We clear the table. She washes, I dry, and for a few minutes we are just two people, filling the silence with small clinks and the sound of running water. She hands me a plate, wet and slippery, and I almost drop it. She laughs, the last of her wariness falling away.
“Want to see something?” she asks, voice low.
I nod.
She leads me down the short hall to her work nook, where sticky notes and printouts cover half the wall. There’s a binder labeled ‘Sagebrush Market Analysis’ and a legal pad with doodles in the margin. She’s got a system, and she’s letting me in.
“I’m thinking of leasing the corner spot on Main. The old bakery has a storefront and an apartment above,” she says. “It’s dumb, but?—”
“It’s not dumb,” I cut in. “It’s smart. You already know Sagebrush wants this. They just don’t know it yet.”
She looks surprised. Not at my words, but how easily I said them.
I touch the edge of her desk. “The place is rough inside, but I know a guy who can fix it up. He worked on Willa’s place last year.”
She smiles. “You know a guy for everything.”
I think about that. “Not everything.”
Hannah sits on the edge of her desk, leaning in. “What don’t you have a guy for?”
I step between her knees. “This,” I say, and I kiss her. It’s not the slow burn from the other night—it’s a door kicked open. She makes a sound low in her throat, and her hands find my shirt, twisting the fabric like she’s trying to decide how fast to pull it off. I get my fingers into her hair, and she arches into me, her thighs tightening at my hips, and I feel every last wall she’s been building since Beau and Willa’s wedding come down all at once.
She breaks off, lips swollen. “This is fast.”
I rest my forehead on hers. “I thought that was the point.”
“No,” she whispers, “I mean—it’s like you already know me. Like you’re not scared of what you’ll find.”
“I’m not.” I run my fingers up her arms, feeling the goosebumps rise. “The only thing I’m worried about is if you’re gonna let me stick around.”
She kisses my jaw, smiling into it. “That’s the easiest decision I’ve made all week.”
I pull her in tighter, and we find the couch without looking for it. Her hands work up my shoulders and into my hair, and I get my mouth on her ear, her neck, the soft skin just above her collarbone where her pulse is going fast. She smells like something warm and faintly sweet, and when I drag my teeth along her throat, she makes a sound that I feel more than hear. Her fingers drop to my belt buckle—slow, deliberate—unhurried, like she’s already decided but wants to enjoy the deciding.
We make it another ten minutes before she stops, breathing hard. “Is this what you want?” she asks, but I know she’s asking something bigger.
I nod, then kiss her, slower this time. “If you need to pump the brakes, you tell me. I won’t make it weird.”
She relaxes into me. “I don’t want weird.”
I drag the back of my thumb across her cheek, seeing the blush there. “Good. I don’t know how to do this halfway.”
We sit there, legs tangled, beer going flat on the coffee table, the last of the sunset leaving the room blue-toned and quiet. It feels like a beginning, not a bet. Maybe even a home.
She dozes off on my chest, and I hold her until the clock says midnight. I slip out, locking the door behind me, and walk thelong way to my truck because I want the extra time alone with what just happened.
By the time I start the engine, the windows are iced up, and I’m starving for more of her.
She callsthe next morning at seven sharp, her voice still scratchy with sleep. “You around tonight?”
I tell her I’m bringing dessert.
This time, she opens the door in leggings and a t-shirt that might be mine, and I know I’m already in trouble. She sweeps the porch with her foot. “I’m having a day.”
I hand her a bakery box. “The only way to fix that is with sugar.”
We eat cannoli on the stoop, talking about nothing. She doesn’t mention her business, or her doubts, or anything urgent. I like her like this. Unforced.
