I follow him. The incline is steep, and I grab onto branches to steady myself.
We crest the hill and stop.
The view opens up. We’re above the creek now, looking down at the water that twists like a silver ribbon through the valley. But that’s not what catches my breath.
The ground is covered in daisies.
Thousands of them. A carpet of white and yellow stretching out under the shade of an ancient oak tree. They sway in the breeze, a sea of delicate petals.
“I always go to the bottom,” I say, quiet. “I’ve never been up here before.”
Tex shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks almost shy.
“I found it last summer. When things were bad with the drought. I needed a place to think.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
He turns to me. The sunlight dapples his face through the leaves.
“Yeah,” he says, but he isn’t looking at the view. He’s looking at me.
I smile.
He smiles back and steps closer. The daisies crush under his boots.
“I’ve been wanting to do this,” he says, “since I saw you in your house.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. You looked like you belonged on a magazine cover.”
I laugh. “I was a mess.”
“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
He reaches out and cups my face. His thumb strokes my cheekbone.
My breath hitches.
He leans down and kisses me.
It starts gentle. A brush of lips. A tease. But the restraint doesn’t last. The hunger from the truck resurfaces, and he deepens the kiss.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth. He tastes like orange juice and mint.
I grip the front of his shirt. I pull him closer. I want to feel him. All of him.
He groans against my mouth, and the sound vibrates through me.
He walks me backward, my heels sinking into the soft earth. My back hits the rough bark of the oak tree.
He doesn’t stop. He presses into me. His body is hard, solid. I can feel the heat radiating through his clothes.
His hands roam. They slide down my sides. They grip my hips. He pulls me flush against him.
I feel it, the hard ridge in his jeans.
My core clenches.
