28. Colt
COLT
Grant pushes through the screen door and walks out onto the porch, keys clenched in his fist. “You think it’s still coming today?” He checks his watch. “I really need to get on the road. I’ve got clients starting at eight.”
Grant comes to stand beside me, staring at the gaping hole in the wall as I check my phone for the umpteenth time. The tracking link still shows the window is out for delivery. But it’s been that way for hours now.
I shove the phone back into my pocket, my jaw clenched. “You should go. I’ll handle it. I’m sure it’ll be here later tonight.”
Grant claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll see you Saturday, yeah? My parents are excited to see you.”
He marches toward his truck as I analyze the empty, rectangular space—a metaphor for my shortcomings on this project. As Grant pulls away, I eye the leftover lumber that I used for new paneling inside the house. I could probably cut down a few pieces and cover the hole with that.
I’m grabbing my tape measure when the sound of Alice’s approaching footsteps reaches me. I don’t need to look up to know it’s her. Still, I glance over anyway, because I can’t stop myself from seeking out her face every chance I get.
Alice grows closer, struggling under the weight of a box she’s carrying. She grins over the top of it when our eyes connect.
“Ali.” My tone is chastising, but I’m secretly proud of how often she insists on tackling things alone. When I take the box from her, I shoot her a surprised look because it’s even heavier than it looked.
“Books from Maggie, June, and Dalton,” she explains.
“I’m going back for more tomorrow.” She follows me up the porch stairs and grabs the door.
“My biggest shipment is delayed due to the storms on the east coast, but I’ll get a smaller one in tomorrow.
I figured I could add these so we look fully stocked this weekend. ”
These books won’t do nearly enough to fill the shelves, but I admire her resourcefulness.
Alice eyes the window. “Still hasn’t shown up, huh?”
I set the box on the floor. “No. But I’m sure it’ll be here soon.”
Alice presses her lips together, and I spot the worry on her face. I’m tempted to rip the window out of a neighboring house to ease her concerns. Travis’s home would do just fine, I reckon.
“Grant already left,” I add, nervous energy shooting through me at the notion of being alone with Alice.
Because the last time that happened, she was on her knees, her mouth wrapped around…
I clear my throat. “I’ll cover the window for the night.
But Alice, I’ll need to stay over. You can’t be in this house alone with a boarded-up window. ”
Alice wets her lips, thinking. The sight of her tongue goes straight to my dick, my arms practically shaking from the need to pull her body closer.
“Cover the window,” she agrees. “Then let’s touch base.”
I nod and get to work, returning inside only after the task is done.
After washing my hands and double-checking that the boards are secure, I find Alice in the main room, shelving the books she borrowed.
I glance around the room, taking inventory of the situation—in addition to being short the tempered glass, I also need to retile the bathroom, build the checkout counter, and add trim to the windows and doorways.
We’re also missing the decorations Alice insists we need and, most importantly, enough books to fill the shelves, which remain seventy percent empty.
Everything feels one loose screw away from being finished.
And yet, it all hinges on these final few days and things showing up when they’re supposed to.
I bend down, helping Alice shelve the novels. The task feels therapeutic. This we can do. This small chore to convince ourselves that it’ll all come together in the end.
One thing’s for sure, the heat between us—the kind that’s simmered since the first time we kissed—is still hot enough to ignite this place. Somehow, it feels like everything will shake out as long as that heat keeps burning. Because at this point, we’re running on caffeine, pizza, and lust.
Alice’s lashes flutter over her cheeks as she digs through the box, and my hand twitches with the need to touch her.
She’s so damn gorgeous. So inspiring. Despite the setbacks, she never loses faith.
Never wavers. Briefly, I envision her alone in this house while, years ago, I was miles away and her parents were prioritizing Grant’s football schedule.
She must have felt terribly alone, and then those fuckers at her school teased her, made her feel even more isolated.
This last thought infuriates me. Makes me want to tear a hole through the fabric of time and rewrite the memory.
My mouth opens before I fully think through what I’m saying. “You still have that book?”
Her head pops up. “What book?”
“The one from high school,” I clarify. “The one he read aloud.”
Alice’s face goes red in a heartbeat. She laughs and straightens books she’s already tended to. “Colt…”
I square my shoulders, determined. “Do you?”
