“What are you doing here?” I gasp, clutching the grocery bag to my chest as if it’s some form of protection.
Other than the five feet of hardwood between us, it is.
“Hey, Betty. Uh, Beckett invited me. I hope I’m not intruding.” His gaze meets mine, an emotion flashing and fading so quickly I can convince myself it was never there.
“Nonsense,” my mother smacks him with a dishrag before tucking it into her apron. She doesn’t hesitate to pull him into a hug. The tight ones that make you feel safe and remind you that you’re home. Mom has always given the best hugs. Pulling back from him, she runs a hand along his biceps, the muscles bulging beneath his button-up. “You’re never an intruder in this house, Nash. You know that.” She smiles widely, sauntering back to the fridge, putting away the ingredients I’d bought that will inevitably not be used for a few days. “Those are some pretty flowers,” she adds, “but I don’t need them. Betty loves multicolored bouquets, though.” She glances over her shoulder, winking before continuing her tasks.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and all I want to do is hide.
“Thanks, Mama Hughes.” He runs his long fingers over his chin. “Uh, actually…” he pauses, spinning to face me fully, extending his arm. “Betty, I actually brought these for you.”
My heart pounds in my chest. The rhythm is so erratic, I’m debating calling River to make sure I’m not having a heart attack. My body is on fire, not in the way that’s caused by pleasure, but embarrassment.
“Thank you,” I slowly take the flowers from his extended hand, our fingers brushing. A fresh wave of heat and a zap of lightning zip through my body. “And thank you for coming. I didn’t mean to sound rude.”
“Don’t apologize. Put me to work.” That grin spreads again. The one I’ve known my whole life. It’s warm and inviting. When I was younger, it instilled in me a belief in kindness. Now it makes the muscles in my lower belly tighten as my arousal soaks my underwear.
Dammit.
“Nonsense,” my mother waves him off again. “Dinner is almost ready. It’s your favorite Nash.” She sing-songs the words the same as she always did when one of our close friends was attending dinner and she’d made them their favorites.
Beckett always thought it was over the top, while I only saw how much my mother cared about making others happy. I think that’s why I grew into the woman I am. It was my mother and my desire to be just like her because it would make her proud.
His massive palm claps against his chest. “Mama Hughes, did you make those mashed red potatoes?”
“You know I did,” she grins.
“I might never leave,” Nash chuckles as his eyes meet mine again. “I can take that, Betty.” He nods to the grocery bag still clutched to my chest with one hand, while I stare at the flowers in the other.
Had he known I’ve always loved multi-colored bouquets? Growing up obsessed with the stars, it was the closest I could get to the endless colors of the galaxies. I would pretend each flower was its own, full of stars and planets just waiting to be discovered. A whole universe that would carry me out of Cole County. Even then, I knew I wanted out.
But the Hugheses never leave, so I stayed.
The bag is suddenly pulled from my hand. Nash’s brow scrunches as if in concentration when I flash him a glare. “I’ve got it.” He ducks his head, quirking a corner grin before turning away from me.
Nash and my mother fall into a comfortable conversation about the rodeo and work. I pretend to be busy filling a vase and checking on the meatloaf in the oven. He’s talked about his work over the years, but there’s an openness that comes over him when he gets to chatting with my momma. So, I listen. I absorb every word, grinning like a fool, realizing how accomplished he’s become.
Like so many others, Nash got far away from Cole County for college. Yet, he is one of the few who never came back. From the inflection in his tone, he sounds as if he is happy with his life. He enjoys Montana, and returning to Cole County is more of a chore than a choice.
Something about his honesty on the topic stabs me in the heart. I know I promised myself I was letting him go, but it hurts that he doesn’t want to be here with all of us.
You’re supposed to be letting go of this silly crush, Betty. That’s all it was. I was never really in love with Nash Donovan. It was infatuation and nothing more.Remember that when he flashes those blue eyes at you again, I scold myself.
Watching him here in my kitchen, laughing with my mom like he belongs here, my mind is forgetting the promise we made tomy heart. It’s too easy to picture holidays spent the same way and random nights filled with family and laughter.
“Nash! You made it,” Beckett bursts into the kitchen with our two golden retrievers on his heels.
My body involuntarily jumps, my back smacking into the full vase I just put on the counter, knocking it into the sink, where it shatters.
“Beatrice,” my mother scolds. “What in the dickens has gotten into you?”
“Nothing, I—” Groaning, I reach into the sink, grabbing the flowers, eager to at least save those.
“Hey,” Nash cages me in, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me back. The heat of his body sears my skin.Holy hell, Nash Donovan is holding me. “You’ll cut yourself,” he warns, his tone so low it almost sounds like a growl.
“I-I can do it.”
“Maybe you should just go set the silverware, Betty Minor,” my mother chuckles. I roll my eyes, annoyed Mom would use the nickname they’ve called me since I was a child, and they’d find me sitting outside staring up at the stars.
