Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
WILLA
By the time I pulled into our gravel driveway the following week, the sun was low and my head was spinning from the chaos that had been my first official book club.
What I’d learned was that it was less a book club and more a let’s drink wine and talk about hot men and sex club.
And those women didn’t hold back—especially the retirees.
Bernice and Pearl, the farmhouse renters, were just as shameless as Mabel. And they were enamored with my husband. They’d both gone on and on about how he was such a sweet boy and should definitely earn Husband of the Year status.
Which, yeah. I could see why they’d think that.
He hopped on the ATV and headed over to the farmhouse anytime they couldn’t so much as open a jar or figure out the remote.
And last week, he’d driven them into town for their hair appointments.
When they were done, he’d treated them to lunch and some Black Cats at One Night Stan’s.
The man oozed charm—he couldn’t help it.
Still. I didn’t need half the women in Starlight Cove eyeing my husband like he was up for auction.
“You’ve officially reached celebrity status, husband.
You have actual fangirls,” I called once inside the silo, kicking off my shoes by the door.
“Bernice says she’d like you to help her ‘move some furniture’ next week.
But I’m pretty sure that’s code for turn up shirtless and lift things slowly.
And Pearl called you their resident eye candy and asked when their next show would be. ”
No answer.
That was unusual, especially with the kind of material I was giving him to work with. That smug jackass was going to be strutting around here like a damn peacock, all proud and cocky at the silver-haired cougars panting over him.
I glanced toward the loft, juggling my purse and the last of the brownies Chloe had forced on me. “And Mabel—well, I’m not even going to repeat what she said, but it involved several honey sticks and a harness.”
Still no response. The silo was quiet. Too quiet.
I furrowed my brow, glancing out the front door window. Confirming that, yes, I had seen Lincoln’s car out front, so he was definitely here. And it wasn’t like we lived in a mansion. It shouldn’t have been difficult to locate my 6’5” menace of a husband.
“Linc?” I climbed the stairs, figuring I’d find him in the bathroom or lounging on the bed, reading with a pair of earbuds in. But the only thing up here was the subtle scent of his cedar soap hanging in the air.
Where the hell was he? It was too late for any farm chores—the sun was about fifteen minutes from disappearing below the horizon. And there weren’t many—or any, really—hiding spots in our tiny home.
But that man could make mischief out of nothing but bad ideas and terrible impulse control. He was definitely up to something.
“Lincoln Steele,” I called, making my way back downstairs. “If you’re planning to jump out at me naked again, I swear to god—”
My words caught in my throat when I stepped through the French door onto the back porch and froze.
Nestled beneath a wooden pergola draped with fluttering linen panels was a huge, weathered-copper soaking tub.
It was filled to the brim with hot water, and steam curled into the evening air in soft little wisps like in a dream.
Fairy lights were strung from above, casting a soft, golden glow over the tub and the pots of wildflowers surrounding it, three sides of this little haven draped with fabric, making it hidden from prying eyes.
And right next to it all stood my Husband of the Year. Wearing a black T-shirt and low-slung jeans, the faintest smudge of dirt on his jaw, and a grin that melted me right where I stood.
“Hey, wife. How was book club?”
“How was—” I breathed out a laugh and shook my head, taking a step toward him. I couldn’t decide where I wanted to look, my gaze pinging from him to the beautiful tub and back again. “What is all this?”
He didn’t move, just crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. “Your new favorite spot.”
“Did you…” I slowly walked toward him, glancing at the setup that had definitely not been there this morning. “Did you build me an outdoor soaking tub?”
His grin widened, his dimples winking at me. “Me and a few others—not that fucker Jeff, though. He was too busy fondling his eggplants.”
“Oh my god.” I huffed out a breath, half laugh, half sob. This man was sweet and ridiculous and absurd and mine.
At least, for now, he was mine.
“My brothers pitched in. And I bribed Atlas’s football team with pizza. Teenage boys get shit done real quick when there’s food on the line.”
I stepped forward, my breath caught in my throat as I took in everything. The fairy lights. The soft drapes for privacy. The faint scent of lavender rising from the steaming water. “Lincoln, this is—”
“Romantic as hell?” he asked, brow raised.
I laughed. “It’s ridiculous.”
