WORTHY, Part 1 (7 page)

I smiled wanly, worn out from my memories. “I’d like that,” I said. I really would. His simple hug had helped me escape the memories that were dragging me down. As long as he didn’t look at my face, didn’t touch it, everything would be just fine.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Jonathan got stronger, his bruising faded, and
the gash on his hairline mended into a thin white scar.

“I think it gives me a mysterious look, don’t you?” he asked, feeling his scar with his fingers.

“Everything about you is a mystery,” I laughed. “You have an overabundance of mystery.”

Work seemed to agree with him, too. He’d been idle too long,
I figured, and it had soured his spirit. When he had a list of tasks in front of him, he seemed to be happy. He liked having a goal to achieve and reveled in completing one after the other.

He was learning the ins and outs of the kitchen with
my guidance, so that was one good thing. Jonathan enjoyed the same things that I enjoyed—following a recipe but finding ways to put a unique stamp on the end product.

We
made bread—which Jonathan had more of a flair for—cookies, bars, pies, cakes, muffins, and more. And it turned out that he was pretty handy in places other than my kitchen.

Jonathan, inexplicably, knew his way around a toolbox, could tinker with things, and actually constructed a working grill out of some old metal parts he found in the barn.

“You live here, don’t you?” he laughed as I studied the metal with some suspicion. “Why don’t you know what you have in your own barn?”

“I’ve salvaged a lot of things
from the woods,” I said. “And I’ve stored even more. I can’t remember every little thing I squirrel away.”

“Well, now we can have barbecues,” he said, patting the ramshackle but functioning device fondly.

The first steaks Jonathan cooked on it were delicious—better than anything I could do on the stove or in the oven.

With Jonathan’s extra pair of hands around the place,
I could work on projects I’d always wanted to do but didn’t have the time or resources for. With his help, I expanded the garden, working hard to till the soil to the same quality as the rest of the plot. Then, we made flowerbeds all around the cottage, planting my very favorite seeds.

“And what are you going to do with even more flowers, missy?” Jonathan teased, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re not going to know what to do with yourself when these start growing, are you?”

And the more time I spent with Jonathan, the happier I was. He was a true joy to be around, always excited and joyful when he was working on something he was interested in, cheerfully pleasant even if it was an unpleasant task, like unclogging a toilet or working outside in the heat. His memories remained out of his reach, however, and he tried to put on a brave face about it. I knew it pained him.

A stifling heat wave settled over the countryside, and it felt like as soon as
I got up from my bed, I started sweating. It was hard to even get ourselves to leave the shade of the cottage to work outside in the swelter. We carried heavy bucket after heavy bucket to keep the garden and the new flowerbed properly watered.

But it felt like
we lost as much water from our bodies as we hauled buckets of across the property in the sweat that ran down our skin and soaked our clothing.

“Is there anything we can do to get out of this heat?” Jonathan groaned as
we sat in the grass in the shade of the barn—me, as always, keeping him on my right side—and watching the chickens get their exercise. They seemed as listless as we did, pecking at the dry ground with nary a cluck among them.

“Walk in the woods?”
I offered. “There’ll be plenty of shade.”

“Only if it leads to a swimming pool,” Jonathan said. “
Or a water park.”

“You know, it does lead to a pool of sorts,”
I said. “I usually go fishing there, but I think it’s too hot to be anywhere other than the water. There’s just one problem.”

“What’s that? Is it far away? I’ll walk wherever and for however long you tell me to as long as you promise we’re going swimming.”

Jonathan looked hot and a little bit manic, and it made me smile. Cooling off in the pool by the river would be a much-needed respite from the sticky heat of summer.

“We don’t have swimsuits,”
I said.

“How do you usually go, then?” Jonathan asked, cocking his head with no small degree of interest.

I blushed heavily. “Well, no one’s ever there,” I said. “I usually go without, um, without clothes.”

“As nature intended,” Jonathan said admiringly, giving a nod of approval. “I’m in. I won’t peek if you won’t.”

I laughed and shook my head. “I’ll be wearing at least my underwear,” I said. “A bra and panties are practically a bathing suit.”

“Think of how uncomfortable that’ll be, though, putting your dry clothes over your wet underwear and walking back after we’re through,” Jonathan said. “You might as well just skinny dip. That’s what I’m going to do.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you were just trying to get a look at me naked,” I said crossing my arms over my chest in mock indignation.

He shrugged, grinning. “Well, you have one over me,” he said. “Remember when you saw me naked?”

I flushed. “Those were dire circumstances,” I said. “And I don’t even remember what it looks like. It is absolutely gone from my mind.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m forgettable?” Jonathan asked, raising his eyebrows. “Wow. I
—I’m speechless.”

“Stop it,” I said, laughing and giving him a playful punch in his arm. “Let’s go swimming.”

All we carried with us to the pool were a couple of bottles of water apiece. I sat down on the tree trunk that extended over the pool and stuck my bare foot into the water.

“Ooh,”
I said, delighted and grinning. “It’s pretty chilly.”

“Sounds perfect,” Jonathan said, stripping off his sweaty shirt. His muscles glistened
with sweat in the sun, making my mouth drier than it already was. He dropped his shorts and I looked quickly away. He hadn’t been joking about swimming
au natural
. Still, his ass was gorgeous. For the split second I’d seen it, bare and muscular, it was imprinted in great detail my mind.

Jonathan groaned as he waded into the pool,
me relaxing a little once he was in waist-deep water, covering up his butt.

“This is like heaven,” he said. “You need to get in here immediately.”

“Okay,” I said, “but turn around. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to look.”

