Chapter 23 #2
Pure, crystalline satisfaction fills every facet of me.
Tremors still rack my body. My brain is mush, my body is spent, and I’m tired.
I’m tired of wanting more. But last night showed me that when I go after what I think I deserve, I end up with nothing but a wine opener. At least she’ll leave satisfied.
Prescott
I light the candles on the cake. We’re on his back deck facing a tidy yard that ends with hills gradually thickening with trees.
Happy Birthday Haven is spread across the white buttercream frosting, written in the same navy blue as the trim I put on.
Not bad for a rookie. This whole day has been nice.
The cooking and baking. Being in Haven’s house, where there’s no stench of strong coffee. And the rest, of course.
My stomach is pleasantly full, and my body is humming from the quickie in the kitchen. I was prepared to be humiliated, but instead, my clit was annihilated. Yet the amazing sex can’t hide that Haven’s more subdued than normal. Is this all too hokey for him?
Well, I’ve committed. Standing back, I clap my hands. “Okay, time to blow out the candles.”
“Did you really have to put all of them on the cake?”
“Yes.” Every. Single. One. This is a mild birthday compared to what I got when I was younger, but loud and boisterous wouldn’t be special for Haven. He’s used to crowds and parties. This is intimate. “Let me get my camera.”
“Are you doing a photo shoot?”
“We need to commemorate the experience. How long has it been since you’ve blown candles on a cake?”
He screws up his face, thinking. “Thirty-three years.”
Damn, that’s sad. I take a deep breath. The next part is going to be as embarrassing as I feared wearing nothing but an apron would be. “I’m going to sing the birthday song really awkwardly while I take pictures. When I’m done, you blow.”
He arches a suggestive brow, but I roll my eyes at him and launch into the song. Since I’m not a singer, I add extra warble. He grins, and I capture the images.
I linger on the last yoooouuu, and he sucks in a breath. With a gusty exhale, all the candles puff out.
“Ha! No candles left. No girlfriends.” At his perplexed look, I clarify. “You know, that old tale or whatever? However many candles you don’t blow out is how many girlfriends or boyfriends you have?”
“Interesting.” He laughs and clears his throat, his gaze flickering over the smoking remnants. “Yeah. Not a one.”
“Did you make a wish?”
“No. I don’t believe in those.” He grimaces and covers it with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. That came out harsh. I prefer hard work to make things happen.”
Hard work and no attachments. Okay.
I tuck my camera back in my bag and cut the cake. “I marbled it as best I could, and the buttercream frosting is what I grew up on.”
“Just like Mama used to make?”
“Yes.” I grin and dole out a big slice for each of us. “Exactly what she used to make.”
He slides a forkful into his mouth, and his eyes roll back. “Mmmm, Red. This is amazing.”
Pride surges in my chest and blooms outward. Was I imagining his dour demeanor before? Maybe he had a hard day at work. “Thank you.”
He digs in, so I do the same.
When he’s done, he pushes his plate away. “I’m going to have this for breakfast. ”
Me, too, almost slips out of my mouth. “There are worse things to have.”
I take my last bite. A twinge zings through my neck. I tip my head to one side and then to another and roll a shoulder.
“Stiff neck?” He slides out of his chair and stands behind me.
My eyelids drift shut when his strong hands land on my shoulders.
This is nice. He treats me so well. The cake and dinner are far out of his element, but he let me do it, and now I get a kink in my neck worked out.
“I’m not used to being on the computer that long anymore.
I worked at the kitchen table, but Papa’s chairs aren’t exactly ergonomic. ”
They’re old, they’ve forgotten what cushion is, and they creak when they rock. A career on the rodeo circuit didn’t come with a padded retirement plan. But neither did being an influencer.
I’ll do things differently this time. If that’s what I decide on.
I relax into Haven’s massage. Nimble fingers dig into just the right places. “It was a long night, but it was nice. You’re all so photogenic, it made edits easy.”
He chuckles and his strokes slow. “Your Friday night still sounds a lot better than mine.”
“Something happen at the tasting room?”
“No.” His tone is as sluggish as his hands on me. “Nothing worth mentioning. Nothing worth a whole lot.”
He digs back into my flesh, working away knots. I should be melting into him, but a warning bell rings in my head. No, I’m being foolish. “You know, I debated what to get to drink.”
“Lemonade was perfect.”
I beam inside. “Thanks. I knew I’d never pick a spirit better than what you’ve got. But I saw that new wine opener and worried I should’ve gotten a good moscato or something to go with the birthday cake.”
His hands stop. “Oh. That. It’s a present from my mom.”
“She sent you a present?”
“Nope.”
I open my eyes right onto the empty plate. Dread fills my stomach. “If she didn’t mail it, then did you see her?”
“Yep.” He skates his hands up my neck and makes circles with his thumbs. “It was a shit show.”
That must’ve hurt, but he didn’t let on. Then again, I was naked in his kitchen. But still, he could’ve said something over dinner. “You want to talk about it?”
His laugh comes out scornful. “No. Not at all.”
My jaw falls open. I snap it shut before he can see. Details fall into place. Looking at his watch. His brief weirdness about last night. “Is she still in town?”
“No. I went to Gillette.”
Hurt echoes inside me so loud it drowns out the sounds of nature. I twist in my seat to look at him. His features are neutral, giving away nothing about how he felt. “Oh. You didn’t say anything yesterday.”
