Chapter Seventeen
A House of Dirty Dreams
T he gravel path behind me gave way to a muddy road with no driveway or yard—just wide-open space and raw potential. A single-story A-frame sits proudly in the middle of it all, big, charming, and utterly perfect.
From what I can see, the farmhouse itself looks finished. It’s not landscaped or polished, but it’s stunning. Clean white siding, tall windows wrapped in black frames, and a full-wraparound porch that practically begs for coffee, a warm blanket, and bare feet in the morning.
It’s my dream home, on my dream farm—except it’s not mine, and never will be. Closest I’ll ever get to touching it is chaotic weekends helping Bea in a shed I still haven’t located.
Out of the rear window, I catch sight of Kade climbing from his truck and stomping toward me, expression shadowed behind gold-rimmed sunglasses and his hat, now flipped right.
He towed me out of the ditch pretty easily, but apparently, the rocks gave me a flat. He wanted to replace it right there in front of God and seventy-five bushes, but then I reminded him of my desperation for a bathroom and lack of a whip-outable appendage.
After two minutes of tense contemplation—his jaw ticking, head swiveling from the direction of a giant white house off in the distance to a smaller one a bit closer and to the left—he climbed back in his truck and barked at me to follow him.
The drive was slow, bumpy, and beautiful. It was also a fuck of a lot easier with a tour guide. And thankfully, there was no sign of any casualties from the ditch disaster.
When he reaches my door, he doesn’t open it or say anything.
Just looms .
Beefy arms braced over his equally beefy chest, annoying smirk plastered across his annoying face, he stares down at me from under that damned ball cap and cocks a bushy brown.
Okay, it’s not bushy—it’s kind of perfect.
I hate that eyebrow.
Swallowing thickly, hands shaking, I gather my stuff and jostle the two coffees between my hands while attempting to open the door.
And fail.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman?” I hiss, struggling not to spill the drinks I suddenly regret buying.
Well, I don’t regret mine.
My vanilla cinnamon almond milk macchiato is not only gluten-free— tried and tested —but also tastes like angels snowballed their golden seed directly into my cup.
Abby would call it a biblical experience.
I do, however, regret the drink he’s claimed for himself, and the first chance I find a solid reason, I’m dumping it directly over his head this time.
“You’re an independent woman,” he drawls, stepping back to make room for the door.
The second I swing it open, the music cuts off along with the car, and I nudge it shut with my hip.
“Isn’t that what you were screaming about a bit ago?
” He winces, palms the back of his neck, and mutters, “ Talk about hyena. ”
And his coffee falls to the ground.
“Oops.” I gasp, pressing my now free hand to my chest as we collectively stare down at the mess all over his boots. “Aw, crap. That one was yours.” Stepping away, I give him a sympathetic smile. “Better hose that down. You don’t wanna get ants.”
I don’t bother mentioning it was plain black coffee.
Without looking back, I make my way to the house, eyes scanning every inch. I pause at the front door to toe off my boots. They’re basic—from a feed and hardware store I found in town, but they’re already filthy and this house looks new.
Footsteps pound up the stairs behind me, and I hide my grin behind my hair.
“What the fuck was that for?” he barks, gesturing to his boots. They’re the worn ones Abby suggested smell like poo, but all I smell is coffee. “Gonna take hours to get the stains out.”
“Well, you’re just a ray of sunshine today, aren’t you?” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “And they’re already stained. There’s like five years of mud caked on them.” Shooting him a fake grin, I bat my lashes. “If anything, I think I improved them.”
He glares down at me, jaw ticking, shoulders heaving, and a shiver races across my spine at the sight.
Kade is taller than me, maybe by seven or eight inches. But with me in my socks and him in those slightly heeled boots and hat and anger—I feel downright tiny.
Hate how much I love it.
“Why are you here?”
I lick my lips, suddenly nervous, and glance away. “I told you. Your mom asked me to help her get ready for the Honey Bea Bash. I’m helping out here on the weekends.”
He scoffs, crossing his arms.
“Look, I didn’t know she’d have a booth at the farmers market,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes. “What was I supposed to do? Tell your incredibly sweet mother no when she’s telling me she’s struggling to handle everything all by herself? That she’s not as young and able-bodied as she used to be?”
Kade tenses. “She said that?”
I nod slowly and he rips off his hat to tug on his hair. A beat passes between us, and then he says, “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine,” he echoes, petulant as hell. “Just stay out of my way.”
