Summer Rain - Belinda Carlisle
1 Year Later
There’s something suspicious about how casually Sebastian said, “Just grabbing fuel.”
Sebastian doesn’t do casual. Not anymore. Not after a year of learning how to show up, how to be with someone in all the ways that matter. He’s gotten so damn good at it, it’s impossible not to notice when he’s hiding something. And that look in his eyes before he kissed my temple and ushered Teddy into the ute? Way too smug.
He left me with nothing but a text:Be ready by 4.15. Wear whatever you want.
And five minutes later:On second thought, maybe not whatever you want. Just… not the dinosaur pyjamas. Something pretty, like you.
Another chimes now.
Sebastian: I’ll be home in 10 sweetheart
My pulse spikes at that. A whole year later, and this man still gives me butterflies. Real ones. Stubborn ones. The kind that don’t settle, no matter how often I see him smile or hear him say my name.
Me:Gonna kiss you in 11, handsome.
He sends the winking emoji. Of course.
Suddenly, the clock is my enemy. Here’s the thing: I don’t fluff. I don’t “get ready”. I’ve never understood the appeal of outfit changes or makeup brushes or FaceTiming girlfriends for backup opinions. That’s just never been me.
But something tells me tonight isn’t the pub. Or the diner. Or even the Loose Lasso.
No. This feels different. Thismeanssomething. So, of course, I panic in silence. I rifle through my wardrobe, not that there’s much in it that screamsromantic dinner, and tug out a sparkly navy slip dress that Imogen passed down last Christmas with a casual, “It’s too short for me now. Knock yourself out.” God, I love Imogen’s wardrobe. Almost as much as Zoe’s, who gave me half her designer castoffs like they were a Target clearance sale. A girl can never say no to Chanel. Even when she’s got cow shit on her boots. But heels?Heels?The thought makes me dry retch. No thanks.
Instead, I slip on my new Ariat boots. Dark leather, perfectly worn in, a little scuffed from that rodeo last month. You can take the girl out of the farm, but heels are where I draw the line. I’ll always be a farm girl, through and through. I finish off brushing mascara through my lashes when I hear the rumble ofhis car pulling in. The butterflies in my stomach become a damn tornado.
Sebastian whistles when he sees me, leaning against his ute, one boot hooked over the other, arms crossed—all rugged man in a button-down and dark jean. His hair’s a little windswept, his jaw scruffed just enough to make me irrationally warm, and that lopsided grin on his face tells me he knowsexactlywhat he’s doing to me. His jaw goes slack as his eyes sweep over me slowly, deliberately. Everything aboutthatlook tells me I chose the right outfit. The navy dress clings in all the right places, and my new black cowboy boots—which he gifted me this year,afterI complained about mine falling apart—ground me.
“Well,” he drawls, eyes still fixed on me. “You sure know how to make a man speechless.”
I lift my chin, toeing at the gravel. “Thought about wearing my tractor shirt instead.”
“Would’ve married you on the spot.” He pushes off the ute and kisses me like no one’s watching, like we’ve got the rest of our lives in a single second, and he’s not wasting a breath of it.
“Mummy!” Teddy squeals from the open car window. “You look pretty!”
That word.Thatname. It still feels new. Soft. Still catches me off guard in the best way. I’m still adjusting to the thought, but I’d be lying if it doesn’t make my whole chest ache with something good.
“Thank you, lovebug,” I laugh, leaning in to plant a dramatic, wet kiss on his cheek, just the way he likes. Sebastian slides behind the wheel, glancing over with a twitch of a smile—half secret, half smirk. And just like that, the past year rushes in. After Christmas, I officially moved in. Not because we planned it. Just because it felt right. My stuff slowly crept in. First the bathroom shelf, then the kitchen cupboards. Mismatched mugs. Post-its on the fridge. Weird snack combos he pretends to hatebut secretly stocks. Then one morning, I woke to the smell of pancakes and Teddy humming in the kitchen, and I realised… we weren’t building a life.
We already had one.
I still work on the farm, just not every day anymore. There’s balance now. Slow mornings. Days off. Weekends full of barefoot breakfast dances in the kitchen. School drop-offs. Late-night cuddles on the couch with Teddy asleep between us. And Bash.
Always him.
Dinner is… everything. It’s a new place, tucked just past the edge of town. Warm lights strung overhead. Candle wax pooling on the table. Wine glasses half full and laughter so constant, my cheeks actually hurt. We talk about everything and nothing. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much, probably not since the night he gave me that hideously adorable “Trouble Maker” shirt for Valentine’s Day and made me wear it out to the pub. By the time we climb back into the car, my stomach is full, my heart fuller, and I’m sure the afternoon is winding down.
Apparently not.
“Where are we going now?” I ask as he shifts into gear, only to be met with a soft piece of fabric landing in my lap. I blink down at it. “Is this… a blindfold?”
“You’ll see,” he says, his voice maddeningly casual. “Put it on.”
“Sebastian…”
