Chapter Ten
T he clouds had been thickening all morning, stretching low and heavy across the sky like a warning someone forgot to deliver.
Callie wiped her hands on a rag and stepped into the small office tucked behind the supply shed only to find Maggie already there, sorting through the latest invoice sheets.
Her sister looked up with a grin that said, I know something you don’t want me to know .
“You’re early,” Callie said, tossing the rag into the bin and nudging the door closed behind her.
Maggie held up a clipboard. “Wanted to double-check the delivery manifest before the truck gets here. You were distracted yesterday, and I didn’t trust your math.”
Callie rolled her eyes and plopped down in the chair opposite her. “You mean the math I learned before you were out of diapers?”
“Hey, I’m just saying that love makes people miscount. Especially when that love comes with biceps and a sexy grin.”
Callie stared. “Seriously?”
Maggie tapped the pencil against her bottom lip, trying and failing to look innocent. “You two have been doing the bee ballet around each other for days.”
“He’s helping out,” Callie muttered, focusing on the invoices.
“Uh-huh. Helping out with his mouth, his hands, or his smolder?”
“Maggie.”
How in the world had she known about the kiss?
Her sister grinned, then leaned back. “Relax. I like him. He watches you as if planning backup in case a thunderstorm tries to flirt with you. That’s rare.”
Callie’s chest tightened before she could stop it. Because she knew. Matthew wasn’t passing through. He’d started to matter. And it scared the hell out of her.
“I’m not sure what this is,” she said finally.
Maggie’s smile softened. “You don’t have to know. Just don’t shut the door before it gets the chance to open all the way.”
Callie didn’t answer. Outside, the wind stirred the trees in that shifty way it did before a big front rolled in. The air had that coppery tang—summer storm on the way.
“I’m heading out early.” Maggie stood and stretched. “Don’t want to be driving in that mess when it hits.”
She followed her to the door. “Thanks for getting a head start on the paperwork.”
Maggie paused, turned. “One more thing.”
Maybe stop pretending there’s no storm simply because the sky’s still quiet.”
She was gone before Callie could unpack that.
***
T he delivery truck rumbled down the long gravel drive at four, right on schedule. Unlike tomorrow’s delivery, she’d confirmed this one.
Callie stepped out from the greenhouse, shielding her eyes with one hand as the wind kicked up around her. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, the sky overhead turning that eerie greenish hue she knew all too well. The storm wasn’t just coming, it was waiting for its cue.
Matthew appeared from the equipment shed, clipboard in hand as if he’d been born for logistics. Sammy trailed behind him, tail wagging even as his posture stayed alert, clearly sensing the shift in the air.
“You sure you want to unload this now?” Matthew called over the rumble as the delivery truck backed into place.
“Better than letting the soil turn into soup,” Callie shot back, tugging on her gloves as the first hint of thunder growled somewhere in the distance.
The driver hopped down with an easy wave. “Hey, Callie.”
“Mason.” She smiled as she walked over to greet her friend. The sixty-year-old had been making the same delivery for nearly twenty years now. “Right on time. Ellis still keeping you on a tight schedule?” she asked.
“You know it. Man runs that FieldSource depot as if it’s the Pentagon.”
Callie chuckled. “My dad always said Ellis could inventory a shipment blindfolded. Glad to see he hasn’t changed.”
Grinning, Mason nodded. “Figured you’d want the compost and potting mix in before it turns into a slip ‘n slide.”
They got to work—Mason operating the pallet jack while Callie and Matthew guided two large stacks of premium compost and one of organic potting mix onto the gravel, covering them quickly with tarps as the wind picked up.
No weird add-ons. No mistakes in the manifest. It was a clean, standard delivery.
Once the last tarp was secure, Mason handed her the clipboard.
Callie signed with a flourish, then peeled off the yellow carbon copy and folded it into her pocket.
“Appreciate you making the run,” she said.
“Anytime.” He tipped an imaginary hat and jogged back to the cab. “You two stay dry.”
The truck rumbled back down the drive, taillights flashing once as it turned onto the main road.
Matthew looked after it for a beat, then shifted his focus back to her. “That went smoothly.”
“Let’s not jinx it,” she said, brushing dirt from her hands. “Storm’s almost here.”
Callie brushed a strand of hair off her damp forehead, heart hammering louder than it should’ve been. Maybe it was the storm. Maybe it was the man beside her, watching her with an expression too unreadable to ignore.
“Thanks for staying to help,” she said, her voice softer now.
Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re not in this alone.”
And just like that, something inside her shifted. Again.
“But this is normal nursery work, not ESI stuff.” She was about to say more, when a fat drop of rain hit her cheek.
Then another. And within seconds, the skies opened without mercy. The wind kicked harder, sending a gust of rain sideways. Callie flinched as droplets slapped her arms.
“Come on,” Matthew said, grabbing her hand to pull her to the nearest building.
She didn’t argue. Her shirt was clinging to her like wet paper, and her skin prickled with goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Sammy ran ahead and ducked into the old lean-to by the vegetable greenhouse.
She altered her course and tugged Matthew toward Sammy’s chosen spot, laughter bursting from her as they met up with her dog.
The lean-to wasn’t much—a wooden structure with three sides, a wide overhang, and the sturdy table she and her grandfather had built years ago. But it offered shelter from the worst of the rain and enough privacy to feel as if the rest of the world had fallen away.
Matthew followed her in, dripping wet, his shirt plastered to his chest and dark hair slicked back from his face. His eyes locked on hers, intense and searching, unsure whether he should laugh or kiss her again.
She could hardly breathe.
Sammy shook out beside them, spraying water like a lawn sprinkler, then curled up beneath the table with a huff.