She meets my gaze. Shakes her head just a little, but I spot the lie in her eyes. “Why are you asking?”
I feel a smile form. “Show it to me.”
She laughs freely now, blushing in a way that makes me ache with longing, even though she’s two feet away. “I told you, I don’t have it. I threw it out when—”
“You have the book,” I insist.
Alice collapses onto her bottom, narrows her eyes at me and grins. “What makes you so sure?”
I tip my head. “Let me see it.”
Alice examines me for a beat, searching my face. When she finds not a single trace of humor there, she sighs and rises to her feet. Moves to the other side of the room, bends down, and slides something off a shelf. Returning to me, she holds the book out stiffly.
“Here,” she says.
I turn it over in my hands. It’s clearly a romance book, but the cover is on the subtler side—a heart wrapped in chain mail surrounded by rose petals. I flip it open. “What part did that dickhead read aloud?”
“Colt,” she repeats.
I meet her gaze. “Show me.”
She sighs again, deeper this time, and then takes the book back. Alice turns the pages, goes back a few, and then forward a couple more. For a moment, she reads to herself. Finally, she shoves the book toward me, pointing at a passage. “The end of this chapter. Starting there.”
I take the book and sit down, leaning against the shelves, knees up. Turning the book around, I point to where she did, an eyebrow raised.
She nods, amused.
I clear my throat as if preparing for a stage monologue and begin reading aloud. “James had the music playing when she arrived, each pluck of the guitar strings landed like a stroke between her thighs.”
I give Alice a questioning look that implies I’m scandalized, and she drops her head into her hand, laughing.
Rising, I cross the room.
“Where are you going?” she asks, leaning forward.
I move to the record player and choose a Vince Gill vinyl. Lifting the needle, I put the record on the turntable and lower it again. You and You Alone begins playing a few seconds into the song.
Alice throws her head back, laughter pouring out of her. “Colt, stop.”
I lift the book and continue on. “When he asked Angeline if she wanted a glass of wine, it felt like he was asking her permission for something else.”
I raise a finger and head to the kitchen.
“No, please,” Alice calls out, but she’s giggling harder now. The sound reverberates through my chest, filling me with the sense of accomplishment I sought while awaiting the window. I return with a glass half-filled and offer it with a flourish.
Alice considers it, and—after feigning deliberation—accepts it with a smile.
I skip ahead, reading aloud, and hold out my hand to Alice. She takes it, and as I read ‘James pulled Angeline against him,’ I circle my arm around Alice’s waist and tug her close. “He kissed her like he was drowning,” I read, my voice dropping an octave, “like she was the air his lungs sought.”
I lower my head, and the smile on Alice’s face quiets.
Our lips meet, the soft touch of her tongue tearing through me. Breaking the kiss, I ask, forehead pressed to hers, “You want me to stop?”
She shakes her head, and I lift her off her feet, her legs encircling my waist. I kiss her against the wall, just as the characters do in the book, and grind against her, which is a glaring omission from the scene.
I trail kisses down her neck, glancing at the book just long enough to read, “Angeline was laid out before him, an offering he couldn’t refuse.”
“It sounds like they’re in the bedroom,” Alice whispers against my ear.
I need no further encouragement. I climb the stairs two at a time, carrying her up, her arms tight around my neck.
When we reach her room, I lay her down, then return to the pages.
I keep reading, following the characters’ lead.
Laying the book aside, I do as James did to Angeline—unbuttoning Alice’s jeans and guiding them off, one leg at a time, kissing the inside of each ankle.
Next, I remove her shirt, watching as her hair spills over her shoulders and down her back.
Alice is left in nothing but her bra and underwear, and I’m left with a decision to make.
Grant should be an hour outside of Holly River by now.
There’s no reason to rush. No one to keep us from crossing certain lines.
If we stopped now, we could chalk up everything that’s happened between us to just messing around.
I don’t know what lies on the other side of sleeping with this woman.
This woman who’s looking at me like I hung the damn moon.
As it is, I can hardly tolerate the ten hours I spend away from her each night at the inn.
I toss and turn, a nocturnal animal, desperate to return to Alice.
If we sleep together, it’ll be over for me.
She’ll always be The One in my head, regardless of whether she chooses me in return. I’ll be ruined for anyone but her.