Chapter 28
Levi
We climbed into my truck, the cab still smelling faintly of pine air freshener and yesterday’s coffee.
When I started the engine, the heater kicked on with a low rumble as Becca slid across the bench seat until her thigh pressed against mine.
She buckled in, then rested her hand high on my leg, fingers tracing lazy circles that made my grip tighten on the wheel.
I glanced at her. “You’re trouble.”
“Only for you.” She leaned in, kissed the corner of my jaw, then lower, teeth grazing my neck just enough to make me hiss. “Drive carefully. You need to focus.”
“Too late for that.” I shifted into gear, one hand on the wheel, the other covering hers, pressing her palm harder against my thigh. “You’ve been distracting me since—forever.”
She laughed and slid her hand higher, fingertips brushing the growing bulge in my jeans. “I used to wonder what it would feel like to kiss you.”
“Now you know.” I caught her wrist, brought her hand to my mouth, kissed her knuckles, then sucked one finger between my lips for a second—long enough to make her breath catch. “And I know what it feels like to have you come on my tongue, don’t I?”
Her cheeks flushed pink. She squirmed beside me, thighs pressing together. “Keep talking like that, and we’re not making it to Violet’s.”
I glanced at the empty stretch of road ahead, then at the narrow turnout coming up on the right—old logging access, half-hidden by ferns and firs. I signaled, slowed, and pulled in, easing the truck behind a cluster of trees until we were out of sight from the main road.
She raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. “Levi?”
“Just need a minute.” I killed the engine and turned to her. “Come here.”
She didn’t hesitate. She climbed into my lap with her knees bracketing my hips, hands framing my face.
We kissed hard, messy, hungry—tongues sliding, teeth grazing, her hips rocking down against the hard line of me through denim.
My hands slid under her T-shirt, palms flat on her bare back, then lower, cupping her ass and pulling her tighter against me.
She moaned into my mouth, fingers knotting in my hair.
I broke the kiss just enough to rasp against her lips, “You make me lose my damn mind.”
“Good,” she whispered, grinding down, slow and deliberate. “I think I like you wrecked for me.”
“I’m always wrecked for you.” I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring her before I pulled back, breathing hard. “But if we don’t stop, we’re gonna fog up the windows and miss coffee entirely.”
She laughed, breathless, forehead pressed to mine. “Okay. Coffee first. Then… later.”
“Later. Tonight,” I agreed, voice rough. I kissed her once more, then helped her slide back to her side of the seat.
I started the truck again and pulled out onto the road. She settled against my shoulder, hand resting on my thigh, thumb stroking gently now instead of teasing.
The Violet’s sign came into view, neon still off in the early light, parking lot half full with the usual morning crowd. I pulled into a spot near the door, killed the engine, and turned to her.
She looked at me—eyes soft, relaxed, happy—and smiled like the world was finally quiet enough for her to breathe. “Ready?” she asked.
I laced my fingers with hers. “With you? Always.”
We stepped out together, hands linked, and walked toward the door like we’d been doing it forever.
The morning air was crisp, carrying that sharp pine-and-river smell that always meant home.
Becca’s fingers stayed laced with mine, warm and steady, and every few steps she gave my hand a small squeeze—like she was reminding herself this was real. I squeezed back.
At Violet’s, the bell jingled as we stepped inside.
Violet looked up from behind the counter.
Her face went through the full cycle in about three seconds—surprise, delight, smug satisfaction, and then pure, unrestrained joy.
My big sister had always worn her heart on her sleeve, and right now it was screaming.
“Oh my God,” she said, loud enough that the nosy half of her customers turned to look.
“Morning, Vi,” I replied, keeping my voice calm even though my pulse was hammering.
“Oh my God,” she repeated, hands flat on the counter, grinning so wide I thought her face might split. She looked at Becca like she’d just won the lottery. “The usual? Or are we celebrating with extra whipped cream today?”
Becca’s cheeks went pink, but she laughed. “Just coffee for now. And maybe a cinnamon roll. Or two.”
Violet waggled her eyebrows. “Noted. One order of ‘finally’ with a side of sugar rush.”
We turned toward our corner table—the one half-hidden by the coat rack.