“Oh, I plan on it.” I huff, backing toward the front door. “I’ll be out of your hair soon, and then you won’t have to see me again.”
Another step.
His brows lift. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’, darlin’?”
Pretty sure he’s just using the nickname because he knows it pisses me off. Unfortunately for the both of us, it’s having the opposite effect on my system right now.
Brows tight, I gesture over my shoulder to the open front door. The sound of construction fills the air. I can hear men talking, but it sounds like they’re outside. On the roof, maybe.
“I assume you brought me here because this place has a bathroom,” I say, edging toward the door, bouncing on my toes a bit. “If not, the coffee on your boots will be the least of your worries.”
There his jaw goes again—sliding back and forth like he’s choking on an insult.
I give a fake pout.
He huffs, rolling his eyes skyward and bites out, “Fine.”
“That your favorite word today, sunshine?” I murmur.
He snatches my coffee and storms past me, barking, “Let’s go” over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I shout, tearing after him. “That’s mine!”
“We made a deal, freckles. You owe me a coffee, and since you tripped and spilled mine, it’s only fair, again ,” he says, moving across the plastic-covered foyer at a clipped pace—dirty boots and all.
Apparently, I don’t need to be in just my socks, but I am, and unfortunately for everyone, they’re unicorns flying on weed leaves from Abby.
They’re also fuzzy.
I love them.
But the uncontrollable urge to rip them off and hide them in my bag gnaws at my brain while I follow him, eyes swinging in every direction.
“I never agreed to that deal,” I murmur, taking in the open floor plan farmhouse with appreciation. “Both parties have to agree to something in order for it to be binding.”
He scoffs and comes to a stop so abruptly, I slam into his back—face first. His addictingly masculine smell fills my senses just as I lose my footing, but I never hit the ground.
A big, calloused hand lands on my hip, wrapping around it like he has the right.
Stormy-gray eyes lock on mine, burning and unreadable, dragging me in and stalling time all at once. They flick to my lips, holding for a second too long. I stop breathing, heart hammering, and sway into him.
Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to?
Yes? No? God, yes. I really do.
“Watch where you’re going,” he grits out, voice low and rough. “Christ, you’re a walking hazard, aren’t you?”
He drops his hands like I burned him, stepping back as if distance might undo the tension we just tied between us. The sudden shift has my mind spinning and irritation flaring.
“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe I’m only a hazard when you’re around?” I snap out. “Maybe if you’d stop freezing in the middle of walkways, I’d be able to avoid careening into your giant, stupid body!”
“Wasn’t there when you drove into a fuckin’ ditch,” he mutters, bringing my coffee to his mouth so slowly, it borders on obscene. “That my fault, too?”
Before I can respond, his lips wrap around the lid—same place mine had not that long ago, and all I can think is, I wonder if he can taste me.
He tips his head back, throat working on a swallow, and then…
Gags, spraying the drink all over himself. I dodge out of the danger zone just in time, but it’s too late for Kade—my coffee’s already dripping through his beard and onto his gray shirt.
“What the fuck is that shit?” he snaps, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “That’s fucking disgusting! How the hell can you even drink that?”
I laugh so hard, I snort and double over. The sound of him gagging and rinsing his mouth out in the kitchen has me wheezing for breath, but I freeze when I feel it.
“Oh, shit.” Eyes wide, I meet his gaze across the open floor plan and drop my bag on the floor. “Seriously, Kade! Bathroom!?”
“First door on the left.” His hand shoots out, pointing toward the opposite end of the room to a hallway. “Don’t you dare piss on my new floors, woman! I don’t have time to replace ’em.”
I don’t wait—half running, half peeling my hazardous socks off on the way. I can hear him muttering about me being a menace, and I toss my middle finger over my shoulder, making him mutter some more.
When I’m done, I wash my hands in the pretty bronze sink and force myself to breathe though the nerves buzzing through my system. Stepping back, I search for a towel, but there isn’t one, so I dry my hands on my favorite jeans—a pair that make my ass look great but are broken in perfectly.
I check my reflection in the mirror, and quickly fix my hair.
It’s down today, my natural curls bright and bouncy under the pretty iron light fixture.
My makeup is minimal since I’m supposed to be doing some form of labor or crafts today, and my shirt is a baggy green crop with a Dolly album cover in the middle.
My eyes flick to the closed bathroom door, and I hesitate, gnawing on my lip.