When I try to find Willow’s eyes, I see she’s behind her phone again. She lowers it slightly and smiles. She tilts her head toward Mama Louise. “She said it was okay.”

  I sit back down beside her and whisper in her ear, “I told you, sweetheart. You can take all the pictures you want, of anything you want. Especially me.”

  The games rage on, cobbler long forgotten and no one paying any attention to Willow or her phone’s camera. She’s turned it on silent and is capturing my family in a way I’ve never seen them. It’s interesting to silently sit back and watch her work, to see how she frames things to give them an intimacy that evokes emotion even through the screen.

  She captures Mark and Katelyn talking, their faces close together and the love readily apparent. She snaps away when Cooper loses and flops into the grass in exaggerated pained defeat. She clicks the moment when Sophie and James have a silent conversation, agreeing that they’re ready to go to bed, complete with a yawning Cindy Lou in James’s lap.

  I move behind Willow and press the button on the screen to flip her camera. Framing both of us, I look to the screen and see her surprise at seeing us together like this. With her eyes on me, I take the picture. Then she smiles at the camera, and I turn to her, letting every bit of what I feel shine through. I might not be able to find the right words easily, but I know what I’m feeling. It’s early, but it’s the beginning of something deep and powerful.

  I know she sees it in the resulting shot because she looks back to me, her eyes wide and unguarded. Without her walls up, I can see the doubts lurking in their swirling depths. “Willow.” I start to say something, though I don’t know what, but instead I see the screen flash out of the corner of my eyes as she takes another shot.

  “I know,” she says softly, just between us. “I want a picture of this moment right here so I always remember the moment I knew.”

  Fuck. She gets me. Even without words, she gets me. I wrap my arms around her, hugging her tight as though I could crawl into her skin through our clothes, right here in the heat of this summer night.

  Somehow, the Earth’s axis hasn’t shifted for anyone else. They’re playing on as though nothing significant has happened, though I know good and well that it has.

  Brutal wins his game against Luke, but ultimately, it’s a final match-up between Rix and Mama Louise. Any of the rest of us would let Mama Louise win. Not Rix. She’s hardcore at everything she does, always fighting to be taken seriously as a female mechanic and racer, and she never takes her foot off the gas. Not even for Mama Louise.

  We all celebrate Rix’s win, including Brody, who gives her a big kiss. Cooper whispers, “Yuck,” and we all chuckle, telling him to just wait, and if he’s lucky, one day, he’ll get to congratulate his girl with a kiss too. He shakes his head vehemently, deeming it ‘disgusting’.

  Slowly, we all start to make moves toward home. Luke and Shayanne head to their loft over the barn, where they like to be because it’s close to the horses. Mark and Katelyn go to their house on the other side of the hill behind the Bennett pond. James, Sophie, and Cindy Lou already went to their house in town to get some much-needed rest. Brutal, Allyson, and Cooper go to their house on the east side of what used to be our farm. Brody and Rix head to our family home, where I sleep too. Mama Louise gives me a nod, seeing the intent in my eyes. “Will you make sure the candles are all out before you leave tonight?”

  There are torches out in the yard, closer to the cornhole area to keep it bug-free while we play, and a single citronella candle on the porch giving it a warm glow. I dip my chin in agreement, simultaneously thanking her for letting Willow and me have this time and space for a bit longer.

  Alone, I take Willow’s hand in mine, brushing along her skin with my thumb. Even the small contact is driving me crazy. She is driving me crazy, gorgeously unaware of what she’s doing to me with every sweet little smile, every kind word, every peek into her mind and heart.

  “Today was fun,” she says quietly. “I’m so glad I came, though Shayanne didn’t give me much of a choice.” Her laugh is muted, and I wonder how much finessing Shay had to do to get Willow to agree.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been gladder that Shay sticks her nose in every damn thing. Seeing you across the field today was . . .” I stumble over the words, not sure how to describe that moment. The best I can do is . . . “It felt right. Like this place had been missing something, and I didn’t even know it. But it was finally right.”

