Chapter 6
Six
Macklin
I press the piece of tape to the top of the sign, then step back, admiring my work.
I smile at what I’ve written with a Sharpie on the piece of paper I grabbed out of the printer on my desk.
If your name is Baylor, come on in. Everyone else, get lost. I’m making dinner for my girl.
Satisfied that the sign won’t blow off the front door, I head back into the house and get started on dinner.
I’m making her favorite, and I don’t want to screw it up, hence the reason for the note on the door.
I don’t want to walk away to let her in and burn dinner.
That’s not how I want this night to go. Honestly, I don’t have any real expectations outside of telling her my truth and letting her know I’m here.
I don’t mind waiting—hell, it’s been this long—but I do need her to understand that I’m not holding back.
I respect the wait, but I won’t make it easy on her. I’m bringing every ounce of swoon, charm, whatever the hell you want to call it. I don’t know if it will get me the girl, but in the end, no matter the outcome, I’ll know I gave it my all.
Grabbing my phone, I pair it with the Bluetooth speaker on the counter and get to work. I’m making fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn. And for dessert, I have everything we need for ice cream sundaes, something else I know that she loves.
I get lost in my task, singing and dancing to each new song that plays.
I enjoy cooking. On the circuit, I ate out far too much, so any chance for a home-cooked meal, I’m all over it.
Even better when I’m cooking for more than just me.
Besides, I’ve made this meal several times.
It also happens to be one of my favorites.
Not the healthiest, but it’s damn good. My girl has excellent taste.
I’m pulling the chicken out of the skillet when I look up to see Baylor standing in the kitchen watching me.
Her cheeks are rosy. I’m not sure if it’s from the cold winter air or the fact that she’s here, standing in my kitchen.
She’s in a light blue sweater that makes her eyes sparkle, a pair of black leggings that cling to her curves, and blue socks that match her sweater, all of which pull me in.
She looks casual and relaxed, standing here in my kitchen as if she belongs here, and in my eyes, she does. This is where she was meant to be.
With me.
I finish my task, place the skillet back on the stove, and reach for my phone to turn down the music, but I stop because the perfect song comes on.
“I’m Gonna Love You” by Cody Johnson and Carrie Underwood hums through the speaker.
My new motto in life is to never miss an opportunity again, at least not where Baylor is concerned.
Instead of turning it down, I turn it up, walk around the counter, and slide my arm around her waist.
“What are you doing?” She laughs, her hands resting on my chest, as she tilts her head back to peer up at me.
“Dancing.”
“What about dinner?”
“It’s ready, but first—” I grab her hand and twirl her out in front of me, before pulling her back into my chest. This time, I don’t let her go. I tighten my hold on her as we gently sway to the music. “First,” I murmur, my hand settling more firmly at the small of her back, “I get this.”
Her soft laughter mingles with the music, and this moment makes my chest feel too tight and too full all at once. She doesn’t fight me. She doesn’t even hesitate. She just lets me guide her as we sway between the stove and the center island, the smell of dinner hanging warm in the air around us.
Her fingers curl slightly into my shirt, like she’s grounding herself. Or maybe like she’s holding on. Damn, do I hope she’s holding on.
“Is this how you woo all the ladies?” she asks, one brow lifting. There’s no bite in her tone, just curiosity, maybe a little nerves.
I huff out a quiet laugh. “No.”
“No?” Her eyes search mine, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious.
“No,” I repeat, softer now. “I’ve only done this with you.”
The words hang there between us. I could offer her more. I could tell her I don’t have women here, in my home, but instead, I keep quiet, letting my words settle between us. I’m done taking things back when it comes to her. Done pretending this is anything less than what it is.
Her steps falter for half a second, just enough that I feel it. Just enough that I tighten my hold, steadying her. “Careful,” I tease gently. “Can’t have you backing out on me now.”
“I’m not,” she says quickly, almost too quickly. Then quieter, she adds, “I’m just… trying to catch up, I think. And I’m here for dinner. Backing out would mean me leaving, and it smells too good for that.” She grins.
“Yeah.” I nod, my thumb brushing slow circles against her side. “I don’t bring people here,” I confess. I said I wasn’t going to, but fuck it. I’m all in with her. I can see her mind racing from the look in her eyes, and I don’t want her to question this or me. I have nothing to hide.
