Of All The Ways He Loves Me (10 page)

But it all escaped in a rush and my head spun in crazy circles. Seven days sin
ce I’d seen him last, the longest we’d ever been apart, and he was still how I’d known him to be, still with that cowlick on the right side of his head, still with the freckle on the back of his hand, still tall and strong and handsome.

Our eyes locked together, and neither one of us could look away, a fact noticed by all those in the group. Evelyn was the one to suggest we go outside. I actually thanked her for that
, which earned me a roll of her eyes. But I really didn’t want to do all this in the church proper.

We made a line, exiting the building and moving around to the right. There was a small garden there set between the entrances and if you placed yourself just right you’d be out of view. Paterson went right to that location, and
I followed. Penny and Jenn stood behind us and Evelyn to the left.

“Well, get on with it,” Evelyn said.

Paterson coughed. “I have something to say first.”

She waved him on with a flick of her wrist.

He turned to me. “Nat, I only know how to speak the truth. I’m through with books and the ideas of other people. You wanted me to be Paterson, the friend you’ve known for seven years, and that’s all I have to offer.”

My stomach chur
ned. He was breaking up with me, or what?

“
I was afraid,” he continued. “I thought you’d never see me for anything else but a nice guy, so I tried to change who I was. I tried to impress you. And I know what you saw the other day and what you think of me now, but you’re wrong. Way wrong. I’d never do that to you.”

“I know,” I said.

He quieted. “You do?”

I walked up to him
, kinking my neck backward to see his face. “Yes. Because I know you, and I trust you.”

His expression got all strange and he
raised a hand to my face. His palm on my skin lit a fire that spread across my face and downward into my heart. “You trust me,” he said soft.

“I have something to say as well,” I said, despite the heat sparking within me.

“Are you two going to kiss or not?” Evelyn whined, interrupting us.

“Shut it, Evie,” Penny said, clamping a hand on her shoulder.

Evelyn yanked herself free and crossed her arms in a huff.

I refocused my thoughts. “But only one thing, and you can take it or leave it.”

Paterson was sweating, a trickle running down his temple
over the vein in his neck, then catching in his collar like it always did. He nodded. “Okay.”

I stepped even closer, and the scent of his
cologne whisked up my nose, the fragrance of the lavender soap his mother always kept in the dish, and a musky smell that rose from his skin.

I moistened my lips. “I love you, Paterson
Radovich, with everything that’s in me.”

He startled, his hands vibrating on my skin and cradled my face in his palms. “Do you mean that?” he asked.

I smiled. “Every word.” I wrapped my hands around his neck. “Now, kiss me and make it good.”

His mouth met mine, his tongue searching between my lips, and I sailed away from that place, way up in the clouds where I could look down at the pair of us and fall head over heels again back to earth.

He was perfect. Perfect with the popping noise in his left knee whenever he climbed the stairs. Perfect with the scar on his ring finger where he cut his finger at camp. Perfect with his kind face and gentle hands and the precise fit I made in his arms. Because he was Paterson and he was mine, and now, I knew that.

To my left I heard a distinct snort
, and I broke our kiss, falling against him with a laugh.

“Great day,” Evelyn said. “
I never asked you to swallow her face.”

***

Five years later

“Hey, handsome, can you get me a drink
?” I called to the squeaking noise behind me.

The noise ceased and was replaced by the crunch of footsteps across the grass, the pop and thud of the cooler’s lid, and Paterson’s face dangling upside down over me. “One lemon-lime soda coming right up,” he said. He lowered his long arm and pressed the can to my mid-section.

I squealed and pawed at him. “That’s cold.”

He laughed and shook his head.

I shaded my eyes from the bright summer sun to better see his face, and drop of sweat from his brow landed square between my eyes. He wiped it away.

“Haven’t you baked enough?” he asked.

“A perfect tan only comes with the proper amount of time in the oven,” I replied.

“Does that include our daughter?”

I transferred my gaze to the sandbox where Carrie was last seen digging her two-year-old hands into the soil and flew out of my chair at the site of her headed right toward a pile of––

“No, no, sweetie,” I said, scooping her up.

Sand crumbled from her hands onto my face, a clump sliding right down my bikini top.

I turned to find Paterson holding the water hose. “Oh, look,” I said. She spun her little blonde head his direction. “Daddy’s going to rinse us off.”

She became excited, waving her arms and kicking her legs, intent on reaching the ground. I twisted her sideways, for lack of a better grip, and held her much like a football on my way across the lawn. Standing about six feet from him, I readjusted my hold.

“Okay, let her rip,” I said.

He concentrated the stream on us and Carrie screeched, her laughter joining with mine and his. “Let’s go get him,” I said, assuming a stalking stance.

Holding her like a shield, I pushed us forward against the water flow, hopping the last few steps to his side. He released the spray handle and the water stopped. Water dripped from us both into the grass at our feet. I leaned over and he met me halfway with a generous kiss. He then
puffed air on Carrie’s skin, making a fluttering sound.