  I don’t know what I expected her to say to that, but I know she surprises me again by leaning over and kissing me. She’s been responsive every time, that’s for sure, but I’ve initiated each time our lips have met. That she does it this time soothes something inside me that’s been ruffled since I saw her behind the bar.

  Our lips dance, and somewhere in the breath between us, she whispers, “Thank you.”

  I have no idea what for, and I’m far too lost in her to figure it out right now.

  My tongue swipes along her lower lip and she opens for me. I tease along her tongue slowly, gently prodding her to let me in deeper. Into her mouth, into her mind, into her heart.

  I want to know them all, stake a flag in them declaring them mine, and let her claim me too.

  I pull her into my lap, her strong thighs going astride my hips as she straddles me. Gripping her ass, I knead the flesh there as I kiss down her neck. She’s wearing a T-shirt tonight, so I can’t slip tank top straps down like before, but I manage to pull at the neckline to get more access to her skin. I trace her collarbone with my tongue, sucking the tender skin above it to bring blood to the surface. I might not be in her heart fully yet, but her body I can mark as mine. Her hands grip my hair, urging me on, wanting a bruise to remember this moment the same way she wanted the picture earlier.

  “Willow,” I growl against her neck in warning when she rolls her hips.

  “More,” she pleads.

  “A little,” I concede hesitantly. I’m on the edge here, wanting her so badly but knowing it’s too soon for what I really want.

  I guide her hips, rubbing her clit against the hard ridge of my cock through the two layers of denim. “Bobby.” Her moan is kerosene on a bonfire, and I move her harder, faster, letting her muffled cries direct me.

  “Use me, sweetheart. Come on me, for fuck’s sake. Let me see you come for me.” It should be an order, but it’s as much a plea as her request for more was. I need this from her, her walls down, her guard dropped, her body mine.

  She bucks her hips sharply, fucking me through our clothes. I can feel the warmth at her core, hotter than the steamy night around us. Her voice breaks, a cry cut off as she buries her mouth against my shoulder and shudders on top of me.

  I thrust up a few more times, prolonging her orgasm for my own pleasure. Watching her come is my new favorite thing, I decide. One I want to repeat again . . . now.

  But she sags against me, breathing rapidly. “Oh, my God. I haven’t . . . not since . . . phew—” She’s not able to string words together, something I’m familiar with, but while mine is a failure of my brain to express my thoughts and feelings, this moment is her body completely blissed out and unable to process in the sharp way she usually does. It’s beautiful and I feel fortunate to witness it, and even more lucky to have caused it.

  She goes still and quiet, her pants slowing and becoming a steadier, slower pace. All the while, my hands move across her skin, touching her back, her thighs, her jawline, memorizing every inch.

  “Are we going to your place tonight?” she asks when we’ve both recovered a bit.

  “Brody and Rix are at my house,” I tell her disappointedly. “Not exactly any privacy to be had when you’re still in your childhood bedroom.”

  “You could come into town with me,” she suggests.

  I pull back, holding her in place. “I need to be clear here. Once I get inside you, there’s no going back. Hell, I don’t think there’s any going back now, for that matter. At least, not for me. But there are some things we need to talk about before we . . .”

  The pause is awkward, a thought I’ve never considered marching through my brain. I almost said ‘fuck’, but I don’t want to just fuck Willow. I want to . . .

  “Have sex?” she offers.

  “Make love,” I correct, knowing that’s what it’ll be.

  Her lashes flutter behind her frames, giving her that owlish look that tells me she’s thinking about something. After a moment, she lets me in on it. “Are you always so . . . committed?”

  She seems genuinely curious, as though maybe I’m a serial monogamist who takes sex particularly seriously. I can’t help but laugh, which bounces her on my cock, and it complains, uncomfortably arguing with my brain.

  “I’ve never made love, Willow. I fuck. It’s always been casual, scratching an itch, even when I was dating someone. But it’ll be different this time. At least for me. And I think for you too.”

