Tender Ch. 01

Thank you for reading! This story has a slow build up. Feedback is welcomed and deeply appreciated!

*****

It was a cloudy, warm afternoon with a slight breeze that wafted lazily through the grass. Every so often, the draft would push itself through windows that were thrown open in the hopes of catching the few last remains of spring before plunging into the blazing summer. Off in the distance, dark and ominous clouds billowed threateningly. Every so often, I saw a flash of lightning that illuminated the overcast sky.

Thankfully, my shift at the salon was drawing to a close. The last of the cut hair was thrown away, and my station had been wiped down meticulously. Wednesdays were typically slow, and today was no exception. With a mere ten minutes until my shift ended, I sat down in my chair and stretched my legs.

"Looks like it's going to storm before long," Ashton observes from his station. He sits across from me, so I swivel around to see him.

"I hope it isn't too terrible tonight," I say, hugging my arms to my chest. "Thunderstorms make me nervous."

"If you get too frightened, you can come by my house. We have a storm shelter." he offers.

"I'll be fine," I wave a hand dismissively. "Morgan is picking me up anyway; I'm sure he remembers my irrational fear of storms."

"Who is he, again?" Ashton asks.

"Morgan McAlister? From Chambers and McAlister? The law firm in town?" I roll my eyes.

"I know all that, Evie. How does he know your father?" Ashton asks.

"They were childhood buddies before they decided to go to law school," I explain. "He knows my car is in the shop, so he offered to pick me up from work."

"Wasn't he married to Molly McAlister?" he asks. She was one of his clients, after their divorce, she stopped coming around. I assume it has something to do with me; I was not happy with the heartbroken mess she left Morgan in when she left.

"She left him almost three years ago," I recall. "Something about a younger man."

"Shame. He seems to be stable," he says. "Is that why stopped having me do her hair? Because you worked here?"

"Probably. I wasn't very happy with her." I say. "I think Morgan was expecting her to leave, but it was still difficult for him."

"That's too bad. Is he over her now? He's good-looking. You know, for an older man." Ashton grins, laughing to himself.

"He's just a friend, Ashton." I growl irritably. Any male that walks into my life has to be my soul mate, according to Ashton.

"He seems to look out after you frequently, is all." he says.

"Morgan has been in my life for vast majority. He's a very dear friend," I say fondly. "What about you and Angela?"

"We're all right," he says. "We've only been together a few months. She has a really cute friend."

"You should really stop cheating; it's a real asshole thing to do." I roll my eyes at him. Although I genuinely like Ashton as a friend, he's been known to be a despicable human being at times.

"I'm just curious, is all." he grins. "Is that Morgan?"

I look to the large window that faces the parking lot. A dark blue Charger idled in a spot. Morgan climbs gracefully from the car and strode around to the other side, waiting.

"So, he opens doors, too?" Ashton asks helplessly.

"Learn a lesson. Bye, Ashton." I roll my eyes at him again before grabbing my purse and walking out the door. The wind has picked up, and I had forgotten my jacket earlier when Morgan had dropped me off.

"Hello, Genevieve." he smiles, opening the car door for me. It makes me smile when he uses my full name; something nobody else does. Generally, he only uses it in greeting or goodbyes.

"Thank you so much, Morgan." I say. He helps me into the car, fastening the seatbelt securely around my shoulder and legs. "I'm not a little kid anymore; I can do that myself." I giggle at him.

"Humor an old man," he says before closing the door. I watch him confidently stride around the car. He folds himself neatly into his seat and fastens his own seatbelt.

"I don't think you're old quite yet, Morgan." I say.

"Fifty-six isn't old?" he chuckles, shaking his head.

"You don't seem as though you're in your fifties. I remember when you used to play football with Ethan and I." Ethan is my older brother. Like me, he doesn't speak much with our father. However, Ethan isn't close with Morgan like I am.

"You remember that?" he grins, pulling out onto the street.

"Of course," I giggle once more and he turns his gaze to me. His piercing blue eyes twinkle gently.

"You've grown up quite a bit since then." he observes. He nervously fiddles with a spot on his fingernail, meticulously avoiding my gaze. "It's difficult to believe you'll be twenty-five."

"Don't remind me," I roll my eyes, and he flashes me an incredible, confident smile.

