38- REAGAN
Two and a half weeks later - Thanksgiving
A twelve-pound turkey, macaroni and cheese, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, deviled eggs, fruit and veggie tray, rolls, and two pies. My mother took full advantage of their pre-made “homemade” Thanksgiving meal that she had to pick up by noon.
Miles in a sweater donning Vincent’s mugshot, Vincent, Mom, and I sat around the table with the wide spread between us.
“So Egg, your lease is up at the end of the month, and you haven’t moved any of your stuff in. What’s up with that?”
I thought I would leave it to my brother to start the conversation so we could announce the news. “Actually, Vincent has offered to let me move in with him, on the ranch.”
“What?! Is there a spare bedroom for me to visit?”
“Of course, Miles.”
“What about your bakery business?” Mom asked.
“I can still do my drop-offs. It’s just going to be a longer drive.
I outgrew this town, and it was time for me to move on.
Plus it’ll make it a lot harder for me to run into Tate or anyone in his family after tainting their marriage streak.
” That was mostly the truth. My mind flashed to this morning.
I was in my own head while making a pie for his family, and he crept up on me.
His hands wove under my apron, skin still soft and hair still wet from the shower. Vincent’s lips trailed up my neck, and his hand dropped down the front of my shorts, drawing me into him.
“She can also be closer to Hiphop.” Vincent cut through my thoughts.
Miles set down his glass. “So you guys are finally official?”
My lips pulled back with a grin. “Yes, we are.”
“Ah!” He squealed. “Finally. I have to come visit. Should I just get a ride back with you?”
“Sure! You can help us move my stuff.”
“Ew. Nevermind.”
Mom lifted her wine glass, smiling between us. “I’m happy for you two. They should really do a senior Forewarning,” she said, amused with herself. “You know—fifty-five and older.”
Miles snorted into his drink.
Mom’s attention shifted, gentle but direct. “But Vincent,” she said, voice softening, “how did your court go?”
The table quieted. He swallowed and set his fork down neatly beside his plate.
“It went fine. I took responsibility. I’ve got a class to attend and a fine to pay.” Vincent shrugs slightly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Miles leaned forward. “People really like my hoodie.”
“Miles,” Mom warned.
Vincent smiles anyway, just a little. “I’ve had worse photos taken of me.
” His hand found my knee under the table, quiet and sure.
The same hand that pressed my chest against the butcherblock counter as he drew in and out of me in a steady motion.
His breath and grunts rattled in my head, and I reminisced about his fingers weaving in my hair, clutching the strands at the nape of my neck.
Vincent took charge, worked hard, and expressed his feelings for me, even when I didn’t ask. It was enough to get me going again.
In the last two weeks, I spent most of my time at his place.
He’s insisted it’s our place and corrected me when I say otherwise.
Vincent claims he enjoys my presence around the house, even if I don’t contribute to the ranch work.
He even mentioned retiring from the Hot Shots and teased that I would have to entertain him for those months.
But we would cross that when we got there.
I wiped my hands on my napkin and set it on my plate. “Can I get my own flock of chickens?” I asked for the second time since Monday.
“What the hell do you want chickens for?” Miles spat out.
“I’ve been helping with the ones they have, and I’d like my own small herd for eggs and stuff.”
Vincent chuckles. “Yes, but let’s wait until spring. We can get the coop and run set up before then.”
I lean into him and say, “Thank you.”
He kisses the top of my head and whispers, “Love you.”
My mom’s eyes meet mine, and the twinkle in them gives me approval that I didn’t ask for.
I went in with the chance to get caught by Smoke, but Vincent had other plans. One that included me before I even entered the woods. A plan that would be the sever to the tie that held me back from propelling forward.