Under the Wishing Tree (Oakwood Hollow #1)

5. Past

5

Past

Graham

Eden and I veered off the path and ran through the field, laughing like children among the grass and wildflowers. Our boots squelched with lake water as we traveled down a side street and past colorful Victorian houses, before we came to a stop in front of a white, two-story house with ivy spilling over the porch roof. A pale blue swing hung out front, draped with cozy blankets and pillows. Rose bushes bordered the house, while behind it stood trees in various shades of autumn.

It was a small house, more of a cottage really, but it was exactly what I would have pictured for Eden.

She opened the little white gate and tilted her head, an almost shy smile on her face. “This is my place.”

I glanced back at the house, trying to gather any evidence that someone else was inside. “Eden,” I started. “I probably should’ve asked this earlier, but do you have someone waiting for you in there?”

“I live alone,” she said, her eyes bright with meaning.

Even with my wet clothes weighing me down, I felt lighter than I had in years. I reached for her hand and threaded my fingers through hers. “Good to know.”

Our gazes locked, unspoken words floating between us. And in that quiet space, I recognized the lonely soul before me, a mirror image of myself.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She gave my hand a gentle tug and led me along the stone and moss path, up the front porch steps, and through the front door.

The interior of the house was painted a warm white, the furniture a harmonious mishmash of color and styles. Potted plants lined the windowsills while books spilled out from built-in bookshelves. Eden’s home was neat and lived-in, a place that instantly made me feel welcome and at ease.

“The shower is up here,” she said, her voice soft as we started up the wooden stairs, each step creaking slightly beneath our feet. She stopped at a cabinet and pulled out a neatly folded towel before leading me to a green door with a crystal knob that glinted when it caught the light. With a gentle twist, she opened the door and gestured inside.

“Here. If you want to go in and take off your wet clothes, I can throw them in the washer. You can take a shower if you like, but the water will take a minute to heat up.”

I looked at her, from the wet clothes plastered to body, to her damp hair still dripping in places. “You can go first.”

She shook her head and started back towards the stairs. “I’ll use the one down here.”

I brought my duffel bag inside the bathroom with me and was about to close the door when she called out, “And don’t be alarmed by the screeching. The pipes in this house are very old.”

Sure enough, the pipes let out a sustained high-pitched noise during the shower, but that didn’t stop me from groaning with relief the moment warm water hit me.

I hadn’t realized how cold I’d been and now, here in this clawfoot tub with sunlight filtering in through the ruffled white curtains, it felt as if my limbs were finally thawing, my body coming back to life.

After I was done, I stared at my face in the mirror over the sink and almost didn’t recognize myself. Just that morning, before I went to the train station, my skin had been sallow with dread, my mouth bracketed by lines. Now, the face staring back at me was someone different, someone with a little more light in his eyes.

I changed into a white undershirt and sweatpants before venturing out of the bathroom. Not seeing Eden anywhere, I drifted over to the door beside the bathroom and found a room with colorful balls of yarn bursting out of shelves and baskets. By the window was an old dining table cluttered with a sewing machine, scissors, knitting needles, and wayward pieces of paper with sketches on them. In one corner of the room sat a pale pink armchair with matching ottoman, and on the other side was a small television sitting on a well-worn wooden dresser.

I smiled to myself, imagining her sitting here on a rainy day, knitting under the soft amber glow of a lamp.

I moved on down the hall and found the open door of her bedroom. “Hello?” I said, peering inside. Driven by curiosity, I stepped into the room, absorbing every detail—from the wrought iron bed-frame, to the crisp white sheets with a green blanket draped casually at the end, to the built-in window seat framed by delicate light green lace curtains.

On one side of the room was a built-in bookcase, teeming with books, framed photos, and various knick-knacks. I wandered over, drawn to a picture of a little girl, her black hair in pigtails, sparkly red shoes on her feet. Behind her stood her parents, both Filipino, her father wearing glasses and her mother in a polka-dotted dress, all of them smiling warmly at the camera.

I continued on, my head cocked to the side as I perused book titles, when my eyes landed on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, identical to the ones her father wore in the picture.

Just as I picked it up, Eden said, “There you are.”

I turned, the glasses still in my hand.

“Were you snooping?” she asked with a teasing smile. Her damp hair was hanging down her back, and she wore leggings and an oversize fluffy sweatshirt. Her eyes widened when she spotted the item in my hand. “Where did you find that?”

“It was right here on the shelf.”

She came closer, lips falling open, hand reaching out for the glasses. “But I thought I found all of them,” she murmured to herself. Her eyes flicked up to the shelf, her eyebrows furrowed. “They weren’t there yesterday when I dusted.”

“Are they your dad’s?” I watched her, trying to interpret her strange reaction.

Her dark eyes flicked up to mine, emotion pooling just below the surface. “Yeah, but it’s kind of a long story.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Maybe you can tell me next time.” I wasn’t entirely sure there would even be a next time, but a man could hope.

“Maybe.” She walked over to her nightstand and reached inside the drawer, pulling out a carved wooden box. Inside were over a dozen more pairs of wire-rimmed glasses. She set the latest one on top, her gaze lingering on it for a long second.

There was an unmistakable reverence to the way she handled the box as she put it back into the drawer. It was clear the memories held inside were personal, carrying a part of her she wasn’t ready to reveal.