"You have a couple decades before you have to start worrying about your age, Evie." he says. "Speaking from experience, of course."

"Whatever," I roll my eyes, and I note the small smirk playing across his mouth. His dark brown hair is only beginning to fleck with gray. In all the years I had known him, he had worked out and ran. Although slim, he was broad. I knew the comfort of his arms all too well. When mom died fifteen years ago, when my dad and I finally decided to stop talking . . . every time I had to regroup my thoughts, I had done so in those arms.

Raindrops explode across the windshield. Nervously, I wrap my arms around my body. Beside me, Morgan grasps my knee comfortingly. I close my eyes, resting my left hand on the back of his. He feels strong and solid; the perfect combination to my own nervousness.

"It's just a thunderstorm, honey. I've been keeping an eye on the weather for you," he says quietly, and I grin at him, embarrassed.

"Goodness, you do know me. I thought I would grow out of being afraid of storms," I sigh, bringing my hand back up to my chest. He withdraws his own hand, resting it in his lap.

"Honestly? I thought you would, too." he laughs as I playfully punch his arm.

"Do you know how long it's supposed to last?" I ask, turning my gaze to the window. Rain fell heavily from the sky and puddles already formed in small valleys and ditches. Lightning illuminates the sky, cracking across the wet, gray clouds. My eyes close as I gasp involuntarily.

"Well into tomorrow morning," he answers, his hand seeking out my knee once more. This time, he traces small, comforting circles against the fabric of my slacks. "If you would like, you could stay in my guest bedroom. Unless you had other plans, of course." he adds hastily.

"I don't have other plans. However, I don't want to intrude on you. You shouldn't have to hold my hand when there's a thunderstorm; I'm twenty-four for crying out loud," I laugh at my ridiculousness, shaking my head.

"It would be nice having someone . . ." Morgan stops, as if suddenly aware that he's showing too much emotion. Since Molly left, he had been incredibly lonely. Before my father and I ceased communications, he would tell me of Morgan's distance and lack of interest in the dating scene. Not in those exact words, but I knew how reserved Morgan was, and still remains to be.

"I wouldn't mind staying with you, if you didn't mind." I say. We're both adults, after all. Just friends. "I've taken tomorrow off to pick up my car and run a few errands; I'll leave after you drop me off. As long as you can give me a ride."

"Of course I can give you a ride," he shakes his head incredulously. "And I sure as hell don't mind you staying with me. We'll have time to catch up. Other than this morning, it's been awhile since we've chatted."

"It has," I agree. Other than this morning, it had been nearly two months since we had spoken. Work had kept us both busy, as usual.

Ten minutes later, I'm curled up on his couch with my shoes off and my feet tucked under me. He hands me a cup of hot coco and sits beside me. His shirt is rumpled and he's loosened his tie. He's still in his slacks, though he's shed his shoes.

"I've always thought it was fascinating to see you without your entire lawyer garb on," I say.

"Why?" he chuckles, clearly perplexed. Or at least feigning, for my sake.

"I don't know. Usually, I see you in your full suit. When you're at home and you look normal . . . I like it," I explain lamely, sipping my coco. Carefully, I lean forward and set the mug on the table.

"Have you talked with Cane recently?" Morgan asks, referring to his son.

"Not since he graduated high school," I answer. "The last time we talked."

"Yes," he says, his blue eyes probing mine. Not for the first time in my life, I had the feeling of being X-rayed. "He's doing well in school. I guess he's found a girl. He seems serious enough, for a boy his age."

"That's sweet," I say. "Everyone is growing up. I remember when Cane was in diapers." I shake my head in disbelief. It's breathtaking how the years can sneak up on you.

"I remember when you were in diapers," Morgan scoffs. "She seems sweet. Alison. Studying psychiatry, I guess."

"Sounds boring," I sigh. "I enjoy doing hair. I couldn't sit still with clients like that."

"You know, you're quite good at what you do. It wouldn't be difficult for you to get a job in the city, making more money than working in a small town like this," he waves his hand for effect.

"Well, all my friends are here. I don't want to move to the new city, alone." I confess quietly.

"Sometimes, you have to do things for yourself, Genevieve." he says knowingly, and I roll my eyes at him.

"You're a hypocrite, Morgan McAlister. You could move to the city and start your own law firm! In case you haven't figured it out, you're brilliant. You would excel if you weren't smothered by my father." I glare at him hotly. Much to my annoyance, he gives me a smug, satisfied smirk.

