Chapter Thirty-Nine
Everett
The day before the Founder’s Day celebration is a nightmare.
Fuckers.
By the time I get home, I’m cranky, hungry, sweaty, and exhausted. I check my fridge—empty, of course. I’m muttering a foul string of curse words when someone knocks at the door.
When I open it to find Mila standing there with a takeout bag, all the bullshit I dealt with that day melts away. I pull her inside and fold her into my arms. Even Merlin is happy, nudging her legs with his head and then dropping onto his back, waiting for a belly rub.
“God, I’m glad to see you,” I tell her. This day has been a disaster.”
She holds up the bag. “Will meat pasties from Sawbuck Tavern make it better?”
“You’re an angel sent right from heaven.”
“You should see the underwear I have on.”
I groan. “You’re making me choose between sex and sustenance?”
“You can have both. Eat first.”
“Can you stay?” I ask, afraid she’ll say no because her mother needs dinner, a pain pill, a fucking kidney.
She smiles at me. “I’ve got a couple hours.”
While I scarf down meat pasties standing at the kitchen counter, she tells me about the email she got from Dan Bartok this afternoon. “Apparently, that eyewitness is willing to talk to me.”
“Are you going to do it?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s much point—like you said, it was probably you this person saw leaving the bakery that night—but part of me is curious, you know?”
“So meet with him.”
“I might.”
I shove the last bite in my mouth and head for the bathroom before I’m even done chewing. “Give me five minutes. I just need to shower the sweat off.”
“Take your time,” she calls. “Merlin and I are going to get better acquainted.”
I clean up, put on fresh clothes, take three seconds to apply some deodorant, and throw some product in my hair. When I come out of the bathroom, I find her sitting on the floor in front of the couch giving Merlin a belly rub. “Be careful. He’s not going to let you leave.”
She smiles up at me. “He’s a sweetheart.”
“Merlin. Go lie down.”
My dog looks over his shoulder at me with an expression that can only be described as fuck you, pal, and stays right where he is. “Come on, dude. Give me a break.”
He doesn’t move.
Exhaling, I go to the cabinet and grab a treat, which I place in his crate. Food does the trick—like father, like pup—and once Merlin is safely contained, I sit on the couch and tug Mila onto my lap. “Come here. I just want to look at you.”
She loops her arms around my neck, tousling the hair at the back of my head. “Liar.”
Our mouths come together, and despite what I just said, my hand wanders beneath her shirt.
The moment I touch her bare skin, I know I won’t stop there.
With an easy flick of my fingers, I unhook her bra and take her breast in my hand, teasing her nipple with my thumb.
Tipping her backward, I lay her down on the couch and lift her shirt, fastening my mouth to one taut peak and taking the other between my fingers.
My gentlemanly behavior continues its steady decline, and I kiss a path down her belly, undo her jeans, and pull them off.
Pushing her thighs apart, I bury my face between her legs. In less time than it takes to drive from the front of the farm to the back, her hands are in my hair and she’s coming against my tongue.
It makes me so fucking hot that I knew her so well, that I can get her off so quickly.
My cock is like a cannon barrel, hard and thick and ready to explode.
I sit up, shove my pants to my knees, and yank her on top of me.
Her body is loose like a rag doll’s. Both of us moan as she sinks down on my cock.
She’s wet and warm and deliciously snug.
When she rests on my lap, she pauses for a moment, her eyes closed, her face impossibly beautiful. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair tousled, her freckles like tiny little stars across her nose. She opens her eyes and locks them with mine. They’re devastatingly blue.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. My chest is radiating with an energy that my heart feels too flimsy to contain. It’s coursing throughout my entire body, zipping along my veins, every nerve ending on fire.
It occurs to me that I might be in love with her.
It’s not like any feeling I’ve ever experienced before. With Bella, love was a gradual descent, something light and buoyant. A feather falling through the air.
With Mila, it’s a spiraling, head-over-heels plummet through space.
I’m powerless against it—not that I’m putting up a fight.
I want to love her. I want to take care of her.
I want to make her happy. I’ve spent years telling everyone I’m too busy to date, and now all I want to do is introduce her to people and say the words, “This is my girlfriend, Mila”.
Can I convince her she’s safe with me? To give us a chance?
As she begins to move above me, I fight the urge to come too soon. When it’s over, she’ll have to leave, and I’ll have to miss her.
