I finally drop my gaze and shrug. “I just like watching you.”
She makes a face. “Okay, creeper.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like being watched, honey. I know you do.” I smirk and take a bite.
“Don’t go using my kinks against me.”
I chuckle. “I would never.”
Her laugh is low and warm, and I’m caught in it like prey caught in the daze of the light from an anglerfish. It lures me in, making it impossible for me not to want to be closer to her. The music shifts to an old Tim McGraw song, and I hold out my hand. “Dance with me.”
Her brows lift, and she glances down at her T-shirt.MyT-shirt. “I’m barefoot and wearing a ratty old T-shirt.”
“Hey, watch how you talk about my shirt. It’s one of my favorites.”
She sips her wine and finally takes my hand. I pull her close to me, and the feeling of her warm and soft body pressed against mine almostundoes me. We move in a slow circle, bare feet shuffling in the glow of the fairy lights.
I could spend the rest of my life chasing this feeling. And nothing would ever come close tothis.
It feels so easy with her. Like she was always meant to be here, barefoot on my deck, my T-shirt hanging off her shoulder.
My heart stutters in my chest when her lips brush over my neck and down my jawline. For a few minutes, it’s just her and I and the soft glow of the lights. I don’t think about her career or the places she’ll go. I don’t think about how far out of my league she is. I just hold her, breathing her in, wishing time would stop right here.
Not a Whole Lot of Sleeping
Quinn
Winston roots around the pen, finding the apples and carrots I’ve hidden under things. He has mud caked on his flanks from rolling around after getting out of his little pool. When he finds the last one, he gives a loud snort and waddles my way.
“Aw, who’s a sweet boy?” I coo at him as I scratch behind his ears.
“That’s the happiest pig I’ve ever seen,” Pops says, startling me.
The last few days have flown by. Pops is returning to a less surly version of himself now that he can do most things on his own. He’s still not out driving cattle with Tripp and Wes, but I know he’s been working in physical therapy so he can handle a full day in the saddle again.
I peer at him from across the pen where he leans on the post. “I didn’t hear you come out.”
“I was just getting some fresh air. I didn’t hear you get back from the clinic.”
Since he’s more independent, I’ve been spending mornings helping Dr. Dillard at the clinic. He pays in cash and seems eager to have someone young to do the more tedious jobs. He’s even been letting me ride along on his large-animal calls, which beats being cooped up in a sterile office all day.
“I was just giving Winnie some treats before I shower.”
“You tryna fatten him up for slaughter?”
“Pops,” I groan. “He’s a pet, not food.”
“Suit yourself. Sawyer’s right, though. He’d probably make some good bacon.”
I clap my hands over Winnie’s ears. “No bacon talk in front of my pig.”
“You decided what you’re doing with him when you go back?” Pops asks.
It’s an innocuous enough question, but the look on his face tells me it’s not as innocent as it appears on the surface.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it much.”
Pops’ lips curl up in a smile. “That so? Someone have you thinking about stickin’ around?”
