I freeze halfway out of the truck. “She is?”
“Yep. Grandpa and Uncle Albert too.”
Thank God.
“Thanks for the ride, Cabe. I really appreciate you coming to get me,” I say, then bolt for the front door.
I don’t even look back. I just hear Cabe’s laughter follow me all the way inside.
The house is quiet, blessedly so. Sunlight slants across the entryway, everything peaceful and normal. I instantly settle.
This isn’t so bad. I’m an adult. Adults are allowed to spend the night anywhere they please. I don’t owe any explanations.
Except I do.
I didn’t call to let anyone know I wasn’t coming home. And that means they worried.
I tiptoe up the stairs, even though there is absolutely no one to hear me, then head straight for the bathroom. I peel off my dress, wincing at my lack of underwear, which I couldn’t find this morning, and drop it in a heap on the floor. My reflection in the mirror makes me groan.
Mascara smudged. Hair tangled. Lips just a little swollen.
I turn on the shower and step under the spray, letting the hot water pound against my skin. I scrub harder than necessary, my mind replaying the night in vivid, unwanted flashes.
The way he said my name. The way he looked at me like I was something precious.
I lean my forehead against the cool tiles, water streaming down my face. Of all the men in the world, why did it have to be him? Why not Dixon? Or literally any other man in Wildhaven?
By the time I finish in the shower, my skin is pink, and my nerves have calmed.
I hurry and dry off, grab clean clothes, and get dressed like I’m racing a clock. Jeans. A soft sweater. Boots. I braid my hair quickly and throw on my boots.
When I head back downstairs, I almost make it to the kitchen before a familiar voice stops me cold.
“Well,” Grandma says, standing by the kitchen door with a cup of coffee, “good to see you’re alive.”
I freeze.
Of course she is home. Of course she is.
“Morning,” I say weakly.
Her sharp eyes flick over me. My hair. My clothes. My face.
“You look … fresh as a daisy.”
“Shower,” I say too quickly. “Hot water.”
“Mmhmm.” She takes a sip of her coffee.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call, Grandma.”
She shrugs. “That’s okay. I sat with Imma Jean at church this morning, and she said she thought she saw you leaving the festival.”
“She did?”
Her eyebrow arches just a fraction. “She did.”
I nearly swallow my tongue.
