Chapter 21-Sloane
I wake slowly.
For one blissful, hazy moment, I have no idea where I am.
The mattress beneath me is softer than mine.
The room smells faintly of cedar, fresh coffee, and him.
Micah.
My cheeks immediately heat.
Oh.
Oh my God.
Last night.
Every wonderful, overwhelming, impossible thing that happened between us comes rushing back all at once.
The kiss.
The sex.
His confession.
The way he said I’m his.
And he’s mine.
The way he looked at me like I was the only woman on earth.
I bury my face in the pillow with a groan.
“I really did that,” I mumble into the pillow.
And the best part?
I don't regret a single second of it.
Not one.
I smile to myself before rolling over, reaching across the bed only to find cool sheets.
He's gone.
A tiny stab of disappointment settles in my chest.
Then I notice the folded piece of paper sitting on his pillow.
My name is written across the front in surprisingly neat handwriting.
I unfold the note and bite my lower lip.
Good morning, Princess,
Had to check on the cryo system. There's fresh clothes on the dresser and coffee in the kitchen. Wait for me.
—M
I grin so hard my cheeks hurt.
Wait for me.
Three little words.
Not goodbye.
Not see you later.
Wait for me.
Like he fully expects to come back and find me here.
The thought makes my heart do a happy little somersault.
I slide out of bed and stretch before wandering toward the bathroom.
My first time here, I’d expected a tiny rustic setup.
Maybe one sink.
One shower.
Simple.
Instead...
Every time I see it, my jaw practically hits the floor.
“Oh, Micah,” I whisper.
The bathroom is simply enormous.
The vanity stretches nearly the length of one wall with rich cedar cabinets beneath polished stone counters.
The mirrors reflect warm morning sunlight pouring through two high windows.
A huge soaking tub sits beneath one of them.
The kind I've only ever seen in magazines.
Across from it is a separate walk-in shower enclosed in thick glass.
Three showerheads.
Three.
Who needs three showerheads?
Apparently Micah.
And me.
I laugh.
“Of course you built yourself the nicest shower in Barren County.”
I make a mental note to try the tub later.
If...
My smile falters.
If I'm still here.
Is that weird?
Should I even be thinking like that already?
We've shared exactly one night.
Granted, it was one hell of a night.
Still.
Slow down, Sloane.
I climb into the shower anyway. Warm water rains down from every direction, washing away the lingering smell of sleep and sex.
I reach for his body wash.
Citrus.
Fresh soap.
That unmistakable scent that's become permanently associated with one very quiet cowboy.
I laugh softly as I work it into my skin.
Now I smell like him.
For some reason, that makes me ridiculously happy.
By the time I step out, I feel lighter.
Cleaner.
Like maybe the nightmare from yesterday is finally beginning to loosen its grip.
Wrapped in one of Micah's plush robes with a towel around my hair, I wander back into the bedroom.
The bed is still unmade.
I smile.
He probably would've left it exactly like this.
Not because he's messy.
But maybe because he'd expect to climb right back into it later.
The thought sends another blush racing across my face.
I straighten the sheets anyway.
Smooth the comforter.
Fluff the pillows.
Then I notice the neatly folded stack waiting on the dresser.
My clothes.
I blink.
Did he?
Yes, he did.
Oh my God.
He washed them.
My bar t-shirt.
My jeans.
Even my panties and bra.
Everything smells clean again.
Beside them sits one of his faded navy T-shirts.
A silent invitation.
Or maybe just practicality.
Either way, I can't stop smiling.
I slip into my underwear and bra before pulling on my freshly washed jeans.
Then I reach for his shirt instead of mine.
It hangs loosely over my curves.
Comfortable.
Soft.
It feels perfect.
Right.
Better than my work shirt somehow.
I catch myself smiling in the mirror again.
Good grief.
One night with this man and I'm already stealing his clothes.
“Oh shit.”
The bar.
Reality crashes back into me.
Patrick.
Those awful men.
The broken bottles.
The shattered furniture.
My stomach knots.
There’s going to be a lot to do today with clean up and I better get a message ready to send out to my employees.
We probably won’t even open—which is going to suck for my bank account..
But nope. I am not gonna think about that now.
Not yet.
I'll think about all of that later.
I'm a business owner. Eventually, I'll have to deal with it.
Figure out insurance.
Repairs.
Everything.
But not before coffee.
Definitely not before coffee.
I brush my hair, working patiently through the tangles until it finally behaves.
Then I head toward the kitchen.
The smell finds me before I find the coffee pot.
Fresh.
Strong.
Perfect.
Micah wasn't kidding.
I pour myself a mug.
Then, open the refrigerator.
I frown.
“No creamer?”
I check the door.
Nothing.
The shelves.
