He’s been so sweet it’s almost annoying. So careful and considerate I canfeelthe restraint in his touch, even when I tell him that I’m ready. That I’m sure.
Sometimes I wish I’d never told him I was a virgin. Not because it matters so much, but because now it does—to him.Because it’s made him slow down when all I want is to move forward and take advantage of the little time we have left.
Summer is slipping through my fingers—hot and fast and fleeting—and we still haven’t talked about what comes after.
Would I fly in on breaks? Could he get time off to visit? Or is this it—just something that ends?
My mind keeps circling the same questions, one on top of another, impossible to ignore.
I tug the sleeves of my sweatshirt lower over my hands. Beneath it, a delicate pink lace set clings to my skin. Lane’s weakness. The thought of his eyes darkening when he sees it, that soft groan in his throat when he realizes what I’m asking for, makes my pulse skip.
Maybe it will all work out. Maybe it won’t. But tonight, I’m done waiting.
“Ithinkit’stimeto let go of my dreams of becoming a renowned s’more chef.” I huff, blowing out the flame on my third consecutive burnt marshmallow.
“Practice makes perfect. You just need to have a little more patience,” Lydia coos, squishing a perfectly golden, gooey marshmallow between squares of graham cracker and chocolate.
Patience.I can practically hear Lane saying it in that low, steady voice—Slow down, Sadie. I want to remember every second.
I poke at the fire, trying not to think about how much I want to be somewhere else—with him. But I don’t want Heath to think I don’t take this job seriously. This place is important to me. I love who I am here.
I love the ache in my muscles at the end of the day. The easy rhythm of the ranch—the sun climbing over the ridge, the wind in my hair, Monty’s soft snort when he sees me walking toward his stall. There is peace in the repetition. A comfort.
And sometimes, when Lane’s beside me—shirt clinging to his skin, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair a mess, eyes squinting into the sunshine—it almost feels perfect.
It almost feels like love.
But the thing aboutalmostis that it never stays.
Warren hasn’t called. Not once.
Not that I expected him to, but I’ll always hold onto a tiny fragment of hope that maybe, one day, he’ll care.
Heath says he’s given my dad updates, so he knows I’m alive, at least. Apparently he’s been quite busy with the Gideon Cross case. But busy doesn’t stop the sting.
A phantom bitterness coats my tongue. The memory of the whiskey. That night. The catalyst of everything I now have.
I swallow it down and tell myself I’m fine. That I’m safe. That here, under this sky that smells like smoke and sugar and something close to peace, my father’s absence doesn’t matter.
The fire burns low, shrinking to a bed of glowing embers. Families drift away, a pair of honeymooners giggle as they peel off to their cabin, and the night folds in around us.
Iris is stretched out at my feet, her head heavy on her paws, the picture of contentment.
Looking up at the stars, my problems feel inconsequential. Nothing about my life before matters here. It won’t matter when I’m away at school. The only thing that matters to me is Lane.My Lane.Who’s probably shirtless, stretched out on his bed waiting for me.
“My brother told me the guys have a running bet on how long it takes for Lane to knock you up,” Lydia says, her grin wicked. “So you won’t leave when summer’s over.”
My charred marshmallow falls off the stick with a solidplop. “What?”
“I know, I know. I didn’t say I agreed with it—just that he told me about it.”
My laugh is dry, brittle. “Well, that’s not happening any time soon.”
“Aww. Glad to hear you’re practicing safe sex, but protection isn’t always 100%.”
“Trust me, it’s not possible.”
“Mmm, I wouldn’t be so sure. It can happen to anyone. This girl in my class—“
