“Sure. Blame the man that can’t stand up for himself.”
I walk over to the filing cabinet. “I mean, look at this. Who keeps a menu from twenty years ago?”
“Verne was sentimental.”
Presley takes it from my hands and looks it over. “You know, it could be a cool thing to bring back to the ranch.”
“What, food?” I snort laugh.
“No.” She smacks my chest. The lightest brush of her hand against mine makes my heart clatter in my chest. “Do an old-school night. Bring back some traditions from the ranch of the early days.”
I roll the idea around in my head. “Huh. That’s not terrible.”
“Gee, thanks, Kade.”
She shuffles through some more papers in the bottom drawer, dropping to the floor and crossing her legs under her.
“We’d have to get some more paying guests to do that first.”
“They’ll come.”
“You sound pretty confident there.”
She’s not looking at me, but going through what’s now in her lap.
“Look at these,” Presley says.
“What are they?”
Dropping to my knees, I peek over her shoulder, doing my best not to get too close. To not breathe her in or feel her warmth.
“Old pictures of the ranch.”
Plucking one out of her fingers that she passes over, I’m struck with warmth and sadness all at once. Because, in a grainy old photo, Verne and Arlene are standing under the ranch gateway with their arms wrapped around one another. Arlene is looking at the camera, hand covering her eyes from the sun while Verne stares down at her with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
“I can’t imagine how old this is.”
“Seventy-nine, it looks like.” Presley pokes her finger at the back of the photo. “Wasn’t that around when the ranch opened?”
“A few years after,” I say.
“You should frame these. There’s dozens of them, and people would love to see the ranch in the early days,” Presley says, pulling the picture back into her hand.
Her fingertips brush mine, and I don’t miss the tiny gasp it elicits from her.
Fuck.
I also don’t miss the way it makes me feel. The rush of heat that floods my body. The memory of how her touch made me feel. The way I only thought about this woman foryears.
“I should probably go.”
It’s barely more than a whisper. All I want to do is lean in and kiss her again. I want to feel her against me.
But that’s not why she came.
“Right.” I clear my throat, standing to put some air between us. “I need to grab some lunch before I get back to it.”
Presley hands over the stack of photos, and I reach out a hand to help her up. She hesitates before taking it. That same buzzy feeling floats through me.