Still nothing.
Then I laugh.
“Of course.”
He's a guy.
Most of the men I've known drink their coffee black enough to melt a spoon.
I shrug and take a tentative sip, anyway.
It's actually not terrible.
A knock sounds at the front door before I can decide whether I'm becoming a black-coffee convert.
Then a cheerful feminine voice rings through the cabin.
“Yoo-hoo!”
I blink.
Who in the world?
I pull open the door.
Standing on the porch are Esme and Bit.
Both of them are carrying grocery bags.
Both are smiling like Christmas morning.
“Good morning, Sloane!” Esme chirps.
“Um...”
I glance between them.
“Hi?”
They don't wait for an invitation.
They simply bustle inside like they've been coming over for years.
Any embarrassment I'd been about to feel evaporates instantly.
These women are sunshine in human form.
They're warm.
Loud.
Comfortable.
Like sisters who decided five minutes ago that I'd been adopted into the family whether or not I liked it.
“We figured you might need breakfast,” Esme announces, unloading bagels onto the counter.
“And fruit.”
“And eggs.”
“And bacon.”
Bit starts unpacking cream cheese, paper plates, and what looks suspiciously like homemade muffins.
“How’d you know I was here?” I ask, stunned but not ungrateful.
“Well, Micah told the guys about last night,” Esme begins, and she’s worrying her lip between her teeth. “We’re so sorry, Sloane. If you want to talk about it?”
“Oh, thank you. It’ll be okay,” I say and shrug.
I don’t want to burden them with my family drama.
“Anyway,” Bit says, catching on to my reticence, for which I am eternally grateful. “This morning, they told us you were here,” she says, “and we figured you could use some sustenance.”
She reaches into another bag.
“Oh! I almost forgot.”
She triumphantly holds up a beautiful bottle of French vanilla creamer.
“I remembered from one of our chats that you like flavored creamer, and Micah drinks his coffee black enough to strip paint.”
I burst out laughing.
“That sounds about right.”
“I knew it!” Bit beams, handing me the bottle.
“Thank you so much. You are a lifesaver.”
I grin and start to open the bottle. Esme busies herself putting bagels on a plate and opening up the flavored cream cheeses they bought.
Is that strawberry jalapeno?
Oooh.
“No problem. I can’t have coffee right now, so I’m living vicariously,” Bit replies and places her hand on her softly swollen belly.
She studies me for a second. Then smiles knowingly.
“So...”
My stomach flips.
Uh-oh.
Here come the twenty questions.
“So?” I ask as casually as I can, taking another sip of my coffee.
Bit's grin grows positively wicked.
“So, you and Micah spent the night together.”
I nearly snort coffee through my nose.
I don't answer.
I just keep sipping, hoping maybe if I ignore her, she'll move on.
She doesn't.
“So...” She leans farther across the island. “How do you like our grumpy genius? Did he treat you okay? Was it...” She lowers her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “...good?”
I choke.
Actually choke.
Coffee goes down the wrong pipe, and I'm coughing so hard my eyes water.
Esme bursts into laughter.
“Oh my God, Bit!” she wheezes, tossing a bagel at her friend.
Bit catches it one-handed without missing a beat.
“Now I know why Sawyer calls you Trouble,” Esme says, shaking her head. “Leave the poor girl alone.”
“What’d I say?” Bit asks innocently.
“You practically interrogated her.”
“I did not!”
“You absolutely did.”
“I asked one question.”
“You asked four.”
“They were all related.”
Esme laughs again.
“You're impossible.”
Bit shrugs.
“I'm curious.”
“You are nosy.”
“I prefer invested.”
I can't help laughing.
“I think nosy fits better,” I chime in.
“See?” Bit points triumphantly. “She likes me.”
“I barely know you,” I say with a snort.
“Exactly! And you're already teasing me. We're practically best friends.”
Esme rolls her eyes.
“Don't encourage her, Sloane. Seriously, she’s like a fungus.”
“You know you love me!”
“I’m not saying I don’t, but give the poor girl time to adjust,” Esme chides gently.
The banter is hysterical, and honestly?
I'm so damn happy to be part of it.
I don't think I've laughed this much in...
God.
Years, maybe.
Not the polite little chuckle I give customers.
Not the fake smile I plaster on my face when Patrick starts one of his moods.
Real laughter.
The kind that makes your stomach hurt and your cheeks ache.
The kind that reminds you life isn't all responsibility and bills and trying to keep everybody else afloat.
I didn't realize how lonely I'd become until these two women barreled into Micah's cabin carrying groceries like they belonged here.
Maybe they do.
Maybe that's just what the people at Jersey Iron Ranch are like.
They show up.
No questions asked.
No scorekeeping.
No making you feel like you owe them something afterward.
