I blink, uncertain. "What?"
"I was wondering if you would." Her voice is warm, almost proud. "Sloane, I didn't send you there to fix you. I sent you there to give you the space to fix yourself. You needed time away to reset, and being there gave you permission to figure out what a reset looked like on your own terms. I’d take you back in a minute, but I’m glad you’ve found your path."
Words lodge in my chest. "Diane—"
"Be happy. That's an order."
She hangs up. An unfamiliar lightness fills my chest.
I take Cash’s hand. "I'm staying."
He pulls me close, kissing me hard enough to make the world tilt. "You're mine now. Don't forget it."
I won't. I couldn't, even if I tried.
Chapter eight
Cash
The fence post tilts left despite Sloane's best efforts, and I brace my boot against the base to hold it steady while she packs dirt around the hole. Sweat runs down her spine, darkening the back of my shirt that she’s wearing. She's been arguing with this post for the last ten minutes like it personally insulted her.
"You're fighting it instead of working with the angle," I say.
She looks up, hair escaping her ponytail in copper strands that catch the morning sun, and her grin is competitive in a way that makes me too warm. "I know what I'm doing."
I crouch beside her, our shoulders brushing, and cover her hands with mine. "Here. Feel that? You want it firm enough to hold but loose enough to settle."
We pack the dirt together, and the contact sends heat straight to my cock. Her breathing changes, going shallow and quick, and when she turns her head, our mouths are close enough that I can smell coffee and toothpaste.
"Showoff," she murmurs.
"It’s competence." I don't move back, just stay there with my hands over hers and the sun climbing higher while the post settles into place. "There. Now it'll hold."
She sits back on her heels, wiping her palms on her jeans, and the smile that spreads across her face is open in a way that would've terrified her a month ago. Standing, she offers me her hand, and I let her pull me up even though we both know I don't need the help. It’s just an excuse to touch, to feel her palm warm against mine.
"We need to talk about the expansion," she says. She’s been working on it daily for a month, putting the same focus into something meaningful that she put into the career that almost broke her.
"Now?" My thumb finds her pulse point, counting the steady rhythm.
"The conference call's in twenty minutes." She checks her watch, then looks back at me with vulnerability flickering across her expression before she can hide it. "I'm nervous."
"Don't be." I tug her closer until there's no air between us, my other hand finding the small of her back. "They're going to say yes."
"You don't know that."
"I know you're good at this. I know we've got proven results and a three-month waitlist." My palm presses against her spine, feeling the warmth of her skin through the cotton. "And I know you're going to get on that call and convince them the same way you convinced me."
"I didn't have to convince you of anything." Her hands slide up my chest to link behind my neck. "You’d already decided."
"Seventeen years ago." The confession is truer than anything I’ve ever said. "The second you stayed those three extra days."
Her eyes go soft, and she rises on her toes. I meet her halfway, kissing her slow and deep while the fence post stands straightbehind us and the morning heat builds around our bodies. When she pulls back, her pupils are dark and her breathing is uneven.
"We should go," she says, but she doesn't move.
"Yeah." I don't let her go either, only stand there holding her while the sun climbs higher and reality waits. "We should."
Inside the house, our house, with her clothes in half the closet and her laptop on the desk by the window, she heads to the kitchen. I follow, leaning against the doorframe to watch her pour water, drink half the glass, and set it down with shaking hands.
