He sets me down, cups my cheeks, and nods earnestly. “When you know, you know.”
My smile is so wide, it can’t be contained. “I know too. I feel the same.”
He ropes his arms tighter around me and peppers me with kisses. “I can’t let you go. You’re worth it. You’re worth everything. I can’t put work in front of you. You’re what I want most in the world.”
My eyes shine with tears. “You’ve got me then.”
He pulls back and holds my face, his chocolate eyes filled with promise. “We’ll make this work. You’re worth it,” he repeats as if making sure I’ve heard him.
But I did. “We’re worth it, Banks. We are.”
He kisses me again, with an intensity that says he fears he almost lost me tonight. With a passion that says he doesn’t want to let go.
I don’t either.
I melt into his kisses. I glow under his touch. And I want all of him.
I pull him to the bed, the back of my knees hitting the edge of the mattress.
“Hold on,” he says, then sweeps the origami onto the floor.
“It’s a mess,” I shriek playfully.
“And I don’t care,” he says, then he peels off my clothes and lays me down. His clothes vanish next, and soon, he’s sinking inside me.
I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his shoulders, and I pull him close, deep inside me.
It’s different this time. It’s somehow even better. Once more, we come together in the cottage.
Only this time, we won’t be a secret in the morning.
After we wake the next day and shower, we get on our bikes and ride into town. We grab coffee together and hold hands as we walk along Main Street, a road so familiar I could close my eyes and still find every shop.
As we near the crosswalk, Banks peers ahead with curious eyes. I follow his gaze to the end of the block where a man’s popping out of a real estate office.
“I think that’s…Sawyer,” Banks says.
“Is he someone you met on one of your various shopping excursions for toys or bikes?”
With a smile, Banks shakes his head. “All good guesses. Actually, I ran into him at Mister Fox, with Monroe. We played pool one night.”
Banks calls out to the dark-haired man who looks a touch out of place in his button-down shirt and charcoal slacks. Sawyer’s more business-y than most people I see in town. When he hears his name, he turns around. It takes him a few seconds, then he must recognize my guy since the corner of his lips curve up and he says, “Banks.”
We catch up to him on the corner of the street, and Banks makes quick intros, then nods to the real estate office. “Is that ‘maybe’ turning into a definite?”
“Maybe,” Sawyer answers, but it’s said in a hopeful tone.
“Aren’t you elusive?” Banks jokes.
“I don’t want to jinx anything,” Sawyer says, then turns to me. “I might be opening a business here.”
“You should,” I say, ready to sing Darling Springs’s praises. Except, wait. “It’s not a competing lavender farm, is it?”
“Ripley will fight you on that,” Banks warns.
“I would never dare. Not when there’s a world-class one already here,” Sawyer says.
I look to Banks approvingly. “I like him. You may keep him as a friend.”
