shit together. I mean,
I was his age when I did
.

“If you’ll listen to the very important parts, then this is one of those conversations that can stay between us.”

After six minutes of silence and him refolding the same washcloth the entire time, I clear my throat and steel my spine. “Vaughn, was there something specific you wanted to talk about or ask?”

“How do you know, when it’s okay? How’d you know? How old were you? Where were you?” Man, he really went for it—and all in one breath.

“Okayyy,” I drawl cautiously. This is one of those moments where I can truly mentor him into a fine young man or severely fuck it up. And we know my problem with the
think first, talk later
ailment. “I’m going to be honest with you, Vaughn, because you’re mature, intelligent and I know you can handle it. All right?”

His head bobs frantically, eyes eager for some help, honest information, and most importantly, to be treated like an adult instead of a child.

“I was your age when I did it the first time. It was only once, in my bedroom, with a dear friend that I trusted completely, and still do. It wasn’t really sex—I can’t, and won’t, explain…but it was more two friends who shared everything else. Make sense?”

“Yeah.” He looks away and then back, biting the skin at the edge of his nail, which I raise a hand to halt.

“As for the other question, I think if it doesn’t smack you in the forehead that
this. Is. Her,
then it’s not. Ya know?”

“Like you and Cannon?”

“Yes,” I tap his nose, “exactly like that. Can I ask you some questions now?”

He pops his shoulders and grabs a towel to fold this time. “Sure, I guess so.”

“No, not guess so. Yes or no, Vaughan. I will respect your boundaries.”

“Yes.”

“Have you already had sex?” That actually hurt my throat to ask. He shakes his head and I can breathe again. “Is she your girlfriend?” Shoulder shrug, next towel grabbed. “Would you feel weird looking at her the next day?”

“Yes,” he spouts instantly.

“If she got pregnant, could you take care of her? Would you be happy knowing you’re connected to her for the
rest of your life
?”

His face turns a pasty white as his jaw hits his knee. “No freakin’ way!”

I hold my face straight, unchanged. “Have your answer?” I ask.

“Yes,” he stands, “cold showers it is. Thanks, Liz. Can I ask you other stuff when I need to?”

“Always, day or night. Love you, smart guy.”

“You too. Going to Conner’s, see ya!” He rushes out the back door.

“You’re going to be the best damn mother in the whole world.”

I jolt, jerking my head back over my shoulder to find Cannon tucked back in the hallway, leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed.

“You couldn’t have done that any better. I love you, Lizzie. Every day you find new ways to impress me, even when you don’t know I’m watching.”

I feel my cheeks heat with a flattered blush. He starts to make his way to me, but chaos finds us first.

“Sister! Bethy!” Conner rushes through the back door. “Some of those darn fish smashed the tank and wet got all over my floor!”