I laugh through the heat climbing my chest. “It wasn’t ugly.”
“It was horrible,” he counters, his smile faltering into something more serious. “But you looked so happy. Like you knew exactly where your life was going.”
I set the sandwich down. My voice wobbles. “And now?”
Sam’s gaze dips to my mouth, then lower. “Now … I’m hoping I get to be part of that picture again. But only if you want me in it.”
The air tightens between us—a tension that’s been simmering under every careful conversation, every gentle gesture. I shift closer. The lantern flickers. His hand finds the small of my back, fingers warm as he pulls me closer.
“I didn’t pack dessert just to get you naked in the woods, Becca,” he whispers, tone laced with amusement and something darker, hungrier. “But I’m not gonna lie … I’ve been thinking about that since I saw you in that dress.”
I lean in, breath brushing his jaw. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. “And what if I’m not ready yet?”
He stills, eyes locking on mine with a reverence I haven’t seen in years. “Then we just sit here. You eat your sandwich, and I count my lucky stars you are allowing me in your presence.”
The wind stirs my hair. Something inside me softens—and aches. And just when I think I might kiss him, my phone buzzes between us.
Unknown number. My stomach dips.
Sam glances at the screen. “Everything okay?”
I hesitate. My fingers tremble slightly as I pick it up.
Unknown
I saw the house went pending. Tsk tsk, Mrs. Hughes. I thought you understood I was interested.
The warmth of the evening drains out of me immediately.
26
SAM
Iread the text and my blood runs cold.
“What the hell? Who sent that?” I demand, sitting up straighter and instinctively wrapping my arm around Becca’s waist, drawing her against me like I can shield her from the venom in that text.
She doesn’t lean away. Doesn’t say anything at first.
“I don’t know. It’s an unknown number, but … I have a hunch.” Her voice tightens. “I think it’s Rick.”
“Baby,” I say gently, “I want you out of anything that has to do with him. Seriously.” I swallow hard because the next part tastes like gravel. “I think he’s in bed with Yarrow Inc.”
Becca turns her head so fast I almost lose contact with her. Her eyes are wide.
“You’re kidding. Sam, those guys are dirty. My company denies anything even adjacent to them,” she exclaims.
“I think that house wasn’t just a sale to him,” I say, my jaw tightening. “If he flipped it to the right group, like Yarrow, it could’ve been worth a hell of a lot more. We’re talking millions, Becca. Not just with the sale of the development.” I exhale slowly, trying to keep my voice even. “He’snot texting because he’s interested,” I say. “He’s texting because you took something off the table he thought he already had.”
Becca blinks rapidly, holding back the tears she doesn’t want to fall.
“I know.” I cup her face gently, thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “I’m handling it. I swear to you. I won’t let this ugliness touch you.”
She lets out a humorless laugh. “Too late for that,” she mutters.
Then, like flipping a switch, she shakes her head and stands.
“Fine. Handle it.” She turns from me, walks a few slow steps away from the truck bed, arms folded tight across her chest like she’s trying to hold something in—or hold something back. I follow, but I don’t crowd her.
