I punch the pillow and flip onto my back. Afternoon sun streams through Grandma Eileen’s lace curtains, painting patterns on the walls. I should be writing. My editor has sent three increasingly passive-aggressive emails about the next Scarlett Monroe book, and I haven’t written a word since I got back to Honeyridge Falls.
Because every time I sit down at my laptop, I see his face. That carefully blank expression. His scent locked down so tight I could barely smell him. The way he wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t touch me, wouldn’t give me anything to hold onto.
They need you. I don’t.
The worst part is that I know he’s lying. Iknowit. I felt his scent crack when our hands touched. Saw his knuckles go white on the steering wheel. Heard the way his voice broke, just for a second, before he locked it all down again.
Nate Thorn feels something for me. He feels everything for me—I’d bet my next royalty check on it. He’s just too scared to admit it. Too convinced that wanting me makes him vulnerable. Too determined to keep those walls up no matter how badly it hurts both of us.
And I understand. I do. I’m the one who left. I’m the one who ran away and didn’t come back for a decade. I’m the reason he built those walls in the first place.
But I’m here now. I’m trying. And he won’t meet me halfway.
My phone buzzes, dragging me out of my spiral.
Theo:Hey sunshine. I’m at the nursery repotting spring seedlings. Come keep me company?
And just like that, the heaviness lifts.
Because I have news. Big news. News I’ve been sitting on all morning, waiting for the right moment to share.
I called my landlord in LA this morning. Told him I’m not renewing my lease. Emailed my neighbor to ask if she can keep Mr. Darcy a little longer while I figure out logistics.
I’m staying.I’m staying.And I can’t wait to tell him.
Cara:On my way.
I’m out the door before I finish hitting send.
The greenhouse door is unlocked.I slip inside, and his scent hits me like a wave.
Sun-warmed earth and honeysuckle, rich and golden even in the dead of winter. Like summer captured in a bottle. It rolls over me, through me, and I have to grab the edge of a plant table to steady myself.
God.
Theo’s always smelled good to me, but this is... more. Deeper. I breathe him in and my whole body goes warm, heat pricklingacross my skin. Must be the humidity in here. The greenhouse is tropical compared to the February cold outside.
That’s all it is.
“Back here!”
I follow his voice through tables of tiny pots, trying to shake off the strange intensity of my reaction. The air is humid and warm, thick with the smell of growing things andhim. Every breath makes me want to get closer.
I find him at a potting bench, hands deep in soil, a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Faded t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. Jeans that have seen better days. Dark hair pushed back from his forehead.
When he sees me, his whole face transforms.
“Hey, you.” He wipes his hands. “You look?—”
I don’t let him finish. I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“I’m staying.”
He freezes. “What?”
“I called my landlord this morning. I’m not renewing my lease. I’m moving back to Honeyridge Falls.” I pull back just enough to see his face, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “Permanently. I just need to go back to LA, pack up my stuff, get Mr. Darcy, and then I’m coming home. I’m cominghome, Theo.”
His hands find my waist, grip tightening. “You’re staying.” He says it like he’s afraid to believe it. “For real this time?”