It's nice.
Really nice.
Dangerously nice.
Because I can already feel myself wanting more of this.
Sunday barbecues.
Coffee in somebody's kitchen.
Laughing over nothing.
Friends.
Real friends.
Not people who disappear the second life gets hard.
Not people who only call when they need something.
Still, I don't know if I should be talking about Micah and me just yet.
Last night was...wow.
I mean, last night changed everything.
At least it changed everything for me.
Sure, he went all possessive with the mine stuff.
My cheeks warm at the memory.
God.
The way he looked at me?
Like I was something he'd been searching for without realizing it.
Like I was precious.
Like I mattered.
The way he said mine.
My stomach does a funny little flip.
That could've just been the heat of the moment.
People say all sorts of things when emotions are running high.
Especially after a night like ours.
Especially after everything we'd both been through.
God, I hope...
I hope it was more than that.
I hope when Micah looks at me, he sees a future instead of just a really intense night.
Because if I'm being brutally honest with myself, I already do.
And that's terrifying.
We've only just crossed that line.
I don't want to jinx it by making announcements before he and I have even had the chance to sit down and talk.
I want to hear what he wants.
What he sees when he looks at me.
Whether last night was the beginning of something...
Or simply the first page of a story we're about to write together.
Until then, I'm content to sit here with these wonderful women.
To laugh.
To eat too many bagels.
To pretend, for just a little while longer, that the hardest thing I'll have to decide today is whether French vanilla creamer tastes better than hazelnut.
Honestly?
These two are the best kind of distraction.
And I have a feeling, they might just become the best kind of friends.
I shake off my inner worries and focus on the present while Esme gets a frying pan going with bacon.
“Okay, fine. But I'm serious,” Bit says, turning back to me. “We've been waiting for those two stubborn mules to get together forever.”
I blink.
“Wait...”
My smile slowly disappears.
“You thought we should get together?”
Esme snorts as she expertly flips bacon, then pivots to spread cream cheese onto a toasted bagel.
“Honey, please,” she says.
She doesn't even look up.
“The whole ranch knew.”
My jaw falls open.
“The whole ranch?”
Bit nods enthusiastically.
“Oh, yeah.”
“Benji knew it before Micah figured it out.”
“Sawyer knew, too.”
“Alex definitely knew.”
“Alex?” I squeak.
“He lost twenty bucks.”
“What?”
Bit grins shamelessly.
“He bet Micah wouldn’t kiss you before Christmas.”
Esme laughs so hard she has to lean against the counter.
“Sawyer said Halloween.”
“Benji figured this summer was it.”
I stare at them.
“You people had a betting pool on when I would bang Micah?”
“It was very small,” Bit says with absolutely zero remorse.
“And before you ask...”
She holds up both hands.
“...Micah had no clue about it.”
“Well, thank God for that.”
“Honestly,” Esme says, still chuckling, “the only two people who didn't know there was something brewing were you and Micah.”
I bury my face in my hands.
“Oh my God.”
“He'd come into the bar,” Bit continues, unable to help herself, “order one beer, stare at you like you hung the moon, then leave.”
Esme nods.
“And you'd pretend not to notice while blushing every single time he walked through the door.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I was working!”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I was.”
Bit smirks.
“And he just happened to keep showing up.”
“I thought he liked the burgers.”
“The burgers are good,” Esme admits.
“But not that good,” she adds.
The three of us dissolve into laughter.
And it all feels normal.
Wonderfully, gloriously normal.
Something I wasn't sure I'd ever feel again after last night.
The laughter fades naturally.
Neither woman pushes.
Neither asks about what happened.
About those men.
Or Patrick.
Or what happened after Micah took me away.
Instead, Esme reaches across the island and squeezes my hand.
“Listen,” she says gently, all traces of teasing gone. “You don't have to talk about last night. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever, if you don't want to.”
Bit nods in agreement.
“But if you do...”
She shrugs.
“We're here.”
“If you need help with the bar...”
“I'll come paint,” Esme offers.
“I make a mean breakfast sandwich,” Bit adds.
“I can clean and organize.”
“And I can help deal with insurance paperwork if that's what you need.”
“We'll even sit there with you and ugly cry if that's on the agenda.”
I blink hard as unexpected tears sting my eyes.
“But you two barely know me.”
Bit smiles.
“Maybe.”
“But you're one of us now.”
Esme nods.
“And at the Jersey Iron Ranch no one gets left to carry the hard stuff alone.”
For the first time in a very long time...
I believe them.
They both smile.
And I smile back.
Because somehow, despite all the bad shit that happened and the hard work ahead, standing in Micah's kitchen with coffee in one hand and two women who already feel like friends…
The future doesn't seem nearly as scary as it did yesterday.