"You think so?" he says, as if he knows something I don't. Which, he probably does, the bastard.

"Tell me, Morgan." I groan, and he flashes me a lopsided grin.

"Well, I've been debating on starting my own firm for quite some time," he begins thought fully. "I've already let Chris know." Chris. My father.

"Really? That's great news! When will you start? Where will you be?" I ask, needing all the details at once.

"Within three months, I'll be living in Wichita, leasing a building and have a small staff. A lot of my clients are already from there anyway," he says, and I'm so happy for him. After what he's been through the last few years and beyond, he deserves this.

"I'm so proud of you!" I exclaim, throwing my arms around his neck. Surprised, he stiffens instantly beneath me. Sensing his apprehension, I let go and give him his space.

"Sorry, Genevieve." he breathes, reaching out and pulling me back to his chest. Although confused, I relax, but I don't allow my head to rest on his shoulder. Instead, I search his gaze. Of course, he is displaying no emotion. Typical lawyer move; he probably has me read like a book.

"What am I thinking?" I ask, forcing my face to stoniness. He grins at the decades old challenge; the game I made up when I was young.

"Hmm," he sighs, his piercing blue gaze surely penetrating my own. It takes just a moment to notice how close we are. He seems to realize this at the same time as I do, as he slides away from me slightly. "I think you're frustrated that I'm so good at reading you."

"Shut up," I roll my eyes again, and he gives me a tilted, mischievous grin.

"Don't be jealous," he says, his fingers brushing my face. The heat from his hand is startling; the callousness of his fingertips was exhilarating. "I wish I could read what your . . . other expression is. I can't quite put my finger on it."

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused. "My 'other expression?'"

"When you're not talking or thinking of anything." he answers. A small smirk plays on his lips. "When you're looking at me."

Instantly, my face reddens. Oh. That expression. The expression of me silently stripping his clothes off in my mind. The thoughts of fingers tangled in hair and legs tangled with legs. My heat against his strength, the comfort of his arms surrounding me and the longing gazes of exploration and wonder.

Thoughts of pulling his face to mine in a passionate kiss, trying to explain to him how grateful I am for every good deed he has ever done for me. It's embarrassing to put the years of praise, encouragement, attending school functions and the few times I had to borrow money from him into perspective.

"There's no expression," I say hurriedly, but he sees through my lie with ease.

"It's adorable how you think you can lie to me, Genevieve. You forget; I've watched you grow up. I know your lying face. The way your lower lip twitches," he traces my mouth with a warm finger. Bravely, I kiss his fingertip. He pauses with his finger pressed against my lips. "Your face gives you away; what is on your mind, honey?"

"That would be telling, Morgan." I say. "Can I not have secrets from you?"

"I don't like secrets," he reminds me, pulling his hand away.

"Sometimes, I need secrets," I say quietly, avoiding his searching gaze.

For a few moments, I ponder the best way to ignore him without being rude. I realize my foot had been shaking, so I mentally stop the nervous tick. Sighing, I turn my gaze back to his. There's no way to avoid his knowing blue eyes. He's right; he knows me far too well.

At that instant, a loud crack of thunder cracks outside, causing the lights to shut off. I gasp and jump into his chest. Strength, sturdiness . . . tenderness. My breath catches in my throat as I feel his hands rest low on my back. However, I relax and rest my head against his shoulder. I feel him tense, and I instantly climb out of his embrace.

"Are you all right?" he asks, carefully avoiding my eyes.

"Yeah. I wonder when the lights will come back on?" I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"No idea. There are a few flashlights in my bedroom," he says, standing. It's intimidating how confident he was in every movement. Everything calculated and executed with grace. How does he make something as simple as standing look so sexy?

"Morgan? Do you happen to have a tee shirt and gym shorts I could borrow? I forgot to get clothes from my house, and these clothes have hair embedded in them . . ." I stand with him, knowing I only just came up to his chest.

"I'm sure I have something," he nods. "Come."

I follow close behind, trying to ignore the howling wind outside. We walk into his room, and the first thing I notice is the large, comfortable looking bed. Then, I notice the large television mounted on the wall. I groan enviously; my old futon had been where I had slept for several months now.

"You all right?" he asks, slightly alarmed. I nod.

