"Mama," Nash says, beaming up at me. "I told her you were probably here."
I crouch down because my legs aren't going to hold me if I don't. I take Nash's face in my hands and I kiss the top of his head. "Did you, baby?"
"Yeah. Aunt Grace knocked at our cabin first but you weren't there. So, I told her where to look."
Grace's mouth twitches.
I stand up. I don’t look at Rogue. I don’t have to.
I canfeelhim at my back, the quiet weight of him in the doorway behind me. "You want to go get ice cream with Aunt Grace and Waylon, baby?"
"Yes, please."
"Then go get ice cream."
Grace shifts Waylon to her other hip. "You want to come along, Hadley?"
I make myself meet her eyes. "I think I'll stay here, Grace. If that's all right."
Grace holds my eyes for one moment that lasts about a year, and then her smile goes warm in the way Marlena's did this morning at the bunkhouse.
"It's all right with me, sweet thing. We'll be back in about an hour and a half. Waylon needs a nap after sugar."
"Thank you, Grace."
"Anytime."
She takes Nash's hand. Nash waves at me—and then turns and waves at Rogue past my shoulder, big and unselfconscious."Bye, Rogue!"
Rogue, behind me, says, "Bye, partner."
Grace's mouth twitches again as she turns to go.
I close the door slowly.
I stand at the door with my hand on the wood and my back to Rogue for one long moment while my heart settles into whatever it's going to be now.
Then I turn. He's still where I left him.
"You still sure about this, Hadley?"
"Oh, I'm sure."
He crosses the small room in two steps.
He has one hand under my jaw and the other at my waist before I've finished breathing in.
This kiss isn't the one from last night.
This is the kiss he didn't give me on the porch. The one I felt him hold back. The one that's been burning behind his eyes every time he looked at me sideways across the fence line.
His mouth hits mine like he's been starving for it. Sure and hot, and there's no hesitation in the way he tilts my chin up and takes what I'm offering.
My hands fist in his shirt before I make the decision—they just do.
I rise up on my toes, pressing into him because my body has stopped asking for permission.
His beard scrapes against my skin, rough and perfect, and I taste coffee and something darker, something that's just him.
