“What if a cow falls on your head tomorrow? What if aliens land in the south pasture? What if you spend the rest of your life sitting on that porch with your lemonade asking ‘what if’ while a perfectly good man waits for you to stop being scared?”
Damn. That one lands.
“Ina. Honey. I’m not saying be stupid about it. I’m saying stop making a good man pay for what a piece of shit did to you. That’s not fair to him. And it’s not fair to you.”
I press my palm to my eyes. They’re wet. Shit.
“When did you get so smart?” I croak.
“Babe, I’ve always been smart. I also have three kids under ten and no patience left for bullshit. Mine or yours.” She pauses. “Now hang up this phone. Go put on something that makes your ass look incredible. And go see your man. Or wait for him to come to you, because honey…that man is coming. It’s just a matter of when.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Ina. Please. That boy looked at you like you were the last glass of sweet tea in August. He’s coming. Trust me.”
I hang up. Sit in the quiet. The sun’s getting low. The house is still.
She’s right. And I hate that she’s right because it means I have to stop hiding. Beau isn’t Mark. He’s not even in the same galaxy as Mark. And every hour I spend holding him at arm’s length isn’t protecting me…it’s just making sure I lose the only man who’s ever made me feel like I was worth the fight.
My phone sits on the table. His last text, still on the screen.
Miss you.
I pick it up. Stare at it. Put it down. Pick it up again.
Then I set it down for good, push back from the table, and go upstairs.
I put on the sundress. The rust-colored one that makes my breasts sit right, my waist look snatched, and my hips look like they were sculpted by an artist with a thing for curves. I fix my braids. Put on lip gloss.
I look at myself in the mirror. My skin skin glows in the late afternoon light. My eyes are still a little red from almost-crying. I look like a woman who had her heart broken once and is about to be stupid enough to hand it to someone new.
Fuck it. Let’s be stupid.
I’m halfway to the front door, keys in hand, heart hammering, when I hear it.
Tires on gravel.
My whole body stops. I know that sound. I know that engine. My pulse spikes, my thighs clench. My nipples tighten against the fabric of my dress before my brain even catches up. Because my body already knows who’s here. My body has known since that handshake.
I open the door. And Beau’s already out of the truck.
He’s in a white T-shirt tonight. Tight across that massive chest, pulled taut over his shoulders, the short sleeves straining around his biceps. Jeans that sit low on his lean hips. No hat. His dark hair pushed back, messy, the way it was at the bar, his insane eyes locked on mine across the yard. Jaw tight. Big hands hanging at his sides, fingers flexing like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me from twenty feet away.
He looks tired. Tense. His shoulders carry a weight I haven’t seen before…two days of holding himself back written all over his body. But under the tension, under the tight jaw and the rigid shoulders, his eyes are burning. Desperate. Raw. Like he’s been starving and I’m the only thing that will fill him.
He walks toward me in the same slow, steady stride. But there’s nothing calm about it tonight. I can see the effort in every step. The restraint. The barely held-back need. His boots on the gravel. His big body eating up the distance between us.
My chest is pounding. My eyes are stinging. He’s here. After two days of my bullshit, cold-shoulder texts and my fear and my hiding …he’s here. Walking toward me like I’m the only destination that matters.
He stops at the bottom of the porch steps. Looks up at me. His golden eyes…God, his eyes. Pale and burning and so full of something it makes my ribs ache.
“I tried to give you space,” he says. His voice is rough. Strained. Almost cracking. Like the words are being dragged out of him. “I lasted two days.”
I’m standing there in my sundress and my gold earrings and my lip gloss, with my keys in my hand because I was literally walking out the door to go to him. And he’s here. He came to me. Like he always does.
“I was just coming to you,” I whisper.
Something breaks open in his face. His jaw unclenches. His golden eyes go liquid. The tension in his massive shoulders just… dissolves. And for a second he just looks at me …standing in my doorway, dressed up for him, keys in hand…like I just handed him everything he’s ever wanted. He takes the steps two at a time.