"That looks comfortable," I gesture at the bed.

"It's lonely," he says, and I almost gasp at his emotion. Morgan seems to realize his slip, because he stands a little taller and clears his throat. Confidence restored. "My workout clothes are in here."

Together, we walk into a large closet. Exactly half was empty; the other half was lined neatly with suits, ties and dress shoes. Drawers that were surely full of socks and other clothing lined each of the many shelves.

"You've had this redone," I comment, eyeing the closet with renewed envy. He nods. "You should use the other half. It looks . . . empty."

"If I should ever want to meet another woman . . . I wanted her to know that I have room for her. Anywhere. However, that was also before I decided to move. At any rate, having this redone adds value to the house." Morgan explains.

"I'm so happy for you, Morgan. I know you'll find someone. You're . . . disarmingly charming." I say, reddening at my confession. He looks at me with a kind, tilted smile.

"Thank you, Genevieve." he says, then opens a drawer and pulls out a white tee shirt. He hands it to me, then pulls open another drawer. "These are the smallest pair of shorts I have. They're probably too big."

"I'll wear them anyway," I say, taking them. "Thank you, Morgan." I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his jaw line. However, at the last moment, he moves his head and my lips brush his. I gasp, pulling away. "I—I need to get dressed."

"All right," he says, letting out a sigh that was surely a sign of frustration. It caught me off guard, catching the temporary, small loss of self control displayed by this normally reserved man. He grabs a black tee of his own and picks up a red pair of gym shorts.

It doesn't take long before my clothes are off and Morgan's tee is pulled over my head. However, he was right about the shorts. They don't fit in the slightest. The shirt was long; it fell halfway to my knees. Shrugging, I exit the closet. He's lying on the bed, messing with his phone. Morgan had changed his clothes as well, looking beautiful in his workout clothes.

"We could watch a movie on my phone," he offers, looking up at me. His eyes linger at my bare legs as I climb into the bed with him. His expression remains indecipherable.

"Is that what you want to do?" I ask, stretching my legs out above the blanket.

"Not entirely," he says. "Would you like to talk?"

"What about?" I ask.

"In three months, I won't live here anymore. If you would like, you could come with me. You could work in a bigger, busier salon. You could stay with me until you got on your feet. That way, you could still have someone familiar in the city." Morgan gives me a soft smile. "I'm taking this opportunity, and thought I should ask you if you wanted to share in it with me."

"Morgan . . ." I gasp, returning the smile with enthusiasm. "Really? I mean . . . I don't know. It sounds wonderful. I don't want to intrude in your life."

"You could never intrude," he says simply. "I would enjoy having company. Your company." His strong, warm fingers brush my face in a soft, tender way.

"If you did this for me . . . I could never repay you. I couldn't forgive myself; you've done so much for me." I shake my head.

"I just want what is best for you. That's what I've always wanted for you," Morgan says quietly. "Moving with me would offer you so many more opportunities. And once you're ready, you can move into your own place. You wouldn't be alone; I would still be there."

"How are you so sweet?" I murmur as he wraps me in a hug.

"I know what it's like to start with little and strive for better. If I could help you along your way, I would feel blessed. I'm already so proud of how you've grown and flourished." he murmurs.

"Thank you," I bury my face in his chest. His strength surrounds me like a sanctuary.

"Will you come with me?" he asks, surrounding my face with his hands.

"I will," I promise, feeling relief for the first time in months.

Four Months Later

"How was work?" Morgan asks as I lock the door behind me. I turn to see him still clad in his work clothes. However, his tie is loosened and he's not wearing his shoes. Or socks. His long legs are on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles.

"Long," I answer, stretching and letting out a yawn.

"I'm sorry," he says as I collapse beside him on the couch. I lift my own legs next to his, although mine don't stretch out nearly as far. Even his long feet dwarf mine.

"No worries. It won't be too much longer and I'll have my own place. You'll have your house to yourself," I say.

"Trust me, Evie. I'm not looking forward to being alone again. I've enjoyed you," he says earnestly.

"Honestly? I've enjoyed being with you, too." I confess, leaning my head against his chest. He stiffens at my rare display of affection, but wraps his arms around me. "However, you need to get back into the dating scene, and it would be difficult to explain me."

"I have no interest to find someone new," Morgan snorts.