She pasted her wet hands to his face.

“Daddy’s girl,” he said.

She extended her arms further, reaching from my grasp to his, and he lifted her from my arms.

“Potty,” she said.

I smiled. “Daddy will absolutely take you potty. Won’t you Daddy?”
I said in baby talk.

Paterson gave me a lop-sided grin.

“And while he’s in there,” I continued. “He’ll find you something dry to wear and turn on the oven so I can bake that casserole for Grammy’s tonight.”

“Mommy’s very good at giving instructions while talking like a two-year-old,” he sang back.

I couldn’t help but giggle.

He turned his back on me and headed for the back door.

“And don’t forget to give her dry undies,” I said. “You always forget.”

He held up a hand in a backwards wave.
“Yes, Mom. You know me so well.”

I smiled and wandered back to my chair. The best man in the universe, best son, best dad,
best husband anywhere was married to me. How’d I get so lucky?

FROM THE AUTHOR

Every time I finish a book, I’m filled with thoughts because what took you an hour or a day to read took me weeks to write. I lived with the characters, even when I wasn’t writing thinking of their actions in my head, the next scene, next bit of dialogue.

What made this particular story happen was the cover
photo. It spoke to me, and I heard the lines in my head. “Of all the ways he loves me / in this he loves the most.” I got to thinking then about the quirks and funny –isms that we all have. How my husband leaves the hairspray in the middle of the bathroom counter. How he can’t remember to pick up his shirts on his side of the bed. How he organizes everything in his life but his toolbox, and I realized it is all those things and so many others that make he and I,
us
, unique.

That’s what gives
this story its glue. When I had to tear Nadia and Paterson apart, I wasn’t sure how to bring them back together until I realized it’d be all that stuff, all the likes and dislikes, the little bits of their personalities that’d give them they security they seek. Because perfection is only found when you love somebody and accept them for who they are.

I have to thank Laura J. Marshall, author and super-mom for her constant encouragement and editing help, and Dana
Pratola, author and best friend ever, for keeping me sane.

Suzanne D. Williams

ABOUT THIS AUTHOR

Suzanne D. Williams is a native Floridian, wife, mother, photographer, and writer. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction books. She writes a monthly column for Steves-Digicams.com on the subject of digital photography, as well as devotionals and instructional articles for various blogs. She also does graphic design for self-publishing authors.

To learn more about what she’s doing visit
http://suzanne-williams-photography.blogspot.com/
or link with her on Facebook at
http://www.facebook.com/suzannedwilliamsauthor
.

Also by Suzanne D. Williams:
             

Nonfiction:

Fearless

Short Stories:

The Amanda Series

Christmas Angel

Me & Timothy Cooper

I Kissed The Boy Next Door

The Best Week of My Life

Fiction:

MISSING (The Sanders Saga #1)

FOUND (The Sanders Saga #2)

Love & Redemption (The Florida Irish #1)

For Eternity (Time-Travel Romance #1)

Upcoming Fiction Novels:

Life & Deliverance (The Florida Irish Series #2)

Faith & Forgiveness (The Florida Irish Series#3)

Maire’s Song (The Florida Irish Series #4)

Crossing Eternity (Time-Travel Romance #2)

Tattooed

The Quarter

Upcoming Short Stories:

Flight Risk

The Life & Times of Lucas
McGilley

Ichabod & Penelope

Of All The Ways He Loves Me

Love in Lilac

Jersey Boy

Eden

A Miracle For Mari

SUIT

If you have enjoyed this book, please support the author by leaving a book review at Amazon and
Goodreads. Thank you!

ME & TIMOTHY COOPER

YOUNG ADULT COLLECTION #1

Fall in love all over again.

Best-Selling Short Stories Now in
Paperback

ME & TIMOTHY COOPER
-- Seventeen-year-old Taylor Lawton has a crush on Timothy Cooper, a boy at her school. A turn of fate then throws them both for a loop. For an entire week, they will stay beneath the same roof. Will this be too much togetherness? What is Timothy's painful secret?
I KISSED THE BOY NEXT DOOR
-- The new boy next door is not so new. To Lucy McKinsey, he's a face from her past and a childhood memory of summer camp and a dare. Kiss Jackson Phillips. But what a fourteen-year-old would do to impress her friends, changes in three years. Right? Yet this time Jackson isn't the same as he was. What is the pain he carries inside? Can a well-meant kiss cure the boy next door?
THE BEST WEEK OF MY LIFE
-- Accidents happen to Daphne Merrill a lot. So falling face-down at the feet of Carter Pruitt while on vacation was simply another in a long list of her misfortunes. Yet what started out as the worst day ever is looking up with each minute that passes. Is it possible he actually likes her for who she is? Or is he yet another person laughing behind her back?