Page 87 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

“Right.” Damon winked at me, then shifted his gaze to Mikayla. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“I think I’ll survive,” she deadpanned.

His mouth tipped into a cocky half-smile. “You say that now.”

Then he was gone, moving through the crowd and onto charming the next woman.

Mikayla watched him go for half a second too long.

Interesting.

Especially since Damon glanced back at her and caught her watching him.

The only reason they broke eye contact was because Mikayla’s phone buzzed. She blinked and grabbed it off the table. Without looking at it, she said, “Sorry, I um, I need to take this.”

I nodded and watched her walk the opposite direction of Damon, clearly flustered.

When I turned my attention back to the reception, all I could think was, what am I doing?

I had an incredible man—a man who worked hard, who had told me loved me, and then proved it by being willing to mortgage his private shares of his family ranch just to do right by me. And he loved my son. He loved Maverick with a raw, open affection that was something out of a daydream. And it wasn’t just him. It was the whole family.

I’d witnessed it all summer, the Lockharts loving and accepting Maverick like he’d always belonged to them. Selma teaching him how to plant tomatoes, Damon letting him ride shotgun on the ATV, even grumpy Dawson sneaking him extra marshmallows at the s’mores fire. They didn’t do half measures. They just pulled you in until you forgot you weren’t one of them.

So what was I doing, really? I was standing in the cold shadow of the barn, watching the party from the outside, and trying to convince myself that leaving this—leaving them—was a smart, adult, responsible choice. That it was safer to be alone than to risk being heartbroken. Even though the only one breaking my heart now was me, myself, and I.

I couldn’t even imagine what my life would look like if we left. If Mav lost all this. If I lost all this.

I scanned the crowd and found Dean speaking to Dawson. His suit jacket was off, sleeves rolled, tie loose. He looked so tired and so devastatingly handsome I had to steel myself to walk over.

When I got within a few feet from him, it felt like the atmosphere shifted. He looked at me, and as our eyes met, I had to pretend my legs weren’t shaking. “Hey, got a minute?”

His mouth twisted in that way it did when he was bracing for impact. “Always.”

“Can we talk later, after I finish up?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as desperate as I felt.

His answer was sharp as shattered glass. “No.”

I stared at him, all the breath in my lungs evaporating like morning fog. For a split second, I was eight years old again, watching my mother drive away for the last time, carrying every hope I ever had for a family with her in the trunk of her rusted-out Subaru. I felt the urge to apologize, to backpedal, to make a joke and laugh this moment into nothingness.

Before I could turn away, Dean caught my wrist in his hand, warm and strong. “We’re talking now,” he said, low and steady, and then—without another word—he towed me through the barn doors and out into the moonlit dark.

I nearly tripped over my own feet, stumbling to keep up with his relentless, single-minded stride. He didn’t stop until we reached one of the guest cabins. He grabbed his keys, and opened the door. Once we were inside, he let go of my wrist, and as he did he traced his thumb lightly over the inside of my palm.

I was so keyed up I could feel every ridge of his fingerprint. I stood with my back to the door, pulse hammering in my neck, while Dean stared down at me. His jaw worked and unworked as if he couldn’t find the right words to say.

I’d seen him angry before, at his brothers, at a spreadsheet that refused to balance, but I’d never seen him like this. Not even that time the livestock broker tried to double-bill him for the same order and Dean walked him outside for a “chat,” returning with the sort of iciness that suggested he’d either negotiated a fair price or buried a body off the south pasture.

Right now, though, I didn’t think he was angry. If anything, upset, frustrated maybe. He leveled me with his dark, stormy eyes as he ran his hands through his hair.

“It’s been killing me to stand by and not say anything to you. I told myself you knew what was best for you and Maverick and all I want is what’s best for you both. But I also said if I got the chance to talk to you, I was going to tell you how I felt.”

I waited, not speaking, not moving, not breathing.

His voice was rough, shaky. “I can’t just let you leave. Not if there’s any way on earth you’ll stay. I’ll match The Whitmore’s offer. I’ll triple it. I’ll do whatever you want—full control of your schedule, set your own rates, an expense account, I’ll build you a corner office overlooking the pasture if that’s what it takes. You want to work remote from home? Done. You want a bigger team? I’ll make it happen. I’ll make anything happen, as long as you and Maverick stay here with me.”

He took a single, measured step toward me, closing the small distance between us. His voice thickened, and the words that came next had a gravity that pulled the oxygen out of the air.

“I don’t just want you to stay because you’re good at what you do. I love you, Felicity. I love you so much that I can’t sleep if I know you’re hurting.”