Chapter Thirty Five #2
A thick flannel blanket lines the bottom, layered with soft quilts and a tangle of pillows.
A small camping lantern glows softly from the top of a cooler in the corner, lighting the setup softly.
An oak tray is perched in the center, laid out with what I can only hope is a gluten-free charcuterie dream: crackers and cheese, sliced meats, fruit and veggies, a plate of chocolate- covered strawberries, a jar of honey, and a few glass bottles nestled in ice.
And him.
He’s sprawled out on his side, propped up on one elbow, wearing dark jeans and a black shirt under his worn Carhartt jacket, cowboy boots crossed casually at the ankle.
That damn baseball cap pulled low, and a smirk—the one that promises ruin and worship all at once—painted across his stupidly handsome face.
“Our date is a picnic?” I breathe, my voice cracking, eyes burning. “A nighttime picnic in the back of your truck.”
His smirk falls, replaced by something serious and vulnerable.
“No, darlin’. The picnic is because you need to be fed and looked after. Blankets and pillows are to keep you warm and comfortable. Music’s to make you smile. The dancin’ we’ll do is so you fall wildly in love with me. But the date?”
He points up.
“The sky is the date, baby. And it’s fallin’, just for you.”
I look up slowly, almost afraid of what I’ll find—because I already know whatever it is, it’s going to change something fundamental in me.
And it does.
Above us, the sky is glittering and alive. Stars scatter like sugar across velvet, and right on cue, one streaks across the heavens, then another, and another—each one brighter than the last.
“The meteor shower’s supposed to peak around two,” he murmurs. “So I asked Mom to keep Aurora overnight. Just in case.”
“You…” I choke out, body trembling, tears streaming down my cheeks. “You brought me to see shooting stars?”
“Millions of ’em.” His voice is thick. “Figured you could make as many wishes as it takes to find whatever you’re lookin’ for.”
My gaze reluctantly drags away from the prettiest sky I’ve ever seen and lands on him, the man who made it all possible. All because I told him I make wishes—one offhanded conversation weeks ago, and he did…
He did this.
And suddenly, I know.
I love him.
Don’t know when it happened. Whether it was a slow burn built between anger, bad misconceptions, and heated arguments, or in the quiet, broken moments where we simply existed together.
Maybe it was watching Kade grow and heal for the sake of a little girl who desperately needed him.
In the promise to carry each other's pieces without judgment, or his willingness to show up and remind me that he wants me as I am. That he sees me and chooses me anyway.
Maybe it was this exact moment.
But it happened, and for once, I’m not afraid.
“Come here,” he demands softly, hand held between us. “Let me show you what being mine feels like, Georgia Walker.”
Wiping my tears on my shoulder with a sniffle, I take his hand and barely resist the urge to dive onto him and never let go.
Instead, I let him lead me to his side, careful not to knock anything over. Kade tugs a blanket over me and fluffs a pillow behind my back so I can lean against the cab.
“You did so much. I’m blown away,” I say, voice raw and shaking. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”
“It was easy,” he says simply, tipping his shoulder. “Know the things you love and made it happen.”
And somehow, he finds a way to make me swoon harder.
He gives me a worried look. “You’re not a vegan, right?”
Giggling, I shake my head. “No. Luckily it’s only gluten I avoid. And seafood, but it’s preference, not allergy.”
He nods, dragging the board closer. “Everything here is gluten-free. I checked, and double-checked, but I also brought the packages just in case you wanted to—”
“I believe you,” I interrupt, smiling softly at him. “I trust you, sunshine.”
His cheeks turn pink again, and the sight makes me warm and fuzzy all over.
“Nickname used to piss me off,” he mutters, cracking the cap off one of the bottles.
I scoff. “Like darlin’?”
“You never hated that name, darlin’ .” Kade laughs, passing me the drink, which I note is sparkling, gluten-free cider.
Everything in me melts all over.
Taking a sip, I watch him assemble some cheese and meat on a cracker then drizzle honey over the top like he’s done this a thousand times. I expect him to shove it in his mouth like most men would, but Kade isn't like most men.
He’s… he’s my man .
And in my man’s true fashion, he brings it to my mouth with an expectant look. “Eat.”
Rolling my eyes, I open my mouth and accept the demanded snack. The flavors burst on my tongue, and I cover my lips, chewing and moaning in bliss.
His eyes heat, and he’s quick to make me another. “Could listen to that sound all fuckin’ night.”
Swallowing with a grin, I shake my head. “You need to eat, too.”
“But I don’t moan when I eat,” he says, practically pouting.
I bite my lip and my core tightens. “You sure about that? Pretty sure you moaned when you ate me .”
Kade’s head falls back with a breathy groan that goes right to my clit. “Christ, woman. I’m tryin’ to be good here. Let me feed you before you go seducing me.”
“Then feed me fast, because I’m starving,” I whisper, voice shaking, body on fire. Our eyes meet and his throat bobs. “And it’s not for food.”
Tension, hot and aching and needy, burns between us. “Fever” by Peggy Lee—spills through his phone speaker, the crooning seduction of it wrapping the night around us.
Kade’s jaw ticks. His knuckles flex as he sets down the honey jar, fingers shaking just slightly.
And I feel it—that razor-thin line between restraint and surrender snapping tighter with every breath.
“I’m not tryin’ to rush this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, like he’s warning both of us. “I wanted tonight to be slow. Romantic. Thought maybe we’d dance under the stars. Feed each other strawberries. Talk about shit that scares us, lights us up, and everything in between.”
My breath hitches. “We still can.”
“Yeah, but it’s hard to think about talkin’ when you’re sittin’ there lookin’ like that,” he rasps, eyes devouring me like he’s starving. “Wearin’ my clothes. Freckles bursting all over your skin. Moaning like you’ve already got my cock in your mouth.”
“Then put it in my mouth,” I demand, shoving the charcuterie board gently away and climbing to my knees.
I stop an inch before him and drop back, sitting on my ass.
The air between us shifts. Tightens.
My thighs clench together on instinct and his gaze drops, tracking the movement with heat so sharp it slices through the cool night.
“Freckles, I’m about five seconds from tearing those leggings off and making a whole new memory on this goddamn truck bed. You gotta tell me what you want here, baby.”
I shiver and ache, and I can’t pretend I don’t know exactly what I want.
Leaning forward, I drop my shaking hands onto his chest, pushing him onto his back. He shifts, making room for me to straddle him. My fingertips dig into his shirt, and his find my hips, gripping tightly.
“Remember what you said when I was riding your face?” I whisper, feeling his cock pulse between my thighs. “Next time you came, it would deep in my pussy—raw, and bare, and filling me with your cum, again and again and again .” I drop my lips to his ear, shuddering with need. “That’s what I want.”
He groans, the sound so desperate and primal, it makes my whole body shiver.
His fingers find my jaw, dragging my mouth to his as he chokes out, “Fuck it,” and smashes his lips to mine.