“I know that I’m a Cancer sign and that those three stars over there are Orion’s belt. That’s about it.”

  “A sentimental crab is your sign? Not how I’d describe you.”

  “Cancers are also tenacious.” He pegs me with a sincere gaze. “Persuasive.”

  I nod. He’s both of those.

  “And loyal,” he adds.

  “Sounds like you,” I say barely above a whisper. “How do you know about your sign? Call me crazy, but I can’t picture you checking the newspaper for your horoscope every day.”

  “Nah. I have an app.” I can’t tell if he’s joking until he continues. “A former girlfriend was really into it. She told me what I was and what my tendencies were. She focused a lot on the bad ones there at the end.” He frowns. “She said I was manipulative and pessimistic.”

  “Sounds like bullshit.”

  “She saw what she wanted to see.” He shrugs one big shoulder and I consider the sensitive, thoughtful man inside the muscular, yummy package.

  “I won’t ever say that about you, Dax.” His attention is back on me, and even though it’s a really vulnerable thing to say, I keep talking. “If anyone asks me about this spring, I’ll say that I met a man who was thoughtful and kind and encouraging. And if I’m not talking to one of my nieces, I’ll add that he was drop-dead gorgeous and second to none when it comes to sex.”

  “Second to none,” he repeats, the corner of his lips hitching into a tentative smile.

  “So far you’re the only one I’ve been with who made me want to shout ‘yes’ repeatedly.” I squeeze his hand.

  “When I’m asked about my vacation,” he says, “I’ll tell people I met an exciting, unexpected, rare woman who made food so good it was criminal. And if I’m not talking to my mom, I’ll add that she possesses the sexiest legs I’ve ever had the privilege to wrap around my hips.”

  Shyly, I look down. He tips my chin.

  “Never doubt your value, Becca. You’re the most genuine woman I’ve ever met. Ever. Don’t change.”

  I close the gap between us to rest my lips on his. His hand goes into my hair and wraps around the back of my head. He deepens the kiss and I go where he leads, taking my time tasting his tongue and trying to memorize how great it feels to make love to his mouth. Soon he won’t be in cabin 7. Life will return to the way it was before he was here.

  Only it won’t.

  I met Dax Vaughn and everything changed. For the better. Maybe he should add “lucky charm” to his list of attributes. He’s been that for me. And more.

  So much more.

  “Dax. I have something other than stargazing on my mind.”

  His nostrils flare as his fingers tighten at the nape of my neck.

  “Once more before you go?” My heart pounds. What if he says no? What if this ends now? What if the time to have him has already passed? What if I didn’t pay close enough attention the last time and my memories have faded too quickly?

  There’s no need to worry about any of it, because he kisses me again. Harder this time. While removing my shirt.

  Chapter 26

  Becca

  On the open sleeping bag, under the stars, Dax settles in next to me. Slowly, attentively, he kisses down my body and back up, taking his time like he did that first night to carefully remove my shoes and clothes.

  “Hope I didn’t pressure you with that ‘second to none’ comment,” I tease, my hands ruffling his hair as he swirls his tongue around my belly button.

  “Pressure? Try challenge.” He comes up to steal a kiss from my lips and whispers against them, “Remember, I’m tenacious.”

  “Dax?”

  He looks at me, but his hands continue rolling my panties down my legs.

  “Can I look at you?”

  His brows pinch. “You are looking at me.”

  “No, I mean really look.” It may be nighttime, but in the dashboard lights of his Jeep, and with the aid of the stars and the full moon, I can see plenty. I want to see it all.

  On his knees in front of me, he fists his shirt and yanks it off, revealing the chest I’ve admired nearly every day for the last two weeks. I sweep my hand over his stomach and sit up when I can’t reach higher. Then I’m on my knees, almost eye to eye in front of him. I unbutton his jeans and notch the zipper down carefully.

  Today, again, no briefs.

