But I’m particularly thankful nobody ever tries to make small talk with me when I stop at the store for dinner supplies.Because being a chatty Fox Ridge local would delay my getting home to Eira.
I mean… not hometoEira, as if we’re a couple. I mean home to my home. Where Eira is. Where I’m hoping she’ll let me cook her dinner. Despite the ache in my bones and soreness in my muscles and exhaustion fogging my mind, I’ll happily force myself to stay awake to see her.
I don’t know if she ever thinks about the night of Holly and Daniel’s engagement party, but it’s consumed my thoughts for the last six months. More than once, I considered driving to the city—hoping my sister would give me Eira’s address without questioning—then thought better of it. After all, we’d agreed it would only ever be a one-night stand.
Eira’s fingers crossed the small Uber back seat to interlace mine, and I realized I’d been holding my breath for most of the five-minute drive.
She could’ve changed her mind—asked our driver to bring her home—but there we were, slipping out of the car together at my hotel. The city lights shone over her skin, bringing out the blue in her eyes and the glitter across her bare collarbones.
I tucked her against my side, feet falling in sync, and her phone echoed from her purse as we sauntered through the quiet lobby.
“It’s Holly,” she said, tapping at the screen. “She just wanted to know if I got home okay.”
“And?” I raised an eyebrow.
“And I’m safely at home in bed.” She glanced up at the illuminated elevator sign, then lifted onto the balls of her feet for a kiss. “No sense involving her when we’re just hooking up one time, right?”
“Right.” I brushed my words across her plump lips. “Just this once.”
Fuck. I’ve never wanted to take back my words like I did after that. They felt wrong the moment I said them, and regret settled deep into the caverns of my chest when I watched her sleep later that night.
From the moment I saw her sitting quietly, focus knitted into the creases between her eyebrows, a small tick in the corner of her mouth, blissfully unaware of the busy bar scene surrounding her, I wanted to know Eira. Moving closer, I watched the muscles tense in her forearm as she drew. The slow brush of fallen hair behind her ear. When she knocked over her water, it was the opportunity I’d been waiting for.
I bought my ranch on a whim, sight unseen, because there wassomethingI couldn’t shake. It felt like it was exactly where I needed to be. Like it was the start of forever.
And the only other time I’ve experienced that threaded pull of fate was when I saw her.
Something flutters in my chest when I pull onto the ranch and see lights on in my house. Like sunshine cascading over the powdery snow, it pours out of nearly every window and floods my soul.
Five years I’ve lived here, coming home to a dark, empty house night after night. It never bugged me until this very moment, when the thought of walking inside and seeing her has me chucking the truck door open before I’ve even put the vehicle in park. Even sullen cowboy-types get butterflies sometimes.
With a hard swallow, I swing open the front door and kick off my boots. I saunter through the empty living room, rounding the corner to the kitchen, eagerly awaiting a glimpse of her. Maybe she’s hunched over the kitchen table, drawing.
Empty.
“Huh,” I mumble, scrubbing a hand over my beard.
Circling around to the bottom of the stairs, I peer up at my bedroom with hope swirling in my chest. I call out, “Eira?”
Silence.
“Doodlebug? You in here?”
Motherfucking silence.
All that balled-up hope falls to my stomach with a painful thud as I sink into my recliner.
I can’t believe I was such an idiot. Of course she isn’t here.
I let my own beliefs in fate and forever take over, forgetting we were only supposed to be a one-night stand. That she only showed up on my doorstep last night because she was close to freezing to death.
Like the sorry sack of shit I am, I sit there until the angry growling noises from my stomach are too much to bear. Then I drag my ass to the kitchen and grab a box of cereal.
It’s on the short walk to the fridge when I decide to torture myself—really anchor the pain of rejection deep into my gut. I steal a glance toward the cabin.
No lights?
“No car?” I whisper to myself, shuffling to get a better look. “She left?”