But I’m only human, and in no time at all, my body surrenders to the moment, to the friction, to the invincible need to fuck her and fill her and feel her come.
She clutches me hard as her climax hits, crying out as her fingers dig into my shoulders.
Afterward, she rests her forehead against mine. Our chests rise and fall quickly.
After a minute, she says, “I’ll be right back.”
While she’s in the bathroom, I pull up my jeans and ponder my revelation.
I’m in love with her.
I can’t say exactly when it happened, but it could have been any of a dozen moments.
When she tied that knot in the cherry stem with her tongue.
When she let me kiss her on the bridge. When she asked me to plow her fields.
When she showed up on my doorstep in her pajamas.
When she cooked dinner for me. When she came running at me wearing my sweatshirt.
When she gifted me those orchids. When we confessed our deepest secrets to each other in the dark and I felt all the acceptance I ever could have hoped for.
There are so many moments etched on my mind. Engraved in my heart.
I want more. I want a lifetime of them.
When she comes out, I pull her onto my lap again, knees on either side of me. “What am I going to do with you?”
She plays with the collar of my flannel. “Right now, you have to let me go, or I’ll probably get grounded.”
“I don’t mean right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I already don’t get enough of you, and you’re right here in Hart’s Landing. What happens when you go back to Brooklyn in a couple weeks?”
She plays with a button on my shirt. “I’ve been trying not to think about it.”
“I love being with you. I wish we didn’t have a sell-by date.”
“I love being with you, too. But it’s only been a month. Everything is still new and shiny.” Her eyes meet mine, and they’re full of trepidation. “Don’t you worry that could change?”
“It doesn’t feel like it could.”
“But that’s the trick, isn’t it?”
I brush her hair back from her face. “You’re scared.”
“Of course I’m scared.” Her laughter is self-conscious. “I don’t trust this feeling, Everett. I don’t know how to fully relax and enjoy it. I don’t know how to stop worrying that none of this is real, that if you knew the real me, you wouldn’t want her.”
“Hey. Are you pretending with me right now?”
“No.”
“Have you been pretending with me at all since you’ve been home?”
“No.” A smile flutters past her lips. “You’ve definitely seen the full mess of me.”
“And I’m still here.”
She swallows. “You’re still here.”
I tip my forehead to hers. “I’m not going anywhere. That’s all I’m saying.”
Later that night, I escape to the pub for a beer. But I take so much shit from my friends, I almost wish I hadn’t.
“Hey, look who showed up,” Ripley says as I approach their table near the throwing lanes. “And he’s spit-shined and spiffy!”
Ben leans over and sniffs me. “Is that something other than fertilizer I smell on you? Could it be cologne?”
“I’m getting haircut and grooming products, too,” Hunter adds, eyeing me suspiciously. “Is this about the girl?”
I try to play it cool. “What, a guy can’t get a haircut?”
“Sure, a guy can get a haircut. But he can’t get a new shirt at the same time and expect his friends not to mess with him.” Ripley grins. “So, is it a thing now, Snuggle Bear?”
Tipping up my beer, I roll my eyes. “It might be a thing. But don’t fucking call me that ever again.”
“I knew the baby goats would work.” Ripley looks smug.
“It was the line about the tulips, right?” Hunter elbows me.
“So is she staying for good?” Ben asks. “Does this mean you have to buy matching towels and alphabetize your spice rack?”
“No. We’re just seeing how it goes.”
Hunter parks himself on a stool across the high-top from me. “Does she know how bossy you are?”
“She was forewarned.”
“Does she know about your shitty yacht rock playlist?”
“She is aware.”
“Does she enjoy the smell of manure?”
“She’s non-judgmental.”
“Does she know you own overalls?”
“I don’t wear them that often.”
“So you’re, like, really into her,” Hunter says, the concept completely foreign to him.
“Yeah. I am.” I take another pull on my beer.
“Did she agree to judge the pie contest or something?” Ripley asks.
I laugh. “I wish.”
“Wait, wait.” Ben holds out his arms, like he needs to pause the world. “So is this official? You’re, like, not single?”
I don’t even hesitate. “I wouldn’t call myself single right now.”
“But being single is so great,” Ripley argues. “You can do what you want. You don’t have to answer to anybody.”
“I am doing what I want. And you know what?” Mila’s face fills my mind. Her body. Her scent. Her voice. Her kiss goodbye earlier this evening. The way I miss her already. “I’ll answer to her. I will gladly fucking answer to her.”