Chapter 17 Hattie
HATTIE
June
I wasn’t nervous on the way here. Now, my cheeks are burning as I wonder how my surprise weekend visit is going to play out.
Knocking on the front door would be pointless because there’s no way anyone would hear it over the deafening music. I hitch the strap of my weekender bag further up my shoulder and walk inside unannounced.
My eyes widen immediately.
It’s ten o’clock on a Friday night, and the bunkhouse is alive and buzzing. “Same Old Side Road” is playing from the jukebox. A chorus of laughter fills the room. I smile at the scent of leather, cheap beer, and pine. It’s a distinct blend that I haven’t come across anywhere else.
I turn my body sideways to pass by a group of people standing between the living room and kitchen. The end of a cue smacks a pool ball to my right, pulling my attention.
Warren is bent over the pool table and looking over at me with pinched brows. “Hattie?”
“Hey,” I call out with a smile, raising my voice enough to carry over the chaos.
He waves me over, and when I reach him, he pulls me into his side for a quick hug. Gage gives me a friendly nod from across the pool table before turning to pull a beer from an ice chest against the wall.
“Didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Warren says, grinning. “I think the other guys are out back.”
I like that he didn’t ask me why I was here. I suppose the reason is pretty obvious, given how Heston and I were attached at the hip two weeks ago when I came to the bunkhouse for the first time.
“Thirsty?” Gage steps up, holding a bottle of beer toward me.
“Oh,” I reply, appreciating how welcoming his friends have been toward me. “Yes, actually. Thanks.”
I gladly take the ice-cold bottle from him. Before I have a chance to take a sip, Warren lifts the strap from my shoulder. I sigh with relief as the stuffed bag’s heavy weight is lifted. Packing light is a skill I haven’t yet mastered.
“I’ll put this up for you,” Warren says.
He turns to walk down the hallway. My lips part, and I almost tell him to take it up to the loft, which is where I slept last time. Both nights. But as I peer down the hallway, Warren’s strides are confident, and he takes my bag into the last door on the left.
“Patio,” Gage says, drawing back my attention.
His chin is tucked as he points his beer bottle over my shoulder toward the back door. I smile and spin on my heel, headed right for it.
I lift the bottle of beer to my lips with one hand and smooth the front of my cropped, black t-shirt with the other.
It’s tight enough to pass for a second skin, and my light-wash jeans are clinging to my hips like it’s their job, too.
But I like them like that, and they go with my dusty red Lucchese boots better than a flirty sundress would.
My feet slow to a stop once I walk outside. I’m about to step down to the grass and look through the group of people around a fire in the distance when I hear his voice. I turn to the left. Two people walk through my line of sight to go inside, and then I see him.
“Pay up,” Heston grumbles to his friend.
He’s sitting in a chair that looks like it belongs at an old kitchen table rather than outside.
One boot is lifted and braced against a support beam, while he leans back toward the side of the bunkhouse—far enough that the chair he’s in is balancing on only two legs.
The way the sleeve on his t-shirt barely fits around his bicep almost distracts me enough not to notice the cigarette tucked behind his ear.
Tripp is standing across from him, leaning his shoulder against the same pole on the porch that Heston’s boot is on. “I’m not paying you shit.”
“You lost the bet,” Heston argues flatly. He types something on his phone and continues talking without looking up from the screen. “I accept cash, or you can do my laundry for a month.”
“A month?” Tripp scoffs and kicks the chair hard enough to almost send Heston tumbling backward.
Heston scowls and barely regains his balance. I cover my mouth with a quiet giggle at the sight of it. He’s not a small guy, so those two chair legs must be made of steel.
“Piss off,” he says, before glancing back down at his phone.
Once he finishes typing, he reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a lighter to chuck it at his friend. Tripp dodges it and kicks the chair again in retaliation.
“Now kiss,” I tease.
Instantly, Heston whips his head to the side. He widens his eyes and sits up abruptly, forgetting his chair’s laid-back position. It finally tips over.
Luckily, he broke most of the fall with his hands, but he still landed on his ass. Tripp is laughing, but stretches his hand out to pull his friend to his feet. Heston brushes off his jeans and locks eyes with me.
Tripp looks between us and grins as he passes by me to walk back inside. “Hey, Hattie. Good to see ya.”
I don’t mean to ignore him, but my focus is completely on Heston. My chest thrums with nerves and excitement as he strides toward me.
“Surprise,” I say timidly.
He stops in front of me, less than a foot away. “I thought you were shopping with your aunt this weekend.”
“Yeah, that was the original plan,” I confirm. “But, turns out, I wasn’t in the mood for shopping. So—”
I hesitate for a moment, knowing we haven’t had the “what are we?” discussion yet. But we’ve been talking constantly since we last hung out, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how he kissed me.
I know it’s a little soon to think like this, and it might make me sound clingy, but I decide to be honest anyway.
“I would rather hang out with you,” I admit with a subtle shrug. “I missed you.”
“Hmm.” He smooths his palm over the side of my neck until it wraps around the nape. “Interesting.”
I rise to my tiptoes so that our lips are a breath away. “I know you’re old, so maybe your reflexes are just slow. But I think when a girl tells you that she missed you, the appropriate response would be to kiss her.”
“Nothing about what I want to do is appropriate, honey.”
My stomach does a flip, and my smile widens. “Honey? Now, that’s not bad. Massive upgrade from hot sauce.”
He smirks, then finally bends to press his lips to mine. It’s sweeter than I imagined it’d be. In my head, I pictured running toward him as fast as I could and leaping into his arms. Then, he’d ravage my mouth in a frenzy like he’d been starving for my kiss since the moment I’d left.
But this kiss is different.
It’s tender and smooth.
Heston loops an arm around my waist and slowly lifts my feet off the ground. I raise my arms to wrap them around his neck, humming sweetly as he holds my body tight against his.
“I’m pretty tired,” he says, pulling his face away slightly.
He doesn’t look tired. “Yeah, me too,” I lie.
I pluck the cigarette from behind his ear and quirk a brow.
With a sigh, he lowers me to my feet, steals back the cigarette, and takes my hand. His fingers are comically bigger than mine, so rather than interlocking them, he wraps them around my palm. I trap my lower lip between my teeth when his thumb rubs a slow circle on the back of my hand.
“I can go grab your bag,” he says over his shoulder as he leads me inside. “Is it still in your truck?”
He tosses the cigarette in the kitchen trash can as we pass by.
“Oh, I brought it inside already. It’s—in your room.”
He doesn’t respond, but suddenly we’re walking a lot faster.