“You act as if catching a glimpse of you naked would burn my eyes out or something,” he said.

“You never know,” I said mildly, wriggling out of my clothes but leaving my bra and panties on. The last thing I wanted to do was give Jonathan a show. My wet underwear would probably even feel good beneath my dry clothes as we walked back to the cottage after swimming.

I crouched in the water, sighing deeply
. “Oh, you’re right. This is amazing.”

“I told you,” he said
, turning. “Oh. You’re overdressed for this pool, I’m afraid. You might make other swimmers feel insecure.”

I laughed. “Is that right? Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Your body’s under the water, Michelle,” Jonathan pointed out. “You don’t have to feel embarrassed or shy. We’re friends, aren’t we? Besides, who am I going to tell I saw you naked? If you tossed your bra and panties up to the bank, I’m sure they’d dry before we decided to leave.”

I turned away, suddenly aware that he’d been looking full into my face. Honestly, that was the part of me I wanted to hide, not my breasts or ass or privates.

“Fine,” I said. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“All I want is for you to be comfortable,” he said. “That’s all.”

I swiftly stepped out of my panties and pulled off my bra, throwing the sodden items away.

We
floated lazily in the pool for many long minutes, me leaning back so I could stare at the cloudless sky. It was as blue as Jonathan’s eyes. I couldn’t help but revisit the sight of his butt as he got into the pool. Everything about him was sexy, but the bigger truth was that I really enjoyed being around him. Life had become unexpectedly richer ever since I’d found him.

“How long do you plan on living out here, by yourself?” he asked suddenly, after
we’d been in the pool for about an hour.

I
had been floating on my back, napping a little and not caring what he caught a glimpse of. The water felt too good to care, but now I resumed my defensive crouch, my careful turn away from his gaze.

“I don’t know,”
I said. “I guess I’d always planned on being out here forever. When I came out here …” I trailed off. It was hard to think of that difficult time.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, his steady gaze comforting despite the fact that
we were both naked. Somehow, not having any clothes on made me feel more forthcoming, like I didn’t have to hide anything.

“I
—I want to, but it’s just hard.” I took a deep breath. “When I first came out here, I was in a lot of pain. My parents had—had just died, and I couldn’t bear to be around anyone. Somehow, being out here by myself, here in nature, helped heal me. And I’ve never had any desire to leave.”

“That’s kind of like me,” Jonathan said, smiling faintly. “This place healed me, too. Well, except for my memory. But you know, I’m caring less and less about that as the days go by. Do you think it would be okay if I stayed out here with you? I really like it. And I like being with you. You make me feel good, too, as much as the work and nature and everything.”

I had no way of knowing how much that question would affect me. My heart lifted and soared. He liked it out here, and he liked me.

“I would be disappointed to live out here with
out you,” I admitted. “I’ve gotten used to you being a part of my life.”

I
looked over at Jonathan, and he was grinning. His happiness was infectious, and I grinned back. I was so buoyed that I hardly cared when we both clambered out of the pool in the early evening. He liked me. It didn’t matter if he caught a glimpse of anything.

Later that night, he insisted on preparing dinner,
with me trying not to insult him by hovering. He was cooking us an Italian dinner, he claimed, and he was experimenting by seeing if he could concoct his own sauce. I gave him a few pointers and tried to back off, cleaning the cottage a little bit until I couldn’t do anything without seeming like I was fidgeting.

“Relax,” he said, laughing at
me. “What do you usually do when there’s nothing for you to do? Read a book or something.”

I
bit my lip as I looked at the bookshelf. There was nothing I wanted to avoid more right now than a romance novel, especially with the way I was feeling. Who knew that a man who knew his way around the kitchen would be such a turn-on? I figured that a lot of it had to do with what was said at the pool today.

Jonathan liked
me, and I liked him. The admission had changed everything for me. He’d become a friend and a companion over time, and I’d enjoyed watching him grow more comfortable and confident the longer he stayed. Now, the fact that he liked living out here as much as I did and wanted to be here as long as I was lifted my heart and made it do dizzy little loops in my chest.

Finally,
I grabbed a harmless volume from the shelf and sat on the couch. I opened the book, but I couldn’t read a word, instead enjoying watching Jonathan move around the kitchen. The sauce smelled amazing, and I couldn’t wait to eat an entire dinner he’d prepared.

“Okay, I think everything’s getting close to ready over here,” he announced, making
me jump out of my trancelike state. I hope he hadn’t noticed me staring and drooling.

“I’ll just wash my hands real fast,”
I said, walking down the hall and into the bathroom. I turned the light on and shrieked, covering my face with my hands and falling to the floor.

“
Michelle! What’s wrong?”

I
felt rather than saw Jonathan run into the bathroom and stop beside me, trying to piece together the problem. My shoulders hitched with a sob.

“What is it?” Jonathan asked, sinking to his knees and putting his arm around
me. I flinched away from his touch. How could he bear to look at me day after day—let alone touch me?

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, sounding hurt and bewildered.
I felt a pang that had nothing to do with my weeping. He thought he did something wrong, and here I was letting him believe it. Jonathan was so good—a saint for putting up with me for so long. I couldn’t drag him down like this.

“Mirror,”
I hiccupped, pointing. My stupid heart. How could I have really thought that he’d liked me? He had to have just been saying that, some sort of pitying concession to everything I’d done for him all this time. No one could like what I’d seen in that traitorous glass. I didn’t like it. I hated it.

“I found several
mirrors out in the barn, all wrapped up,” Jonathan explained. “I thought it’d be nice to have at least one here in the cottage. You know. So we can see ourselves.”