  I look there too, stroking his length and admiring his handsome, proud cock. It has a lot to be proud of, I muse as it grows heavy in my palm. It’s responsible for my most powerful orgasms.

  I kiss his chest and then slide my tongue up to his throat before kissing him there too. His fingers thread through my hair and he massages the back of my head. His chest expands to its glorious limit when I nip his earlobe with my teeth.

  “The minute I saw you at my brother’s bar, I knew I had to have you.”I rest both hands on his chest and look up at his painfully handsome face. “I never dreamed I’d have you over and over. I never imagined you had so much to teach me. In bed and out. I’ll never forget you, Dax Vaughn.”

  I smile, but I also feel a touch of sadness. No. More than a touch. It’s weighty and oppressive. But that’s not what right now is about. Right now is about honoring who we are in this moment.

  “Someday I’m going to visit Columbus and order my chicken and cheese quesadilla off your bar’s menu.”

  He doesn’t smile. The moment’s too intense.

  Gently he kisses me, like I’m porcelain and I might break. He removes the rest of his clothes and I lie down. Then he rolls on a condom, his expression set to serious.

  Silently he widens my legs and positions himself between them. He slides forward, penetrating me inch by precious inch. My eyes close completely, and I’m blind to the beauty that is Dax.

  I’m reduced to feelings and sensations. I’m nothing but want and desire. In the background the radio plays. I can’t make out the words, only the rhythmic thump of the bass.

  I’m surrounded by Dax—invaded by him. The fullness and depth of him inside of me. Each slide is achingly slow. I open my eyes, palm his face, and lock eyes with him. He watches me as he moves, each glide deliberate and measured.

  My heart suffers a tiny fissure. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. I should tell him what this means to me—what he means to me—but I don’t have to say anything. He knows.

  He puts a soft kiss on my mouth. All our doubts and passion and fire and loss have culminated in this moment. I let the tears slide down my cheeks without shame.

  He swipes them away with his thumbs as he whispers, “I know, Princess. I know.”

  I place my fingers over his lips because I don’t want him to say more. I don’t want him to say anything that might make this moment harder than it is.

  It’s goodbye.

  Even if it’s not forever, it’s goodbye to the bubble we’ve lived in for nearly two weeks. He has to leave, and no matter how we feel, there’s no avoiding that both of us have separate lives to return to after this night.

  And right now, we are the most “us” we’ll ever be.

  I shudder my release as his orgasm rocks his solid form. His muscles bunch and pull. He bares his teeth as his eyelids pinch shut. I commit his beautiful pain-mixed-with-pleasure expression to memory. I absorb it, and what he offers, as the waves of my own orgasm ripple through me.

  He drops his forehead to mine. We breathe each other in—sharing the same air for the last time for a long time.

  I can’t deny what this is any longer, what it has been. Lara was right. And since I know myself well, that means the feeling in the center of my chest—the one stretching my heart to uncomfortable limits—is exactly what I think it is.

  Love.

  Inconvenient. Awful. Incredible. Painful.

  I was right about him. He’s truly second to none.

  Dax

  Becca doesn’t want to stay the night. I can tell, so I don’t ask.

  We didn’t leave the field right away. I lay there, my arm wrapped around her shoulders, her head on my chest. I pulled the sleeping bag over our naked bodies. We were sated and satisfied. Both accepting and reeling that we had no future to discuss, even though we both felt the earth shake.

  I was there. I know what happened. There’s no denying it, no matter how much we don’t want to talk about it. It was there when I pulled on my clothes and she buttoned her shirt over a sexy lace bra. It was there when I rolled up the sleeping bag and she waited for me up front while fiddling with the radio.

  It’s here now, like a third party, while she kisses me good night on the porch of cabin 7. She sighs when we part.

  “I meant what I said about the quesadilla. I meant every word.”

  Spoken or unspoken, I have no doubt she means every word she says.

  “Promise me you’ll put it on the menu. Please?”

  And think about her every time I look at one? No, thanks. That’s a specific type of agony only a masochist would enjoy.