His smile widened as he tugged me to him, his hands on my hips, his thumbs slipping under the hem of my T-shirt. “Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous husband.”
“I can’t believe you did this,” I whispered, my throat clogging with emotion.
He stared down at me, his gaze full of something that I could trick myself into believing was love. “You deserve it. Steaming, lavender-scented water. Peace and quiet. Your ridiculous husband, delivering drinks and orgasms while shirtless—what’s not to love?”
I breathed out a laugh and shook my head, fighting the stinging in my eyes and the lump in my throat that had no business being there. “You’re absurd.”
“Maybe. But I’m also right.”
“About what?”
“You need this,” he said softly. Firmly.
“Not just when your back’s killing you. You deserve to rest even when you’re not in excruciating pain and your body makes you.
Which is why I also set up weekly appointments with Luna for massage.
She knows about your back and says she’s confident she can find ways to help you relax, even if it won’t alleviate your pain. ”
Fuck. That did it.
A tear spilled over as I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my face into his chest, and breathed him in. His heartbeat was slow and steady under me, a perfect melody I hadn’t realized I’d come to depend on.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, running his hand softly up and down my spine. “You can thank me by getting your sweet ass in that tub.”
I pulled back, glancing up at him. “That sounds to me like you’re trying to get me naked outside, husband.”
“You’d be right, wife.”
His touch was warm and comforting as he slid his hands under my shirt to lift it up and over my head. He was slow, methodical, as he stripped me bare, kissing his way across my exposed skin. So reverent and adoring.
When he touched me like this—looked at me like this—he made it so easy to forget about the stretch marks on my hips and the belly pooch that wouldn’t go away and the scars all over my skin. Made me forget all the ways my body had changed thanks to years of hard work and pain.
He always made me feel beautiful.
When I was naked, he helped me into the tub, one hand under mine, his other warm against my lower back, steadying me as I sank into the steaming water.
I groaned, allowing my eyes to close for a moment as I relaxed into pure heaven.
“Okay,” I admitted with a sigh. “I take it back. You’re not ridiculous. You’re a genius.”
Lincoln sat in one of the swinging egg chairs beside the tub, that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “I’m going to need that in writing when you get out.”
“I’ll make sure you get a notarized copy,” I murmured as I sank deeper into the water, an involuntary sigh leaving me as my eyelids fluttered closed again.
After a moment, I cracked open one eye to find him watching me, a satisfied smile on his face. “Seems to me you picked the largest tub you could find. Definitely room for two in here.”
“Don’t toy with me, hellcat.”
“I would never.” I raised a brow in his direction when he didn’t move. “What are you waiting for?”
Lincoln’s shirt hit the patio first, then his jeans, his movements so fast and graceless it was comical. He cursed under his breath when he nearly tripped over his pant leg, and I couldn’t stop the giggle from bursting free.
“Smooth.”
“Shut up,” he said without heat. Then he slid in behind me with a tenderness that made my throat burn. “My gorgeous-as-fuck wife is sitting here naked and asked me to join her. Do you blame me for my clumsiness?”
He wrapped his arms around my waist and tucked his chin against my shoulder, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.
We sat in silence, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky streaked in shades of pink, purple, and gold. The linen curtains fluttered in the breeze as crickets chirped, water lapped against the copper basin, and the wind whispered through the trees.
“I forget how beautiful it is out here,” I murmured, resting my head against his shoulder.
“I’m telling you—Sunset Soaks could sell the shit out of this place. Private outdoor soaking tub, fresh-picked peony bouquets, and a jam board with flavors not yet available for purchase? Plus, we could do tours—give them the whole small-town farm-life experience. We’d be millionaires by May.”
I snorted, dragging my fingers up and down his bare thighs as they bracketed mine. “Millionaires is aiming a little high, husband. And where are we going to stay while strangers sleep in our bed, soak in our tub, and eat our jam?”
“The farmhouse,” he said easily. “We’ll be in it before the end of the year.”
My chest went tight at his words.
We’ll be in it.
Not you. Not someone. We.
I stared at the faint ripples in the water, the way our reflections shimmered and fractured in them—together, then apart. A weight settled deep in my chest.
Hope? Fear? Maybe both.