I close my eyes and focus on the warmth of her against me, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Sleep comes easier this time. And when it does, I don’t dream at all.
16
MATTEO
A few daysafter we destroyed the construction site, Sierra has the night off work, and the two of us go to her parents’ house for dinner.
I’d rather take a bullet.
That sounds dramatic. It’s not. I’ve been shot before. I know exactly what that feels like. But walking into a house full of people who love Sierra, people who are going to ask me questions I can’t answer, who are going to look at me and wonder what the hell their daughter is doing with a man like me?
Again, I’d rather take a bullet.
Sierra talked me into this. She pointed out that meeting her family now would make the wedding go smoother, and she’s right. I know she’s right. But that doesn’t make the knot in my stomach loosen as I pull into the driveway of a modest two-story house with a garden that looks like something out of a magazine.
This would be simpler if her family knew the truth. But Sierra doesn’t want that. And I’m learning that what Sierrawants matters more to me than my own comfort. Dangerous realization to have in a driveway.
“Wait till you see it up close,” Sierra says, practically bouncing in her seat.
I kill the engine. “It’s nice.”
“Nice?” She laughs. “Come on. Let me show you.”
Before I can protest, she’s out of the car and heading toward the garden like a kid on Christmas morning. I follow, hands in my pockets, shoulders tight.
She stops in front of a row of plants with pink tubular flowers. “Penstemon. They’re perfect for the desert—full sun, barely any water. See how the hummingbirds love them?”
I glance up. Sure enough, a hummingbird darts between the blooms, wings a blur.
“And these,” she continues, pointing to bright yellow flowers, “are desert marigolds. My mom wanted something cheerful near the porch.”
“They’re... yellow.”
She grins. “Very observant.”
“I’m not great with plants.”
“I know. Your yard is basically gravel and sadness.” She nudges my arm. “But we could fix that. Just saying. If you ever wanted a garden.”
I don’t want a garden. I’ve never thought about a garden in my entire life.
“No pressure.” She hesitates. “It’s just... I like making things grow.”
The wordmaybeis out of my mouth before I can stop it. I don’t give a shit about landscaping, but that look on her face is doing something to me.
Her smile could power the whole goddamn city.
We step onto the porch, and Sierra pauses with her hand on the door. “Ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
She laughs softly. “Not really.”
My palms are damp.
Sierra must sense something because she reaches over and squeezes my hand. Her fingers are warm and small against mine. “They’re going to like you.”
