Page 25
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, grabbing the tray, trying to act unaffected. But I know I’m flushed. Hot and bothered in the worst way.
I drop the drinks at table seven, dodge a grabby regular, and circle back to the bar to help restock. Anything to keep my hands busy. Anything to ignore him.
That proves to be fucking impossible. Perched at the bar like some sin-wrapped nightmare, wearing that khaki sheriff uniform like it is tailored to his body. Power wrapped in temptation. He doesn’t even have to try—he just is.
Whiskey in one hand. Lazy sprawl like he’s got nowhere else to be but in my orbit.
I grab a bottle off the shelf just to do something.
“So what brings you out, Sheriff?” I call, not looking at him. “You patrolling the local wildlife or just waiting to hand out a DWI to the next unlucky bastard?”
His voice cuts through the low hum of music and laughter. Quiet. Intentional. Like he knows I’ll hear him no matter how far away he is. "No," he says, voice low and steady. "I just needed a glimpse of you, Lou."
I freeze mid-reach for a bottle, caught off guard by the weight of his words. For a heartbeat, his eyes lock with mine—steady, searching—and I swear there’s more there than casual conversation. I force myself to look away, grabbing the bottle like it’ll anchor me, but the flutter in my chest betrays me anyway.
“Is that so?” I manage, voice tight, trying to sound like I don’t care. The heat creeping up my cheeks says otherwise.
“No,” Henry says, leaning back on the stool with slow, deliberate ease. His fingers undo the top two buttons of his khaki sheriff’s shirt, exposing the smooth inked column of his throat. The tough-guy armor softens, a rare, raw sincerity flickering beneath.
“I need so much more. But for now…this will do.”
His honesty hits me like a fist—not surprising, but no less brutal. His words from Evie and Maddox’s wedding echo in my mind, pulling at something I’d buried.
“You fight me so damn hard because you love me, wildflower. And that hurts like hell because you know it’s real. You know me better than anyone, and the fact that you can’t see past all this bullshit to just see me standing right here, loving you—it breaks my damn heart.”
That voice. That ache.
I remember how it clung to the night like smoke, how it tangled in my hair and lodged deep behind my ribs.
Now, here in the dim, crowded haze of the bar, he leans against the bar’s edge, owning the space between us like he’s never been burned by it. His gaze doesn’t waver.
“So,” he says, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on mine, “are you planning on pretending to hate me for another ten years, wildflower?”
The nickname lands like it always does—sharp, familiar, unwanted. I blink once, then twice, steadying myself like I’ve been pushed too close to the edge.
“Who said I was pretending?”
It comes out like a blade wrapped in silk—smooth, sharp, and soaked in everything I never said out loud. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t have to. The venom is in the stillness, in the way I don’t even blink when it lands.
Henry grins, but there’s no joy in it. Just that crooked thing he does when he’s seconds away from saying something that’ll leave a mark. He leans in just enough for me to feel the heat of him, the scent of whiskey on his breath and the gravity he always seems to carry.
“You don’t hate me, baby.” His voice drops lower. Intimate. Lethal. “You hate that you’ve spent all this time and effort trying to—and still can’t.”
God, I hate that he’s right.
I hate that I can’t shut off these God damn feelings for the rugged bastard.
Henry Wilder looks at me like I’m his forever—like I’m the one he’s been waiting for—and the unbearable truth slams into me every time those eyes find mine. I can’t give him a family. I can’t give him the future he’s imagining when he looks at me. Every time I have to swallow that truth, it cracks something inside me—something tender, something hollow, and it fucking hurts in a way I can’t undo.
“There you go again…” His voice trails off.
“Again?”
“Looking at me with that wild desperation that makes it fucking impossible to breathe.” The rich timber of his voice makes me feel exposed and raw.
“No, Sheriff, the only thing I’m desperate for is you to leave, that uniform is fucking up the atmosphere.” I say it hotly, the words cutting the air like a challenge, as I flip my long hair over my shoulder—an act that’s more for my own benefit than his. A shield, a barrier, a reminder that I won’t let him get too close.
As the words leave my mouth, the silence hangs heavier between us, and it hits me—this act I’ve been putting on isn’t fooling anyone. Especially not him. The harder I try to hide behind it, the more of me slips through the cracks.
