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Damn you, Devin Hawthorne.
fifteen | nova
Cocooned in warmth,I burrow deeper under the heavy covers as my brain rouses from the best night of sleep I’ve had on this trip. On my back, a hard body drapes across mine, his firm thigh nestled between my legs, his arm molded around my middle, clutching me snug. His breath heats my neck, his mouth nuzzled close. I sigh, relaxing into Devin, and wrap my arm over his back. That subtle movement stirs him, and he cinches me tighter, burying his face until his lips meet my neck as he releases a sleepy moan.
I don’t budge, careful not to disturb this moment of peace.
His hips rock as he places a soft kiss to the underside of my jaw. “Morning.” Gravel and molasses, never has a voice been sexier.
“Morning.” I roll my head to face him and his sleepy eyes find mine, blinking open.
Devin doesn’t say more, just taking me in, roving in a languid exploration from my eyes to my lips and back.
Swallowing, I say, “Hi.”
“I don’t want it going to your head, but you’re kind of beautiful in the morning, Dimples.”
“Just kind of?” I smirk.
“Quit fishing for compliments and go get ready.” A smile curves the corner of his mouth before he pulls away, stretching his limbs.
“Fine, but only because your breath stinks.” Biting back a laugh, I roll out of bed, but squeal as Devin pulls me back on the bed, his fingers finding all of my ticklish spots.
We’re not crunched for time, but with as many days as we spent in Montana, and the unexpected extra night in Coeur d’Alene, we end up making quick stops and driving straight through to Washington’s west coast. This isn’t a state on my bucket list. I’ve already been here several times, skiing White Pass and visiting Seattle, but there’s a flower farm in a small town called Seaside Point that is. I’ve been following them on social media for a while. They post pictures of the most breathtaking flowers, so making a stop along the way is a must because who knows when I’ll drive back up this way again.
We don’t get in until almost six, so we stop for dinner at a little Southern cafe called Aunt May’s where a bleach blonde woman with a warm presence serves us chicken and waffles, and shrimp and grits. Devin and I eat off each other’s plates until they’re licked clean. Southern food in the Pacific Northwest was not something I expected, but it does not disappoint.
With our bellies filled to the brim, we walk Main Street hand-in-hand, passing a darling flower shop that makes me giddy for Lockwood Blooms. When we step into a circular alcove of shops known as the Art District, I’m convinced I could live here. With the patience of a saint, Devin stays with me, stepping into art shops and a candle-making store before watching me spend a good chunk of money at a trendy boutique called Fig.
It’s the strangest thing. After kissing me last night, Devin hasn’t reverted back to the standoffish, afraid of leading me on guy. He barely kept his hands to himself during our drive, and our conversation flowed freely. We talked about college and what we’re looking forward to most. I don’t want to read too much into it, but it’s the first time this has felt like something more. Like Devin is actually letting himself relax. Plus, he hasn’t checked his phone once today.
We check in at a charming little inn because there aren’t many options. Seaside Pointe is quaint, like a town you’d see in a Hallmark movie, and I mentally pat myself on the back for finding this little gem of a town. And this time, we purposefully only get one bed.
“And to think, we could’ve been doing this the whole trip,” Devin jokes, tweaking my waist as we stroll away from the front desk.
“Har-har.”
He pauses outside our door. “Seriously, Nova. Before Montana, I’d never fallen asleep with someone.” His fingers rake through his hair. “I’ve never felt comfortable enough. We don’t need to make it a big deal, I just thought you should know.”
Never? I mean, I guess it makes sense. He gets what he wants from the girls he’s with and then leaves. They’re teens; they’re not going to have a sleepover.
But something in his tone leads me to believe he’s asking me to read between the lines. To what exactly, I’m not sure, but I respect his request, keeping my mouth shut.
And that’s all we say about this sudden change between us. After getting ready and crawling into bed, Devin doesn’t waste any time yanking me across the space of the queen mattress, his mouth connecting with mine. This kiss isn’t as feverish as before, but no less desirable. Hands wander, fingers caressing and clutching as our breathing turns shallow and panting, but we remain clothed and bases away from a home run until sleep finds us.
* * *
A wooden sign engraved with a floral design framingLockwood Bloomscomes into view on our left. Turning onto a gravel road, Devin parks next to a row of cars and trucks. As we climb out of my Audi, the multi-colored fields are teeming with people.
I wasn’t sure what to expect of this place, nor did I realize how large it was. Acres upon acres are overflowing with flowers. Where do we even start?
“Can I help you two?”
My eyes land on a tall, smiling woman with golden brown hair, and familiarity hits even though we’ve never met in person. It’s weird how social media does that.
“Yes. Hi. We were hoping to tour the flower fields. We’re traveling from out of state.”
“Absolutely.” She draws closer to us, adjusting a sleek leather tool belt around her waist, and I read her tee,I’m head clover heels in love.“We don’t normally get kids your age curious about the farm. Where are you coming from?”
