CHAPTER 21
EVAN
“Ican’t believe we’re actually going to finish on time,” Beverly says, shaking her head and looking down at a printout of the schedule Amy made, along with the list of volunteers and when they should arrive to help.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and we’ve been here all morning, helping to do odd jobs around the place. A professional company had to come in to install the massive screen they’ll play the movies on, but we’re in the back, reading the instruction manual for the popcorn machine, trying to make sure all the right components are in all the right spots on the ICEE dispenser.
“I’d kill to have one of these in my house,” one of the kids says, and Beverly grins at him.
“You know, we’re still looking to hire some people part-time for these roles. Ticket-taker, bookseller, general kind of stuff.”
The kid looks less impressed with that idea than with the one of having an ICEE machine at his house. “Yeah, sure. I’ll think about it.”
Amy and I talk about it on the walk back to my truck. She’s started leaving her car here in town, outside of the bakery, where Brendon lets her plug it in, so it’s fully charged by the time she heads back to Denver.
“I think they’ve enjoyed the volunteering,” she says. “You’d think they’d like the opportunity to getpaid.”
“They enjoy the volunteering becauseyou’rethere.”
“No.” She laughs, but I can see in the way her cheeks flush that she’s secretly pleased with the idea of that.
When we hop in the truck, I turn to her, brimming with something I’ve wanted to say for a while. She’s already looking at me, clearly confused by the fact that I haven’t started the truck.
“What’s up?” she asks, looking worried. I want to reach out and touch her, but I keep my hands at my sides. There’s something inside me that doesn’t like the idea of PDA in town. Like I want the guys around here to know that Amy is off-limits, but I also don’t want to stoop to touching her or making out in public like we’re teenagers.
“I just wanted to say—” I stop, clear my throat, fiddle with my keys for a moment. I’m not usually this guy—uncertain, wavering. But Amy brings that out in me, the ability to feel open with her without being vulnerable.
She reaches out and puts a hand on my arm, and it sparks like it always does.
Sucking a breath, I sit up and look her in the eye again. “I wanted to thank you. For bringing me back into town. I forgot… I forgot how much I liked being down here, being around everyone. It was like, after getting back from service, I put up walls, andthey just got higher and higher with every passing year. And you helped to break those down. To bring me back some of the joy of being around everyone. So, thank you.”
When I realize her eyes are shining with unshed tears, I reach over, cupping her cheek with my hand. PDA be damned.
“I’m the one who should be thankingyou,” she says, glancing away and wiping at her cheek when one of the tears gets free. “Before meeting you, I was fried. Or getting very close to being fried. My entire life was work—that first night, when you saved me? I left Rae and Jordan’s birthday party early to come out here. I barely spent any time with my sister.”
“And now you’ve been spending less time at work?” I ask, which can only make sense. She gets to Granite Peaks by noon on Fridays and leaves late on Sundays. If she was working that first weekend, it only makes sense that she’s cut back quite a bit.
Which you can see in her face, in the way her eyes shine. The tension gone from her shoulders, and she smiles more easily now.
“I am,” she says, sighing and leaning back into the truck seat, closing her eyes. “I’m still… not sure. I worked so hard to get this spot—took an internship and was paid nothing for a few months to get to where I am now. And it’s… scary. To think of trying to move to something else. Make a career change.”
“If it means anything coming from me,” I offer, jerking my head in the direction of the theater down the road, “I think you’d be great as a project manager.”
She laughs, then opens one eye to look at me. “Serious?”
“I mean, if I’m being honest, I think you could do anything you set your mind to. But that’s probably cheesy.”
Her smile spreads slowly but stretches over her entire face as she gazes over at me, and not for the first time, I sense something shifting between us. Feeling deeper and more sure than it was just a few minutes ago. Finally, after a second of just looking at one another, Amy tames her smile a bit and pulls on her seatbelt, saying, “Come on. I want to get home.”
This time,when we get back to the cabin, we go for a walk before the sun sets completely—though it’s been out longer and longer at night as the winter melts into spring. Earlier I caught myself thinking about what it would be like to take her out in the boat, see how she likes fishing that way.
The idea of summer Amy hits me square in the chest, and I’m still thinking about her in a swimsuit, smelling like sunscreen, lake water dripping from her hair when she pulls me into the bedroom, pushes me back onto the edge of the bed, and drops to her knees.
Amy grins at me devilishly as she starts first with a single hand, splaying her other hand out over my thigh, squeezing as she works me. Then, when she lowers her head to me, I slide my hand into her hair to hold it for her.
She’s beautiful. Gorgeous. And I tell her so as she runs her teeth along my cock, so my hips start to thrust up in little movements almost imperceptibly, almost uncontrollably.
When I’ve had enough of that, I scoop her up and carry her to the bed as she pouts.
