I have to swallow back the simmering anger when she tells me about the shame she’d carried for so long because she wasn’t like everyone else in her family and couldn’t fit into their mold.
She tells me about discovering Viv Couture, and the magic and community that a place like it offers. She tells me her ideas about opening such a store. About how the owner, Vivian, encouraged her to finish her degree.
And the whole time, the energy that’s rippling off her is like a heat signature.
Damn.
She’s excited. She’s impassioned.
And it’s fucking beautiful.
“That’s killer, Hattie. I’ll help however you need,” I promise, already picturing this future, knowing she’ll want to set up shop in Lafayette, not here in Carencro, and wondering for the first time in my life if I might be able to see myself living somewhere else.
Somewhere other than right here.
The thought of losing this place is still like a flamethrower to the chest.
But building a future with Hattie might be the shield I need.
Hattie takes the empty pizza box and leans over, setting it on the open tailgate of the truck. And then she proceeds to blow my mind.
“That’s how I feel about the farm. And your distillery plans.” She shakes her head, eyes blazing. “You shouldn’t give those up, Beck. If you can believe in a neurospicy girl like me opening a business, you should at least believe in yourself. Shit, you’ve got way more experience to fall back on. You’ve got experience in your DNA. It’s kinda dumb to think that the worst could happen and you wouldn’t be able to deal.”
Even if I know it can’t change things, her belief in me triggers a full-body bolt of love. And, holy fuck, desire.
I wrap my arms around her and haul her to me.
“Christ, I missed you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
HATTIE
Beck tackles me and we crash onto the air mattress.
I thought sex in a luxury cabin was bliss. But this? Him? Me? Here under the almost indigo sky with night’s first stars blinking awake?
Holy Bob Ross, it’s divine.
Hallowed.
Sacred.
Until I hear Beck’s growl of desire, and then it’s a little feral.
Because, goddamn, I missed this man. And the way he inverts my sweater over my head and flings it out of the truck? I know he missed me too.
A hell of a lot.
He levers up on his knees, panting, gazing down at me.
“Have I mentioned—” he pants. ”How your hatred of bras gives me life?”
I tip my head back and laugh, but the sound dries up as soon as he whips off his shirt. And all that is Beck towers over me, the darkening sky over his shoulders like a cloak.
The night is cool but not cold. Cool enough that a cricket still trills in the tall grass nearby. I reach up and pull Beck down on top of me. His skin heats mine like a brand. He is hot and solid and strong.
And Beck.
