“Is that what you were doing?” I study his profile again, noting the way his mouth curves slightly. “Keeping me safe?”
“Always.”
The simple word hits me harder than it should. There’s something in the way he says it, like it’s not just about the past. Like it’s a promise that extends to right now, to the future, to whatever comes next.
We fall silent again, but it’s a different kind of quiet now. Less charged, more…expectant. Like we’re both waiting for something to happen, something that’s been building for years.
The Rusty Spur comes into view, its neon sign flickering against the night sky. The parking lot is already crowded with trucks and SUVs, and I can hear the faint sound of music drifting from inside.
Jesse finds a parking spot near the back, away from the main crowd. He kills the engine but doesn’t make any move to get out. Instead, he turns to face me, those green eyes serious.
“I meant what I said earlier, Bree. About the unfinished business between us.”
My heart starts beating faster. “I know you did.”
“And I meant what I said about not letting the moment stop me next time.”
“Good.” The word comes out breathier than I intended. “Because I’m tired of pretending too.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Surprise, maybe? Or relief, like he wasn’t expecting me to be so direct about it.
Before either of us can say anything else, my phone buzzes with a text. Nora, wondering where I am. The spell is broken, and Jesse’s pulling his keys from the ignition.
“Come on,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “Let’s go before I do something that’ll get us both in trouble.”
The Rusty Spur is exactly what you’d expect from a small-town bar. Dim lighting, peanut shells on the floor, and a mechanical bull that nobody’s brave enough to ride after eight o’clock. The crowd is a mix of ranchers, college kids from the community college, and tourists who wandered off the beaten path.
I spot Nora immediately. She’s claimed a table near the back, away from the main dance floor, but with a perfect view of everything happening. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messybun, and she’s wearing the kind of outfit that says she’s trying to look casual but still wants to turn heads.
“There you are!” she calls out as I approach, but her eyes immediately shift to Jesse, who’s hovering behind me like a gorgeous, brooding shadow. “And you brought a chaperone.”
“Truett’s orders,” I explain, sliding into the chair across from her. “Jesse’s supposed to make sure I don’t get into trouble.”
“Right.” Nora’s grin is wicked. “Just trouble, huh?”
I feel heat creep up my neck. Nora’s been my best friend since high school, which means she knows exactly what kind of trouble Jesse Nelson represents. She also knows about the kiss, about the years of unresolved tension, about the way I’ve never quite gotten over the boy who grew up next door.
Jesse doesn’t sit down. Instead, he nods toward the bar. “I’ll be over there. Holler if you need anything.”
“Such a gentleman,” Nora says once he’s out of earshot, but her tone is teasing. “And by gentleman, I mean he looks like he wants to murder every man in this place who so much as glances your way.”
I watch as Jesse claims a spot at the bar where he has a clear view of our table. He orders what I know will be a beer he’ll nurse all night and settles in to watch. Even from across the room, I can feel the weight of his attention.
“So,” Nora says, pulling my focus back to her. “How’s it going with the whole living-in-the-same-house-as-the-man-you’ve-been-in-love-with-since-forever thing?”
The other girls at the table—Lennon, Atlee, and Emerson—all snicker. We’d all been friends in high school, except for Atlee, who’s Lennon’s little sister. And while I’d kept up with Nora, the other ones I didn’t check in with like I should’ve.
“It’s…” I struggle for the right words. “Complicated.”
“Everything about the Nelson family is complicated,” Atlee says, lifting her beer in salute. “Wish I could get Devlin to look at me the way he’s looking at you.”
The group snickers as Nora comments, “The best kind of love stories usually are complicated.” She signals the waitress and orders us both drinks. “Tell us everything.”
So I do. I tell them about the tension at dinner, about the way Jesse’s been watching me, about the conversation in the truck.
“Damn, girl,” Nora breathes when I finish. “That man has it bad.”
“You think?”
