I pad after him barefoot, still in the oversized T-shirt I slept in. He doesn’t comment as he grabs his keys from the hook and opens the front door for me, his palm steady against the small of my back as I step onto the porch.
The morning air is warm, heavy with the scent of grass and dust. I blink against the sunlight, feeling raw, but Carter is right there, guiding me down the steps.
He opens the truck door for me, lifting me up into the seat with one strong hand. “Seatbelt, darlin’,” he grunts, leaning across to pull it snug against me.
“Gotta keep you safe, baby.”
Fuck, he still gives me butterflies.
My eyes watch him as he rounds the hood and climbs in on his side. He glances at me, blue eyes soft under the brim of his hat. “Ready?”
I nod, even though I don’t feel ready for anything.
His truck rumbles to life, gravel crunching under the tires as we pull out of the drive. For a few minutes, neither of us talks. The radio hums low, some country ballad, and I watch the pastures blur by, my cheek resting against the cool window.
Carter’s hand finds my thigh, his rough palm warm as it squeezes once. “We’ll be okay,” he says, voice low but certain. “You and me, baby. Always.”
Something loosens in my chest, and I cover his hand with mine, intertwining our fingers together until we roll into town.
Hummingbird café comes into view, sitting on the corner in downtown Ruby Ridge. Carter parks his man truck, hops out, and is at my side in seconds, opening my door before I can touch the handle.
He offers his hand again, tugging me down carefully.
We walk in sync, hand in hand, until we’re met with the rustic, wooden brown door.
So chic.
Carter pushes the door open, his hand resting against the small of my back to guide me inside. Espresso and sugar invade my senses, making my mouth water.
“Table’s open there,” he says, tipping his chin toward a corner booth under the string lights.
I drift toward it, my fingers curling tight around the strap of my bag, and sink into the seat. The little table wobbles until Carter steadies it with one big hand. He reaches out, tilting my chin up to give me a quick kiss before he straightens, steps to the counter, and orders without looking back.
“Iced matcha, extra ice, pump of vanilla, with a straw,” he says, his voice steady and sure, like he’s said it a hundred times. He fiddles with his wallet, grabbing some cash before he adds. “Large black coffee.”
The barista scribbles on two cups, smiling at him, and he slides a bill across the counter.
From my spot in the booth, I watch the whole thing—his broad shoulders under his black tee, the way he adjusts his hat with a flick of his thumb, how he stands with that calm, grounded weight that makes everyone else in the room look restless.
When the drinks are ready, he grabs them both, balancing mine carefully so the ice doesn’t spill. He sets the matcha in front of me, with the straw already tucked in.
“Drink up, baby,” he drawls, sliding into the seat across from me. His knee bumps mine under the table, and he leaves it there.
I wrap my hands around the cold cup, the condensation slick against my palms, and take a sip. Sweet vanilla and matcha swirl across my tongue.
When I lift my eyes, Carter’s already watching me.
“You’re staring at me,” I say, dramatically, tapping my straw against the lid.
“Mm.” He takes a slow sip of coffee, never looking away. “Can’t help it.”
“Carter,” I groan, hiding behind my cup.
He reaches across the table, curling his fingers over mine where they grip the plastic. His thumb strokes the back of my hand.“I like watchin’ you when you’re happy, baby. That first sip always gets you.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “You pay way too much attention.”
He smirks, leaning forward, his voice dropping lower. “That’s my job. Knowin’ you. Knowin’ what makes you smile, what makes you sigh, what makes you call me names in Spanish when I push too far.”