I stepped toward the door to give her some space and was almost there when she whispered my name.

“Yeah?” I turned back and found her standing in the middle of the room, one hand clutching her other arm.

“Does that mean you’re planning on returning to Oakwood Hollow?” she asked.

My heart clenched at the faltering hope on her face and I found myself moving towards her. “Do you want me to?”

“I do.”

I reached up and settled my hands at the sides of her neck, my fingers cradling her head. Her skin was warm, her pulse quickening under my palm. I studied her face, taking in every delicate curve and line—her eyes wide and searching, the soft parting of her lips. I wanted to memorize every beautiful detail and hold on to this moment for as long as possible. “I’m going to try my best to come out of this war alive,” I said, my voice raw with determination. “And when I do, I’m coming straight here. To you.”

In the next moment, the space between us disappeared. She lifted on her toes and I leaned down, our lips meeting somewhere in the middle.

Her lips were warm and gentle, and I could feel the tremors in her breath, mirroring my uncertainty. And then our lips parted and the kiss deepened, heady and certain, like the first drops of rain after a long drought.

I dropped my hands to her waist and dragged her against me, molding my body against hers. She moaned a wordless plea into my mouth and I answered, turning and walking her backward to the bed and laying her down.

I pressed her into the mattress, grinding myself into her, making it abundantly clear how much I wanted her. She gasped when I hit the spot, and she dug her fingers into my hips and begged me to continue. I rolled my hips over and over, swallowing her whimpers of pleasure.

“Graham,” she whispered against my lips.

I pulled back and looked at her, my breath coming out in rapid gusts. “You okay? Do you want to stop?”

She let out a surprised laugh. “No. No way.” Her fingers moved to the waistband of my pants. “I want more. Of you.”

She didn’t need to ask me twice. “Yes, ma’am.” I got up and reached behind me, dragging my t-shirt over my head and dropping it on the floor. Just as I was about to remove the rest of my clothes, she sat up.

“Let me,” she said and slipped her fingers into the waistband of my pants and underwear, tugging both down until they pooled at my feet, until I stood before her completely naked.

She rose to her feet and took me in with her dark brown eyes, hands reaching out to trace the contours of my chest, traveling down my abs, and venturing lower.

I let out a hiss when her fingers wrapped around me, my hips bucking when she slid her hand up and down my length, setting a slow, steady rhythm that had me swiftly hurtling towards the edge.

Before I could lose myself, I took hold of her wrist and brought her knuckles up to my lips. “I’ll be right back.”

I retrieved a condom from my bag and hurried back, finding her in the same place. Her gaze burned as she watched me rip open the package and slide the condom down my length.

“You sure?” I asked, and she responded with a confident nod.

I took my time undressing her, dropping to a knee and sliding her leggings down, my eyes glued to the gradual reveal of the tanned skin of her legs. Then I slid my hands up the inside of her bare thighs, noting the slight tremble of her muscles, and reaching under her sweatshirt until I came in contact with fabric. I hooked a finger into the top of her panties and tugged them down over the curve of her hips, continuing south until they too joined the leggings on the floor.

I stood up and gathered the hem of her sweatshirt, pulling it up and over her head, revealing a pale lavender bra covering her chest. Fighting to control my breathing, I reached behind her and fiddled with the clasp until it sprang free. With gentle movements, I pulled the two ends of lace-lined fabric to the front, the straps falling off her shoulders. And then the cups fell away, leaving Eden completely bare.

“You’re beautiful,” I rasped, battling the urge to lunge towards her, to touch her and taste her, to be inside her. But even as the minutes ticked by in the back of my mind, reminding me of what little time I had left, I refused to rush.

I guided her onto the mattress and slid my hands down the insides of her thighs, opening her up, taking a moment to appreciate the view before dipping my head down to the juncture of her thighs. She let out a gasp the moment my tongue made contact, her fingers threading through my hair as I pleasured her, her legs trembling when I hit a particularly tender spot.

It wasn’t long before her hips rose off the bed, and her entire body shuddered her release. She reached for me and I moved over her, meeting her waiting lips, her legs wrapping around me as I positioned myself at her entrance. Then, slowly, I sank into her, savoring every single moment until I filled her completely.

Her lips quivered as she stared up at me and, as I began to roll my hips, she lifted her head and joined my mouth with hers.

Our lips never lost contact as this little rainstorm thickened, intensified, until it was an all out downpour. We moved together in unison, as if we’d known each other all our lives rather than near-strangers, instinctively knowing what the other needed. As I came close, I reached between us and kneaded until she was moaning, her insides quivering around me, triggering my own release. With a pained groan, I drove into her one last time and stayed there, reveling in the ebbing aftershock.

When we finally broke apart, the world felt quieter, almost hushed. I lay on my side and rested my forehead against hers, our breaths intertwining in the stillness, the air between us thick with emotion.

“Eden,” I said, my breath raspy and broken. I wanted to ask if she believed in fate, if she thought some people were meant to enter your life and change it forever, but the words wouldn’t come.

But as I dipped my head and kissed her again, I realized I didn’t need verbal confirmation because I already knew this woman had changed me. However long or short my life might be, one thing was certain—because of Eden, my life would never be the same.