“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Just… still buzzing from the night, I think.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “The Busted Barrel will do that to ya.”
He takes a step closer.
Then another.
And another.
His movements aren’t rushed. They’re careful. Like he’s testing how close he’s allowed to be now that we’re in the silence of my home. My pulse starts to pound, heat pooling low in my stomach.
His hand lifts—stopping just short of touching me.
“Abigail,” he murmurs. He says my name like it’s both his saving grace and his undoing. He says it in a way that makes my chest ache.
And I know.
He wants this moment as badly as I do.
Then, his phone rings.
The sound is sharp. Jarring.
And I swear on everything that is holy, if Ialmostkiss one of them one more time, I’m going to scream.
Lawson curses under his breath, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Yeah?”
There’s a pause.
I feel it before he says anything else. There’s a shift. The way the air seems to thicken, turning heavy around it as it laces with something darker.
“You need me?” he asks. “Okay. I’m staying here tonight. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
He hangs up, jaw tight, eyes blazing with something I’ve never seen on him before.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Lincoln.”
My stomach drops. Is he hurt? Are they hurt? Do we need to help them?
“The offices above the barn,” he continues. “They’ve been tossed.”
“But nobody’s hurt?” I ask frantically.
“No,” he clarifies. “Nobody is hurt.”
Oh, thank god.
“Do we—do we need to go help them?”
I can feel it as much as I can see it. Lawson’s anger. It’s rolling off him in waves. The need to protect takes over his very being as he walks toward me, forcing me to take two steps backward until I’m pushed against the counter.
“No, Abigail,” Lawson says, voice low and final. “You’re not leaving this house. You’re staying right here.”
Chapter twenty-eight
