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She heard the pain and yearning in his voice, and it echoed the emotions ripping through her soul.
Despite the debate raging in her head, her heart knew there was only one right answer. She would just have to find a way to deal with everything else.
“I don’t want this to end, either, Brock.” She blew out a breath.
“Oh, thank God.” His breath gusted against her neck. He kissed the top of her breast.
Suddenly, she felt lighter, as if a weight around her heart had fallen away. “God, I’ve got so much stuff I need to take care of in San Francisco, and I don’t know how the heck I’m going to run SummerTime from Montana… but, yes, I want to stay here. With you.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to help you work out the details.” His fingers stroked over the curve of her hip. “In case you haven’t already guessed… I’m head over heels in love with you, Summer Snowberry.”
She put her hand on his stubbled cheek, then drew his face up to kiss him. “You drive me crazy half the time, but I’m in love with you, too.” She laughed shakily. “I’ve loved you for years, even though all that time, I’ve been trying to pretend I didn’t, so that you wouldn’t break my heart.”
He kissed her back, deep and achingly tender.
“I won’t break your heart, Summer. I promise. We’re meant to be, and that means everything will work out okay. We’ll make it happen. And now, there’s something I need to take care of.” His mouth traveled her jaw, then laid a line of kisses down the side of her neck. His fingers stroked the tip of her breast into yearning hardness. “I promised I’d make you come at least one more time, didn’t I?”
Chapter Twenty-Three – Brock
The Yummy Cowboy Diner
Monday, August 2
“Wow, look at that crowd!” Summer exclaimed as she and Brock emerged from the diner’s kitchen. “I thought we let everyone know we’re closed today.”
Brock blinked at the large group gathered outside at the front of the diner. “Uh, they don’t look like customers.”
He squeezed her hand as they walked through the deserted dining room. He’d laced his fingers through hers on the drive over from his cottage. Since then, he hadn’t let go unless absolutely necessary.
He’d woken up smiling this morning. The diner was finally earning money. Summer loved him and wanted to stay with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this happy.
It was only seven-thirty a.m., but how could this day possibly get any better?
Then Rick, Jason and Evie spotted them through the big plate-glass windows, and waved.
Summer’s parents and brother stood next to them, along with Marlene and her husband, Chris, who both wore tool belts.
Marlene had tucked her bleached blonde hair under a baseball cap embroidered with the Montana State Bobcats logo, and her usual bright red lipstick outlined her mouth.
Behind them stood more familiar faces—Jenna and her nieces and nephews; Rick’s dad and brothers; plus, a bunch of people he barely knew, all of them holding hammers, drills, or paintbrushes.
He grinned like an idiot. Hard to believe, but his day had officially gotten better.
“I don’t think they’re here for breakfast, Ms. Fancy Pants,” he said, striding forward to unlock the front door.
Summer, following on his heels, tapped his shoulder and pointed. “Holy crap.”
That was when Brock noticed that someone had blocked off a large section of the street in front of the diner. An outdoor workshop was now set up there, complete with a generator, Evie’s table saw, the two construction dumpsters he’d ordered, and several workbenches improvised from sheets of plywood set up on sawhorses. Long boxes of flooring material stood stacked on the sidewalk, paint cans formed a pyramid, and several ladders leaned against the brick front of the Cooperman building next door.
“Hey, sweetie,” Bob Snowberry called as they emerged from the diner. “We rustled up a few extra helping hands for you.”
Deputy sheriff Matt Parker, one of the town’s two cops, grinned at him. In high school, he and Brock had been on the football team together.
“We got permission from the Department of Public Works—” Matt jerked a thumb in Chris Wittenmeyer’s direction. “—to close this section of the street until midnight tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” Brock’s throat tightened with emotion as he scanned the crowd.
For a kid who’d literally grown on the wrong side of the tracks, this display of support felt overwhelming. The people of Snowberry Springs not only enjoyed eating at his diner, but they apparently liked and respectedhimenough to volunteer their time and labor.
