NATE
"For fuck's sake, woman. STOP! " I briefly glimpsed the contented look he tried....and almost failed to hide.
"Sheesh, talk about mood! What'd I do this time, mister?"
Daryl placed the roasting tin back on the coals before demonstrating.
Letting out purry little sighs, his handsomely worn features re-arranged themselves. Until he resembled a lovesick puppy.
Ok....I'm well and truly sprung. But then, HE's being very OTT with the melodrama methinks?
"Pfffft....ego or what! I'm drooling at the pork butt and not yours, Dixon."
"Wipe them eyes....yer bad Baby Monkey. Cos they're cryin bucket loads a bullshit, I reckon" His do-rag was thrown at me with a snigger.
Rolling onto my back I let out another of the tiny sighs that he'd partly mistaken for happy adoration. It's mostly like a breathy fist pump of relief.
No....Thanksgiving is more apt. Considering that's what today is, after all.
So what am I actually giving thanks for?
This little idiot of a chronic over-thinker and her bestest man? Who feels so much all at once that he loses himself....in himself?
We did it! We went and did it once more!
Made it through the worst again, I think. Damaged yup, but hopefully not beyond repair.
The Daryl sitting by the fire, happily cooking our dinner? Is a far cry from the one who brought us here just over three days ago.
On the first, I'll freely admit. I almost went into full-blown, Derpa....panic mode. Because it was way past mid-morning when his puffy eyes eventually opened.
I knew instantly though, the reason why. As soon as I peered into their bloodshot depths.
The 'Daryl Dixon vs Brick Wall Championship Fight' had finally gone down at some stage during the night. And the latter was celebrating a knockout win.
"Quit fussin, yer bossy bitch! I'm Ok" He grumbled, while stuffing his face with the fruity oatmeal I'd made for our breakfast hours ago.
"Hey! This is me you're trying to fool, mister. Me! You're not Ok....I know it and so do you."
No response = grudging and grumpy agreement.
He was sound asleep again within minutes, and most of those were filled with more cranky mutterings. Plus my promises that I wouldn't venture outside the winery walls while he was resting up.
The second started off as Groundhog Day. Though when I crept in to make some lunch, Daryl was lying contentedly against a pile of cushions. Reading a paperback while listening to my music player.
The Art of War was also lying open on his lap along with a near-empty Chef Boyardee tin.
Today....his mojo awoke when he did.
Hubby played catch-up on our mini getaway. Spent most of his time hunting. Once I swore I'd have a slothy day myself.
He strode in two hours ago. Proud as punch and with a wild pig carcass slung over his broad shoulders.
He has this thing about bacon 🐷
'Bacon....pork....?' A recipe or something tries to nudge me and I headbutt it back.
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Home Is Your Heartbeat ('Home Is' Book Two - Daryl Dixon)
FanfictionSemi-mature. Completed. Book Two picks up immediately from the last chapter of Home is You. Nate is an Aussie girl who was stranded in Georgia during the outbreak. She and fellow traveler Leo joined a group of survivors in Atlanta. Nate got her fi...
