Kelly’s surgery went well.
That’s real relief—solid, grounding. I know how scared she was going into it, even if she tried to play it off. Knowing she’s okay eases something tight in my chest.
I push back from my desk and stand, telling myself I’m heading out to remind Willow to send Kelly a bouquet. Maybe also ask if she’d like to come with me when I visit in a week or two.
Sure, I could order the flowers myself.
But I don’t.
Because I want to see her.
I want to hear her voice.
I want to talk to her when she isn’t behind a desk or focused on work.
And no—it’s not strange to ask if she’d like to visit. Kelly and Willow have been talking every day. From what Kelly says, she likes her. Trusts her. They’ve built something like a friendship already.
That’s good.
Healthy.
And if it gives Willow another reason to stay rooted here, even temporarily?
I won’t pretend I mind.
I round the bend into the outer office?—
And stop short.
She’s there.
Stretchy jeans are hugging her hips.
A gray thermal shirt underneath a McCrae Lumber & Sawmill T-shirt.
Hell yes, that’s my company’s name stretched across her chest, the cotton pulled tight in a way that makes my pulse jump.
I gave her that shirt yesterday. Told her everyone here has one.
That might be true.
Might not.
I didn’t check.
I just wanted to see her in it.
But I’ll give out a hundred of them to all the guys and their whole families if it makes her more comfortable.
I suck in a breath.
And Christ—there it is. Bubblegum.
That same sweet, summer-soft scent hits me every time she’s near.
It’s light. Clean.
Completely out of place in a sawmill full of oil and pine and sweat.