  “I don’t want you to forget me.” Her eyes are swimming with sincerity.

  Fuck, what can I say to that?

  “Okay, Princess. I’ll put it on the menu. Does it have a name?”

  She flits her eyes to the porch’s roof while she thinks, then grins when she comes up with it. “Cabin Seven Quesadillas. Even though I technically cooked them in cabin thirteen, this place feels more like ours, you know?”

  Yeah. I know. I regard my shoes as her nervous laughter electrocutes my rib cage. I’m really, really going to miss that sound.

  “Is that corny?” Her cute nose wrinkles. I kiss it.

  “No, babe. It’s perfect.”

  “What time are you returning the keys tomorrow?”

  “Don’t know. Early. Are you working?”

  “In the afternoon.”

  “It’s a long drive, so—”

  She launches herself at me, cutting off my words as I catch her against me. Her arms wrap around my neck, her breasts flatten against my chest. I scoop her up and hold her as tight as I dare.

  “Thank you,” she whispers in my ear. “For everything.”

  There’s a wrecking ball of emotion lodged in my esophagus, so I don’t say anything. We’ve already said it all.

  I lower her to her feet. She lifts her purse from the rocking chair and pulls it over her shoulder. Then she pushes her hands through her hair, spins, and walks off the porch to her car. Finally when she opens her car door, my voice box cooperates.

  “Be safe,” I call out.

  She waves, climbs behind the wheel, and leaves.

  I watch her car disappear behind the trees lining the road before I go back inside. I decide to pack, then crash, but sleep doesn’t come for several hours.

  I spend those hours staring blankly at the ceiling, my thoughts a perfect storm of regrets and wants, hopes and dreams.

  SATURDAY

  Becca

  I race into Grand Lark in the morning, stoked because I’m only fifteen minutes later than I intended. I was shooting for 6:30, but I’m here at 6:45 and come on, who leaves earlier than 6:45 to drive to Ohio?

  I unlock the door, step inside, and find Tad at the front desk. His expression quickly morphs from surprise to sympathy.

  “You just missed him.” He holds up the yellow key fob for cabin 7 and my heart sinks.

  “Oh. By much?”

  Tad shrugs, having no idea he’s delivering the worst news possible. “Ten minutes or so.”

  Ten minutes or so.

  Ten. Minutes. Damn my lateness.

  “Didn’t expect you here this early. Did you come to see him off?”

  “In part,” I lie. I came here to see him off. I also planned how to spend my additional morning hours. “I came in early to work on the menu some more. Have to earn that extra ten thou.”

  “You’re accepting my offer.” My brother smiles. It’s so good to see him not frowning.

  I lift my arms despite loss weighing down my entire body. “I’m here to stay. For better or worse.”

  “Better, Bec. It’s for the better.”

  I’ve never said this before, but man, I hope Tad’s right. Right now it doesn’t feel better. Maybe it will someday.

  Dax

  At eight A.M. I take the phone call.

  I’m on the road heading home and have been for over an hour.

  “Good morning, Mr. Vaughn!” My realtor, Cindy, sounds way more awake than I do. Her chipper demeanor is almost painful. Then again, she didn’t leave the woman she loves on a mountain in Tennessee without so much as getting her phone number.

  “Morning,” I manage.

  “I’m thrilled to let you know that your loan for 123 North Street was approved and you are clear to close. You are inches away from being the proud owner of that building. Congratulations.”

  I let that sink in.

  “Dax?”

  “I’m here. Coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. That’s great news.”

  She rattles off the next steps. I respond with the occasional “yeah” and “uh-huh” so that she knows I haven’t dropped the call. I expected to be excited to hear about the bar, but my excitement is dimmed thanks to exhaustion over a great number of things. Not the least of which is the fact that turning the coffee shop on North Street into a bar is a hefty endeavor. A lot of sweat equity. That will keep me busy.