Harper was already there, mug in both hands, watching us with the expression of someone who’d placed a very long-term bet and just collected the payout.
She didn’t say a word at first, just raised one perfectly arched brow and sipped her coffee like she was waiting for us to confess.
Becca slid in across from her best friend. “Don’t even start.”
Harper set her mug down with exaggerated innocence. “I haven’t said a single word.”
“You’re practically vibrating.”
“I’m simply radiating joy. It’s a medical condition. I heard the podcast, and I love this. Everything. Love. It. Happy for you.”
I sat down beside Becca, our thighs pressing together under the table the second I settled. Harper’s eyes sparkled as if she’d just been handed the keys to the kingdom.
Jude arrived moments later, jacket half-unzipped, hair still damp from a shower. He spotted us, froze mid-step, and looked from me to Becca to me again.
“Finally,” he said to the ceiling, throwing his hands up like he was praising the heavens. Then he dropped into the chair next to Harper with a relieved exhale. “I have money on this, you know.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re betting on my love life now?”
“Been betting on it for years,” he said without missing a beat, grin wide and unapologetic. He looked at Becca, warm and relieved in that brother way he’d always had with her. “Hi, Becca. You look happy. It’s about damn time.”
“Hi, Jude.” Becca grinned. “You look like you need more coffee. Or a nap.”
“Both,” he said cheerfully. “Mostly because my brother finally figured out what the rest of us have known forever.”
Violet returned with our coffees—black for both of us—and set them down with a wink. “Here you go, lovebirds. Don’t make out at my table. Health code.”
Becca snorted into her mug. “No promises.”
Violet squeezed Becca’s shoulder without a word, but saying a thousand things in silence, then disappeared again, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
We sat talking, laughing, the four of us falling back into rhythm like no time had passed at all. Harper caught Becca up on three separate pieces of town gossip she’d missed, including something about the mayor and a zoning variance that made Matt’s upcoming news feel suddenly more dire.
“So the mayor’s trying to rezone the old mill property,” Harper said, leaning in conspiratorially.
“I heard this from the secret office manager gossip phone tree that doesn’t officially exist, so shh.
But word is he’s doing it for his cousin’s ‘eco-resort’ idea.
Which is code for ‘glamping for rich people from Portland.’”
Jude snorted. “Of course he is. The man has the ethics of a parking meter.”
Becca leaned into my side, voice low enough for just me. “See? This is why I love this town. Everyone knows everything, and only half of it’s probably true.”
Under the table, my hand stayed on her knee, thumb stroking slow circles; every once in a while, she’d cover my hand with hers and squeeze, like she was anchoring herself to me in the middle of the noise.
Jude leaned back, arms crossed, smirking at me. “So. When do I get to be the best man? I’ve been practicing my speech since Dipshit Travis was out of the picture for good.”
I rolled my eyes. “Slow down, man. We’re not there yet.”
“Yet,” he repeated, grinning. “I like that word.”
Becca laughed. “You two are ridiculous.”
Violet stopped by twice—once with a plate of cross-your-heart cinnamon rolls she claimed were leftovers but had clearly just been made, and once to squeeze Becca’s shoulder again without a word, which made Becca’s eyes go glassy for a second before she blinked it away.
It felt like something had been restored.
Like the circle we’d all been part of since we were kids—me and Jude, brothers by blood; Becca and Harper, best friends by choice—had finally clicked back into place after years of being slightly off-kilter.
We’d drifted, pulled apart by life and hurt and distance, but never fully broken.
And now, sitting here with Becca’s hand in mine and the smell of coffee and cinnamon in the air, it was right again.
Then Becca’s text notification went off.
She pulled it out, read the text, and showed it to me without a word.
Matt: I’ve got enough. Can you meet tonight? Bring Levi.
She read it, exhaled slowly, then looked up at me as she turned the phone in my direction so I could read the message.
“Tonight,” I said quietly.
Across the table, Harper was teasing Jude about Bella’s school play—” She’s a tree, Jude. A very expressive tree.”—and Jude was listening with his chin in his hand, morning light pouring through the windows, turning everything soft and warm. Becca’s fingers laced tighter with mine under the table.
Whatever was coming, we’d face it together from here.