“Nope.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“What’s there to say?” he snaps, and I flinch. I’ve never heard that hard tone come from him.
The pain in my chest is for him, but a large portion of it is for me too. He’d rather marinate in it than open up to me? This isn’t good for either of us.
I made him a birthday dinner. We had sex.
But the dinner was just part of an arrangement. I owed him. And the sex was…just that. “I got pizza. She said it ga ve her heartburn, she asked about my brothers, and she got me that wine opener. Probably bought it right before I got to town.”
“But you don’t drink wine.”
Disbelief flashes in his eyes, then hurt, then that distance returns. That space he puts between himself and anyone but his brothers. “It’s fine.”
I can’t be left outside of that protective bubble. Because then that would mean… It would mean that I was right all along. “You should’ve said something?—”
“I said it’s fine.” The muscles on either side of his jaw pop.
I snap my mouth shut.
“I’ll get these.” He gathers our dirty plates and silverware. The silence is so cutting it’s like even the insects and frogs have fled. He uses his elbow to slide open the door to the house.
I’m left alone on the deck. Each breath struggles against a weight on my chest. A weight the exact size of one Haven Hennessy.
He let me into his house, and maybe not many, if any, women can say that. But where does that leave me?
Alone on the deck.
He’s not serious about us. He’s the best man I know, but he’s built a wall to protect himself. Or a distillery to hide himself. And when things start getting serious, he won’t let me in.
I shake my head and gaze at the cake. It grows fuzzy as tears gather in my eyes. Blinking them away, I draw in a calming breath. I was so excited to make that damn thing for him. So thrilled to give him this experience. But that’s all it is. That cowboy is not giving his heart away.
I knew that when I met him. Yet I lit the match.
Then the whole box caught fire and took my heart with it.
The cats and Meadow. Pleasure rides on his land.
Movies, photo shoots, and lasagna. All of it morphed into the perfect package.
A life I wanted. And in a town smaller than the one I grew up in.
Mom would’ve loved this, but she didn’t have the partner she needed. And neither do I.
If I stay, I will always be chasing the man—or watching him walk away. I’d pretend I was happy to carve a place for myself in Huckleberry Springs, but then what?
My time in Huckleberry Springs rolls through my mind. We talked. We connected. But he didn’t invite me to his brother’s wedding. I feel like I busted him on his trip to Gillette. Do I wait to get kicked out of his house before he has to share his bed?
He’ll probably have an excuse. There’s always a reason we can’t be closer. I’ve run out of them, but he hasn’t. He doesn’t need one.
This isn’t going to change. We’re going to keep fucking, and I’ll nose-dive deeper and harder for him, and he’ll…never change. He’s Papa on the rodeo circuit, happy to keep doing what he’s doing.
I had a plan when I arrived in town. It’s time to remember what it was. I pick up the cake and go inside.
“I got an email from Toe Beans, the cat supply company.” I set the cake on the counter, staring at the remaining half of Happy on the top. The damn wine opener is a foot away, taunting me in my periphery. “They want to meet with me.”
“Really?” He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. His voice is light, like he didn’t just incinerate my feelings. “Sponsorship?”
I nod, my heart breaking at the thought of packing all my stuff.
Of never working at Bootleg again. Goddammit, I enjoyed my shifts there.
People were getting to know me, and…I felt like I belonged.
But that’s the lure of a small place. You feel like you’re a part of town until everyone’s getting on with their lives and you’re on the outside, looking in.
“A sponsorship and possibly a position with them.”
His brows lift, but he doesn’t smile. “They offered you a job?”
“In their marketing department. In Chicago.”
His expression still doesn’t crack. My hopes rise. Will the thought of me moving be enough to spur him on, to take a sledgehammer to those walls? What if he asks me to stay? What if he tells me he’s also fallen for me, and that his birthday today has shown him it’s time to settle down?
I chew on my lower lip, waiting. Ask me. Please. “They want to meet with me.” Online or in person. My decision is so close to being made.
“Lots of strays in Chicago.” He pushes off the counter and grabs a rag at the sink. That damn neutral expression is firmly in place.
I can’t help a choking noise and cover it with a cough. “Yeah. Lots. A lot more places to foster. I, um…” God, why is this so hard? I knew how this would end. I just thought I was stronger than my mom. “I have a meeting with them. In person.”
He rinses off the cloth. “Sounds like a solid plan. When do you go?”
I don’t know. “The interview slot they gave me is next Monday.” An exhale leaks out of me. Did I really do that? Maybe Toe Beans has a spot that day. “I’ll leave on Friday.”
The day of the wedding .
He scowls out of the window. “When will you be back?”
Drawing in air is a struggle. My chest has an ever-tightening band around it. Just ask me to stay. “I won’t. I might as well make it my launching point.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps again, the only sign that he’s feeling something . “You’ll drive, then.”
Whatever he’s feeling inside of him isn’t enough.
“Yeah. I’ll give myself a couple of days. I’ll find a rental or something before I get there.” It’d be a short flight there and back from Billings, but there’s no reason to come back. I can see that now. Even Papa wants me to go.
I have the pay from the library, and with what Foster House gave me plus the gratuity, I’m set up for a while. Not long, but if I don’t land the job, I can…keep going. Far away from Huckleberry Springs.