I realize that she does have some catching up to do. I’ve replayed our earlier conversation over and over again. It’s all I’ve been able to think about today. I realize I jumped right in, no parachute for my heart, but that’s all right, because I’m determined not to need one.
I know this seems sudden to her, and my hope is that, after tonight, after I tell her everything, how I started to notice her, how I wanted to take my shot, and was going to, and then life happened.
I hope once she hears it all, she’ll understand that this is real to me.
The way I want her, this isn’t just the chase; this is everything I am, and it’s all on the line for her.
I guide her into another slow turn, not fancy, just enough to make her smile again when she comes back into me. That smile… it hits me square in the chest like it always does. I’ve longed for all her smiles to be mine, and fuck, this feels like that wish might become my reality.
“I meant what I said,” I tell her, my voice dropping a notch as the song carries on around us. “About telling you everything tonight.” I don’t want her to think I brought her here to seduce her. I know we’re not there yet, even if I’d give anything to explore every inch of her soft skin.
Her gaze flickers, a mix of nerves and something softer, something I can’t name. “Everything?” Her brow furrows because she has no idea how long I’ve wanted her, but after tonight, she will.
“Yeah.” I swallow, because I’ve wished for this moment for years, and it’s finally here. We’re in the same place, same time, both single, but hopefully, not for long. “It’s a good story. A love story,” I murmur, my lips next to her ear.
Her breath catches. I feel it more than hear it.
“A love story? I didn’t peg you for the type to be a love story kind of guy, more shoot ’em up western if I had to guess,” she teases, trying to lighten the moment. “I thought I was getting dinner and some rodeo tales.”
She’s bluffing, and we both know it. “And you still agreed to come over?” I add, a crooked smile tugging at my mouth. “Brave.”
She huffs out a quiet laugh, but she doesn’t look away this time. “Or stupid.”
“Not stupid,” I say, shaking my head, my hand sliding just a little higher on her back, keeping her close. “You showed up. That’s… everything, Baylor.”
The song dips into the chorus again, and for a second, neither of us says anything. We just move, slow and easy, like maybe this isn’t the first time, like maybe it won’t be the last either.
I really hope it’s not the last.
I want all of her dances, and she can have all of mine.
With each note, she relaxes into me. Really relaxes this time, her head tipping just slightly closer to my chest. I let out a breath.
She’s all I’ve ever wanted.
I’m all in.
This isn’t new to me. I’m not shocked at the revelation. However, for the first time, it feels like she might be stepping into this dream with me, a willing participant.
The song ends, and another begins, but dinner is waiting. I press my lips to her temple and hug her tightly before reluctantly stepping away. It feels like I’m letting her go when all I want to do is hold her close. “Dinner is getting cold,” I say, offering her a reassuring smile.
“Thank you for cooking. I didn’t know that you could.”
“Takeout gets old, especially after years of living on the road, and the options in Magnolia Ridge aren’t exactly vast. Mom taught me when I was younger. It’s just a pain in the ass to make a meal like this for one person. So, thank you for helping me eat this.”
She surveys the counter, and her blue eyes snap to mine. “This is my favorite,” she whispers, but the smile she gives me lights me up inside.
“I know.” I wink, and I’m rewarded with a light pink flush to her cheeks. “Make yourself a plate. I’ve already got the dining room table set up for us. What would you like to drink?” I ask, rattling off the choices, but I know what she’s going to pick.
“You have strawberry milk?” she asks in disbelief.
“Of course, I do. I know it’s your favorite.”
“How do you—? You know what? Never mind.” She shakes her head, as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing but is going to go with the flow. “I’d love strawberry milk. I can get it if you show me where the glasses are.”
“I’ve got it. You make your plate, and I’ll meet you in the dining room.” I don’t even hesitate when I press my lips to her forehead, because she’s here, and even though I know she’s not—not yet—she feels like she’s mine.
Fucking finally.
Her breath hitches, and I don’t bother to hide my grin as I get to work making her some strawberry milk and pouring myself a glass of lemonade.
Baylor makes her plate and pauses, reaching for the glass of milk, before carrying everything into the dining room.
I’m quick to make my plate and join her.
“Candles?” She seems surprised. “And fresh flowers?”