“Okay. I’m done. Thanks. I’ll get working on those things.”
She smiles. “Sounds good.”
I leave with a giant smile on my face and another around my heart, and all I can think of is how I can’t wait to tell Dom about it.
I searchfor Dom around the cabin, but I can’t find him anywhere. He’s been working late the past few days, and if it weren’t for him ending up in my bed at night, I’d think he was avoiding me—which I really hope he’s not.
I think I’m falling for him.
We haven’t really talked about what we’re doing, not since the first time. We said it was just once…and then that turned into twice, and now, it’s been a whole week. Whether it’s because he comes over after work when he can’t stop thinking about me, or because I show up at his place demanding he make me feel good, he never complains and always gives in.
I’ve never been with a man like this before, one who likes to please to where I think it gives him just the same amount of pleasure as it gives me. I actually don’t think I’ve ever been with a man, period. Plenty of boys, sure—more than I care to count—but Dom is nothing like them. He’s not a boy. He’s a man.
I head to the north side of the ranch, where his truck is parked by the barn, but he’s nowhere in sight. I don’t want to go into the stable—too many memories, mostly painful ones—but I do want to find him. I walk around, hoping I’ll get lucky and spot him.
And there he is, off to the far left by the hay bales, looking like an absolute snack in a white shirt that contrasts against his sun-kissed dark skin, those Wrangler jeans I love hugging his strong legs and rounding his perfect ass as he bends, beads of sweat dripping down his face. He’s so unfairly good-looking. And hardworking. And kind.
Maybe he’s grumpy with everyone else, but not with me, not after those first couple of days at least. And I love that. I love that I get to see the tender, caring, polite side of him.
He’s surrounded by stacks of hay, working like he always does—shirt clinging to his back, dust to his boots, the steady rhythm of his movements smooth, as if he were dancing instead of working. The sun beats down on the field, turning everything gold, and he looks like he’s part of the land itself. I remember watching my dad and Arnie taking their time harvesting hay right before camp opened, their laughter carrying across the fields between passes of the tractor. And here he is, not on the tractor anymore but definitely gathering what he did all day.
I always found it interesting how it’s always busy around here, but between May and October, there’s no slowing down. And this year is no different. No wonder Dom hasn’t been going to his cabin early—so much work, especially with Arnie out. After all the rain from a few days ago, I didn’t think the harvesting would start, the ground too soft, the hay too damp, but I guess I was wrong.
I move slowly, boots brushing against dry grass, thinking maybe I can sneak up on him, or at least get close before he notices me. The wind shifts, carrying the scent of cut hay and sweat, and my heart picks up just a little.
And my plan is ruined.
I haven’t even taken two full steps when his eyes snap to minefrom under the brim of the cowboy hat with certainty, like he’s been aware of me the whole time.
“Did you know you don’t actually have to wear a hat to be a cowboy?” I call out, one hand on my hip. I was heading into town today, so I actually put some effort into my outfit beyond the workout sets he seems to love. Tight jeans, a floral top, and a little vest. I feel good in it, so I’m using it to my advantage as I close the distance between us.
“I’m not a cowboy, so I guess it doesn’t matter what I do, huh?” he calls back, wiping the sweat off his forehead. I really wish he wasn’t wearing those sunglasses so I could see his expression. Something tells me he’s devouring me with his gaze.
“Hi,” I whisper, peering up at him, willing a smile to appear on his face. Which it does, as soon as mine widens too. He drops his head, tilting to the side so his lips match mine, and I all but leap into his arms, wrapping my legs around him and deepening the kiss.
The world narrows to heat and breath and the solid feel of him beneath my hands. I’m breathless in no time. He places me on my feet as if he can also tell I need it—grounding me before I slip too far into it.
“Someone might see,” he says.
“So? Would that be terrible?” I ask. I don’t understand him. I’m not asking him to marry me, but to literally maybe date me? Is that too much to ask?
He shakes his head. “You know we can’t. You own this place, and I work here.”
“I might, but only on paper. In real life, I’m simply your neighbor. Your very hot neighbor, who would like to spend a little more time with you.” There. Forward. Honest. Setting a boundary.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We can, but we probably need to talk more about this.”
This.Notus.
And damn it, that hurts. It lands heavier than I expected, settling somewhere deep in my chest. Not because I didn’t see it coming—I did—but because I thought he liked me more than justbeing in my bed, more than stolen moments in fields and quiet corners in our cabins. I’m once againnot taken seriouslymaterial, and I hate it, hate how familiar that feeling is.
I walk backwards, putting some distance between us, each step feeling longer than the last. The warmth from his hands fades too quickly, replaced by the open air and the ache creeping in. But I can’t let myself go there this time.
I would rather ignore this ache now than stand here and watch him choose distance over me.
“Where are you going?” he asks as I continue trekking backwards.
“When was the last time you played Catch Me If You Can?” The favorite game of half the campers.
