“I forgot my keys,” I say suddenly, and run back upstairs even though they’re already in my bag.
When I come back down, he’s exactly where I left him, looking entirely too good. We say goodbye to Mama and step outside together.
My car gleams in the porch lights. I reach for the fob, but Trace extends his palm.
I arch a brow. “You just think you’re about to drive my car?”
He gives me that ‘don’t play with me look’ and doesn’t move his hand.
I sigh like he’s exhausting me. “Fine.” I drop the fob into his palm.
He opens my door first, of course. When I glance back, Mama is framed in the screen door, watching us like this is a movie she already knows the ending to. I buckle my seat belt. Trace checks mine, checks his, starts the engine, and we pull away from Copper Ridge.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Delta
The ballroom glowsin gold light, chandeliers sparkling above a hundred gowns and tuxedos while the Casper Symphony owns the room. They start polite and classical, but then the conductor smirks and turns “Before I Let Go” into a lush orchestral arrangement. When the first violins hit that bassline, I almost lose my mind. Then they slide into a strings version of “Hypnotize,” and the entire ballroom shifts.
The music is divine and Trace dances like he’s been doing it his whole life. He holds me like he knows what he’s doing and exactly who he’s doing it with. His palm is firm at the small of my back, fingers sure around mine, reading my body. When I hesitate, he leads. When I need space, he gives it. When I melt, he catches.
A waltz turns into a tango, then a smooth foxtrot, then stepping, then a slow sway that makes my bloodstream fizz. Every time I think we might sit down, he looks at me like he dares me to stop. I don’t. I like being wanted.
When we finally take our seats, breathless and warm in all the right and wrong places, the orchestra eases into a classical version of “Knockin’ Da Boots,” and I have to take a long sip of wine because Trace looks so damn good.
He leans back lazily, ankle propped over his knee, eyes hot and unbothered about it. “I’m so damn glad we came tonight.”
My smile wobbles. “Me too.”
He studies me like he’s memorizing my happiness. “I might have to buy your mama’s season tickets off her. I’ll take you every year. Make this our thing.”
The words hit too hard, so I look away.
“Don’t do that, Delta.”
“Do what?” My voice is lighter than I feel.
“Pull back.” He doesn’t raise his voice. “I don’t know how to do halfway. I don’t know how to do casual. When I decide something matters, I go full throttle. I’m hoping it’s like that for you too.”
My chest tightens. “Trace…” I don’t know if I’m warning him or myself.
“You’re a grown woman, Delta. You know what you want. And you know you want this.”
He’s not wrong. That’s what scares me.
“I’m not coy,” I say finally. “I’ve built too much and survived too much to pretend I don’t know what I want. I do want you. And this. I’m just… scared.”
His expression softens in a way that shakes everything inside me. “Let’s walk.”
We slip out to the River Walk. Night air is cool and sweet, the water glittering under string lights. Somewhere, a guitarist plays something soft and slow.
“Tell me,” Trace says quietly.
I know what he’s asking. So I tell him.
“I was married,” I say, the words heavier than I expect. “Preston wasn’t the villain in the beginning. He believed in me. He told me that my thesis wasn’t just a paper, it was a business. He pushed me to launch when I didn’t think I was ready, and helped with the start-up money because I had some, just not enough, and he said he wanted to see me win. Back then, I thought we were a team.”
I draw a breath. “Then the company took off. And when it became clear the success was because of my ideas, research, instincts… something in him shifted. He kept trying business after business to ‘catch up,’ and every one either failed or closed fast. Each time, he got more bitter. More resentful. More determined to drag me down.”