Callie pressed a hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath and maybe slow her heartbeat, but it was pointless. The storm wasn’t only outside anymore. It was in her blood. Crackling, rushing, alive.
Matthew stepped closer, his hand brushing wet strands of hair from her face. “You okay?”
“I think so.” Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. Lingered. “Because I’m about two seconds away from crossing a line I won’t want to come back from.”
Her breath hitched. “So cross it.”
And that was it. The dam broke.
His hands were on her waist, her fingers tangled in his soaked T-shirt, and the kiss that followed was nothing like the last. It was heat and hunger and tension snapping loose in a heartbeat.
The storm raged outside, but in that lean-to, surrounded by wood and rain and memory, Callie stopped bracing for the fallout and let herself feel everything.
The rain hammered down around them, sheets of water turning the nursery into a blur beyond the shelter’s overhang. Inside the lean-to, it was warm and quiet, except for their breath and the low patter of water on wood.
Matthew kissed her again, slower this time, more certain.
Callie leaned into him, her hands flat against his chest, feeling the heat through the wet fabric of his shirt. He was solid, grounded. Everything she hadn’t let herself want until now.
One of his hands traced up her spine, fingers splayed, a gentle pressure that made her breath catch. The other cupped her jaw as his mouth moved over hers, coaxing her open. When his tongue touched hers, slow and deliberate, her knees threatened to buckle.
He felt it. Stepped in closer.
Callie’s hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him toward her, needing him the way the parched soil needed this storm—sudden, wild, overdue.
He broke the kiss only long enough to murmur against her mouth, “You sure?”
She nodded. “I’ve never been more sure.”
That look he gave her was dark and reverent, and it nearly undid her.
Then he lifted her, his hands firm on her hips, and set her gently on the wide wooden table. It was worn smooth by time, still warm from the afternoon sun, the perfect height for him to step between her knees.
He did.
Her legs bracketed his hips, and she could barely breathe as he stared down at her, water dripping from his shirt, eyes fixed on hers. There was heat in that look, undeniable, unguarded, and also something steadier. Something that made her feel chosen.
His hands lifted to the hem of her shirt.
She didn’t stop him.
The soaked cotton clung to her skin, but he was patient, peeling it upward inch by inch until it cleared her upheld arms. She shivered, although she wasn’t cold.
Then he reached around, unclasping her bra with the same quiet confidence, sliding the straps down her arms when she lowered them, watching her face the whole time.
His smoldering gaze made her breath catch.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough and sexy.
Unable to remain still, she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and shoved it upward. “Your turn.”
He smirked and helped, dragging the damp fabric over his head and tossing it aside. The lean muscle beneath flexed as he moved, water still trickling down his chest. Her pulse leapt at the magnificent sight. He was mouthwatering.
She ran her hands along the path, her palms flat against his warm skin, up over his shoulders, then curled her fingers into his neck to pull him back in.
Their mouths crashed together again, harder this time. Hotter.
His hands roamed her bare back, then cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples until she gasped against his mouth. He didn’t stop. The incredible man kissed her deeper, pulling her closer until her legs tightened around his hips and she could feel how hard he was through his jeans.
Every nerve in her body fired.
“Matthew,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Please.”
He pulled back just far enough to look at her, his breath ragged, his hair wet and tousled from her hands.
Then he kissed her again, slipping his tongue inside her mouth, sweeping, exploring, demanding…setting her body on fire, before he released her and stepped back.
Callie’s body swayed. She grasped the edge of the table, and her heart rocked in her chest as he tugged off her boots, then reached for the clasp on her jeans.
A second later, he dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding down her hips, peeling her panties and jeans past her thighs as she lifted to help him.
Her breath came fast, broken, her heart pounding, mirroring the storm outside the lean-to walls.
He was going slowly on purpose.
And she was burning alive.
The backs of her thighs met the edge of the table when he finished stripping her bare. Rain hit the metal roof above in rhythmic taps, but the blood rushing through her ears was quickly drowning out all sound.
He looked up at her from beneath soaked lashes, his eyes dark with heat. Then he kissed the inside of her knee.
Slowly. Intentionally.
She jolted at the contact, every nerve exposed.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Her answer was immediate. “Yes.”
He smiled and hooked her thighs over his shoulders, and when her back met the table, his hands spread her open like she was something worth studying. Worshipping.
And then he did .
The first brush of his tongue made her entire body jolt. Soft, then firmer, then again, like he was memorizing what made her gasp, what made her fingers curl tightly against the edge of the table.
“Matthew,” she whispered, one hand flying to his hair. “Yes…”
He groaned against her, the vibration dragging another moan from her throat. Her hips shifted without thinking, chasing the next wave, then the next, his mouth relentless, his tongue tracing every flicker of tension building inside her.
She tried to hold on—tried to make it last—but she was too far gone. Too overwhelmed by the storm outside, the heat inside, the way his hands anchored her as if he already knew she was coming undone.
When she broke, it wasn’t quiet.
She cried out, her body shaking, heart slamming against her ribs like it wanted to claw its way out.
And still, he didn’t stop. Not until he let her down slowly, then pressed soft kisses to her inner thigh and then he rose back to his feet.
Her legs were still trembling.
He didn’t gloat. Didn’t smirk.
He simply looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
Callie sat up and reached for him, her fingers fumbling at the waistband of his jeans. “Your turn.”
He leaned in and kissed her—slow, open, so very thorough. Heat from the smoldering fire flared to life. Callie had no idea how she could be ready so soon, but she wanted more. So much more.
And then he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and slid a condom free.
Her pulse kicked again.
“Still sure?” he asked.
Her answer was a low, needy sound as she dragged him in close. “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”