  Then again, I consider after I end the call with Cindy, busy is exactly what I need to be. Busy with no excess time on my hands. Too tired in the evenings from building walls and laying floors to lie awake and stare at the ceiling and wonder why some relationships—like my parents’—last until the end while others just...end.

  I crack my neck and roll my shoulders, my eyes on the road ahead, but in my mind I’m designing my new place. Deciding how to advertise, how many people I’ll need to hire, how I’ll redesign the interior. I consider paint colors and themes and styles. I mentally mock up a plan for the menu.

  Cabin 7 Quesadillas.

  I’ll put it on the menu because I promised Becca I would, but the name’s all wrong. I’m going to change it.

  Chapter 27

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  Dax

  “Got ’em.” Barrett strolls into the North Street building, his thumb pointed behind him. “They’re on the truck.”

  I set aside the saw and pull off my safety glasses. The rebuilt bar doesn’t look like much, but it will once we stain the top and tile the sides. I’m going with a bohemian style for this one. At least, that’s what my mom called it when I texted her a few photos I found online and asked what she thought.

  “I was going to say ‘I got wood’ instead, but that seemed immature.” Barrett shrugs his shoulders and gives me the grin not dissimilar to the one he uses to convince girls to come home with him.

  “I’m impressed by your restraint.”

  “What can I say? I’m growing.” He opens a cooler, pulls out a few cans of beer, and tosses me one.

  I catch it, but toss it back. Barrett catches it effortlessly. I point to the saw. “How about a water? I’d rather not slice off a finger this early in the day.”

  He throws a bottle of water in a neat spiral that I have to back up a few feet to catch. He winces in pain and grips his right shoulder. That’s the one he fucked up. The injury lost him his Miami Dolphins contract. It also landed him back in Ohio, and in the arms of his ex-girlfriend-turned-girlfriend-turned-ex-girlfriend again.

  The injury and the girlfriend share the blame for Barrett’s still living in my apartment. But he’s been helping me build my bar, so I can’t complain. We don’t do anything more at the house than crash for six to eight hours before we come here and work a full day.

  “I got it,” he announces as I slug down half the water in the bottle.

  “What, wood? We covered this.” I swipe my mouth with my arm. His smile and cocky-ass expression tell me all I need to know, but he spells it out anyway.

  “The sportscaster position. I got it.” He spreads his arms and waggles his beer can. “Sure you don’t want to celebrate?”

  “Fuck yes, I want to celebrate!” I say, changing my mind.

  Barrett’s been trying to land the sportscaster gig ever since he returned to Columbus. It’ll put him on the field as an announcer for OSU games.

  I abandon the water bottle, and the rest of my chores for the day, to crack open a beer. I tap his can with mine and we drink. He sits on a chair while I collapse onto a stack of tile.

  “Feel sorry for the cameraman that has to line up your ugly mug every game, though.”

  He grins. It’s eat-shit-and-die dazzling. Barrett’s what the girls call a “ginger,” though he has some golden tones mixed in to keep him from being a true carrottop. If the hair doesn’t work for women, the sea-blue eyes and dimples seal the deal.

  “This face sails ships, my friend.”

  “I never understood your appeal. On the field or off.”

  He laughs, knowing I’m giving him shit. It’s what we do best. “Good news is there’s a big signing bonus, so I’m almost out of your hair.”

  “No more free labor in trade for room and board, then. Bummer.” But I’m happy for him.

  “No, I’m not quitting before this bar is done. I’m finishing what we started. You could throw in free beers for life.”

  “You’re not a TV star yet and already you’re trying to swindle free stuff from local establishments? Pathetic. Besides, you’d drink me out of business.”

  “Free food, then?”

  I shake my head but give in. “Free food it is.”

  We finish our beers and stop at one. Because who are we kidding? Neither of us can leave the day’s work unfinished. We unload the truck, do a few more hours’ worth of sawing and nailing, and then clean up the mess.

  Barrett and I were a good team on the football field. It’s cool to find out that we work as well together off.

  “That’s it for me. You should come out,” he says for the eightieth time today.