  I’m not asking for her number. I don’t need or want to know what she’s done in the past because it doesn’t matter. What I need to know is that she feels the same way I do.

  Slowly, her gray eyes clear, and she nods, whispering her agreement. “I think so too.”

  Immediately, she lays her head on my shoulder as though embarrassed that she said that, or maybe that she feels it. She wasn’t looking for a Prince Charming—hell, she might not even want one. But I’m the one she’s got and I’m not letting her go.

  13

  WILLOW

  “You have a perfectly normal sex drive, Willow Parker,” I tell my reflection, but it’s obvious I don’t believe the lie. Funny thing is, it’s truly never been a lie before. I’ve never even considered that I might be a bit overactive until Bobby Tannen got me all worked up and then denied me the deep, thorough dicking I wanted.

  Dicking? Seriously, Willow?

  I’d be embarrassed at my train of thoughts, but I can’t find it in me to blush in the slightest. Last night, I rode him through our clothes, dry humping like we were kids in high school. I’d seriously doubted my ability to come from that alone, because orgasms are mysterious things that sometimes take geometry, a psychologist, and a wish on a star, but he pulled it out of me easily with those growled words in my ear.

  It was so good I’d boldly asked if we were going to his place, like some dick-starved Tinderella, which I am not, by any means.

  I press my forehead to the cool mirror, eyes locked on the gray ones looking back at me. After a moment, I start laughing. What else am I going to do? This is crazy, but in the best possible way.

  Today will be another first. Bobby is picking me up for our ‘official first date’, as he called it. I’d tried to argue that the tour had been date one and my showing up at the farm was date two, making today date three. He’d flashed that cocky smile, scrubbing at the scruff of beard on his sharp jawline as though that would hide it, then said ‘fuck it’ as he cupped my jaw and let that smile shine bright. Right before he kissed me, he let me in on the joke and whispered, “There’s no three-date rule with us, sweetheart.”

  I blushed. I hadn’t even meant it that way, but maybe somewhere deep inside, I had. A little bit.

  But if he’s coming over, I’d better finish getting ready. I don’t put on makeup, knowing what I have in mind, and go for sunscreen along my nose and cheeks instead.

  Right as I’m tying my tennis shoes, I hear the rumble of his truck coming down the street and pulling into my drive. I peek out the blinds, knowing my neighbors are likely doing the same thing. I let him climb out of his jacked up monster truck, walk to the door, and knock before I let the blinds close and move to let him in.

  “Hey!” I greet as the door swings open.

  I watch his eyes move leisurely up and down my frame, narrowing incrementally until they reach mine again. “Hey, sweetheart.”

  Just like that, I’m a pile of gooey, messy Jell-O for him, nearly melting into a puddle at his feet.

  “Can’t wait to see what you have planned today. I’ll admit the girls said my ideas sucked.” I’m not sure his tanned skin would show a true blush, but he looks a little sheepish, which makes me curious as hell.

  “Now you have to tell me what your ideas were,” I demand, crossing my arms and smiling.

  He cringes, and I think the girls must’ve really given him a hard time if he’s this reluctant to even share. But he tells me anyway, “Idea one, photo tour. They said it was lame because I’d already done that. I argued that the wildflowers over on Zion Hill are pretty and that you’d like them, but they reminded me that taking a woman to a cemetery, even a historical one, for flower pictures is weird as hell, and in Shay’s words, ‘is bad bow-chicka-bow-wow juju.’ I told them about your watching crime shit on tv, and they said that only made it worse.”

  He shrugs, and I can’t help but laugh a bit. “Maybe we save the wildflowers for another day so I’m mentally prepared to pull up to a cemetery. A historical one, of course,” I correct myself. “What else?”

  “I asked Katelyn if she could get us in at the resort. Do some of that fancy, girly shit like gunk on your face and a massage. I thought it’d be relaxing because you work so much.” I can hear that he used that argument with Katelyn too. “She said couples’ massages on a first date might be a bit aggressive.” He says the word as if it tastes bad on his tongue, while I have to laugh. Couple’s massage is aggressive, but bad bow-chicka-bow-wow juju isn’t?

