“I know it’s complicated.I know you have your life in the city and I have mine here.But Bailey...”I squeeze her hand.“I want to figure it out.If you do.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, studying our joined hands.Then: “I want to figure it out too.”
Relief floods through me, so intense it’s almost painful.I pull her close, pressing my forehead against hers.“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”She rises on her toes and kisses me, soft and sweet and full of promise.
I respond immediately, my hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.She makes a small sound against my mouth, and suddenly we’re not thinking about geography or logistics or impossible situations.
Her fingers find my belt loops and tug me even closer—the same move I used on her at the dartboard last night.Photos scatter off the edge of my desk as she leans back against it, pulling me with her.
“Silas,” she breathes against my mouth.
“Yeah?”
She nips my lip.“I think you should take your pants off.”
I groan and press her back, back, back until she’s lying down on my desk.Most of the pictures are safely on the other side of the desk, but Bailey’s hair falls over the picture of the autumn leaves.
Smoothing my hands up her thigh, I lift her top and start working on her jeans.“I think we should both get naked.”
I’ve got her waistband around her ankles when her phone rings from the back pocket, which is practically in my hand.I look at the screen.
Hunter.
I show Bailey the phone and she rolls her eyes.“It’s like he knows.”
She takes the phone and hits decline, but I can tell the mood has shifted.
I lean over her, forearms on either side of her torso and pressed into the desktop.“You should go.”
She groans.I love that she’s as reluctant to leave as I am.It gives me hope.
“But later?”
“Later.”I kiss her again, unable to help myself.“Definitely later.”
She straightens her shirt, runs her fingers through her hair.Then she picks up the photo of Miss Mullins with her rainbow face paint, studying it one more time.“Thank you.For showing me these.For letting me see what you see.”
“Thank you for being the first.”
She sets the photo down carefully, then kisses me one more time—quick, sweet, promising more later.
Then she’s gone, her footsteps echoing down the stairs, and I’m alone with my photos and the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, we can figure this out.
I put the photos away carefully, tucking them back into their drawers, and walk home.Echo gives me her usual greeting at the door and I move the dresser out to the garage to begin the refinishing.I strip and I sand, and all I can think about is the way she looked at my photos.The way she said “It’s a love letter to Here.”The way her hand felt in mine when we walked through town.
Just at the point where my back hurts and my fingers are tired of holding the sanding block, my phone rings.
Monica Schaefer, as in the Schaefers who own Sirens Valley Lodge.My brow wrinkles.Why is she calling me?
“Hello, this is Silas Montgomery.”
“Silas, hi, it’s Monica Schaefer.Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.”I stretch my back and put my phone between my ear and my shoulder.I need to go inside and wash my hands, probably.
“First off, I know I’m not your client—yet—but I need to know that what I tell you today is confidential.”