  I lay my hand on his chest, feeling the hard muscle there and not swooning . . . nope, not a bit. Fine, I’m like a cover model in a Harlequin romance. Giving him my most dazzling smile, I reassure him, “That would’ve been amazing. But I have other plans today if you’re up for it.” His brow lifts, and I swear his dark eyes get even darker. “Did you bring the stuff I asked you to?”

  His eyes go from sexing me to curious without even blinking. “I did,” he drawls out slowly, “but I’m not sure why.”

  “Okay then, let’s go.” I push him out the door and toward his truck. In turn, he lets me lead this show. I don’t think he does that for many people or very often.

  “Where to?” he asks, arm stretched out and hand lying over the steering wheel.

  “Hank’s,” I answer firmly. “We’ve got work to do.”

  He blinks first, shaking his head in confusion, but without a word, he puts the truck in reverse and makes the trip to the bar as if it’s a perfectly reasonable request to take me to work on the one day off I get. And, you know, our third date.

  I have him park around back, not wanting Chief Gibson to interrupt again, and use my key to open the back door. “Come on. In here,” I direct him. Once he’s inside, I close and lock the door behind us, flipping on the light switch.

  “I know I told you I wasn’t fucking you on the bar before, but I’m still not,” Bobby jokes.

  At least I know I’m not the only one thinking sexy thoughts.

  “That’s not why we’re here. And I’m still not having sex on the bar.” At this point, I absolutely would and he damn well knows it. I am wrapped around his little finger tighter than a spring waiting to be sprung, all this potential sexual energy bound up and begging to be released, and he’s the one with his finger on the trigger.

  “Then what are we doing here?” he asks, looking around Ilene’s kitchen as though she might jump out from behind the stove and demand to know what the hell we’re doing in her domain. Actually, that might happen, so we’d best get out of here, especially since the kitchen’s not the issue.

  “In here.” I walk through the bar and into Unc’s office, Bobby right behind me. I point at the stacks of papers—some on the desk, some on the floor, and some restacked on the booth where Bobby and I sat that first night. “These all need to be sorted and filed. The desk needs to be cleared and cleaned. And I need to bring up some inventory from the storage room.”

  Bobby looks at me in confusion. “Why don’t you do this during one of your shifts?” I see a flash of fear on his face and he verbally retreats. “I mean, I’m happy to help with whatever Hank needs. Always am, but what’s up with the sneaking around?”

  My brows lift. “Have you met Hank Davis? He would as soon wrestle a greased-up pig as admit he needs me to help him organize this stuff. But he’s not going to do it or he already would’ve. So I am. It’ll be one less thing for him to worry about.”

  I look around the room, knowing this mess must weigh on Unc’s shoulders. He’s been carrying this business his whole life and done a really great job at it, but he can’t do that when his paperwork is in utter chaos.

  “He’s gonna be pissed as hell. You know that, right?”

  I shrug, using a phrase I’ve heard Unc say. “Then he can get glad in the same britches he got mad in. Once it’s done, he can bitch and moan all he wants, but it’ll still be done either way.”

  Bobby’s smile is pure gleeful evil. “I like the way you think. Let’s do it.”

  And with that, we get to work sorting out the piles of papers into organized stacks, then slotting them into the file cabinet in the corner. “I don’t think this cabinet’s been opened in at least two years,” I tell Bobby, holding up a file folder as I add the latest invoices into it.

  “Hank’s been busy. He’s a one-man show, but I know he’s glad to have you here now.” There’s a hitch in his voice that tells me he’s not just talking about Unc.

  It takes us a couple of hours, but with some music from the jukebox and some easy conversation, the work goes quickly. We get the paperwork done, the desk cleared, the office cleaned, and the inventory restocked and ready behind the bar.

  “Looks good. What else?” Bobby asks, ready to keep working.

  “Glad you asked. This next part isn’t as easy,” I say slyly.