Chapter 27 Levi
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Levi
The café looks alive even before the sun is fully up. Light spills through the front windows like someone pulled back the curtains on a stage, and I sit there in my truck for a second, staring at it.
For a building that’s been half under repair since she came back to town, it feels different this morning—like her excitement has soaked into the walls and seeped out through the bricks.
I glance at the basket sitting on the seat beside me. Wrapped in cellophane and tied with the ribbon that Tessa insisted on, it looks a little ridiculous for a grown man to be carrying around, but the thought of Wren’s reaction makes me grin.
I’ve been on late shifts all week, dragging myself in and out of the station, but today is hers. She deserves to start it feeling seen.
I get out, balancing the basket carefully, and knock on the café door. The sound of her voice carries through the wood—light, cheerful, threaded with that little laugh that always does me in.
She’s on the phone, I realize, which gives me a moment to breathe her in before she even opens the door.
When she does, I nearly forget why I’m here.
She’s wearing a simple floral dress, the hem brushing her thighs, paired with brown cowboy boots that make her legs look longer than they already are. Her hair is done soft and loose, makeup light but perfect for her face, and for a second, I just stand there like an idiot, staring.
She’s got the phone tucked between her cheek and shoulder, still talking, and her eyes widen when she sees me.
I step inside, the smell hitting me instantly—warm sugar, browned butter, cinnamon, apples, something citrusy and bright under it all.
Every surface is covered. Counters lined with Tupperware, the tables crowded with cooling racks. I swear there isn’t a free inch in the entire room.
Pancake stretches from his spot near the counter, tail swishing, and I crouch to run a hand over his head.
Her voice softens as she finishes her call. “I know, Mom. I’ll send you pictures. Yeah… I miss you too. Okay. Love you. Bye.”
She presses the phone off and sets it down. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I answer, straightening, still holding the basket. “Everything good?”
She nods, brushing a hand over her hair. “Just my mom. She wanted an update on today. I think she’s more nervous than I am.”
I give her a look. “I doubt that.”
She laughs under her breath, then gestures toward the oven. “I still have something in there—muffins, I think. I lost count about two hours ago.”
Before she can slip away, I catch her waist and pull her in, pressing my mouth to hers. Her lips taste faintly sweet, like she’s been testing one of the fillings. I breathe her in, my hand sliding up her back.
“You look so damn good,” I murmur against her mouth.
She smiles, cheeks pink. “Thanks.”
Her gaze drops to the basket. She raises an eyebrow.
“And this? What’s this, Maddox? A boo basket?”
I chuckle, setting it down on the nearest free space. “That was Tessa’s idea. She said if kids can get boo baskets in October, then you deserve one for the festival.”
She tilts her head, fighting a grin. “A festival boo basket. You two really are something else.”
“Open it.”
She peels back the wrap, her fingers careful, and pulls things out one by one.
An apron, flour-dusted already because I didn’t think ahead.
A jar of honey from a local farm. A thermos that keeps coffee hot for more than ten minutes.
A few silly things Tessa tucked in—stickers, a packet of face masks.
Wren’s fingers pause when she sees the small jewelry box. Her eyes snap up to me. “Levi…”
“Go on.”
She opens it slowly, like she’s afraid it might vanish. Inside, the gold hoops catch the light, clean and straightforward, and beside them rests the necklace—a thin chain, a tiny pendant shaped like the bird she’s named after.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “It’s gorgeous.”
Relief hits me square in the chest. I take the necklace from the box before she can overthink. “Turn around.”
She does, brushing her hair aside. I clasp it at the back of her neck, the delicate bird settling just above her collarbone. My fingers linger on her skin, and I lean down, kissing the spot where chain meets flesh.
The oven timer shrieks.
She jolts, spinning toward it, but I catch her again, running my hands down her sides, over the fabric of her dress. “Why are you so tense?” I murmur into her ear.
She exhales. “Because I’m nervous. I want everything to be perfect, and—”
“Wren.” I turn her to face me, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “Everyone is going to love what you made. I’m sure of it.”
Her eyes soften. For a second, she lets herself lean into me. I tug gently at her earlobe with my teeth, and the sound she makes—half sigh, half moan—goes straight through me.
“You know,” I say, voice low, “I’ve got a way to help you calm down.”
My hand passes over her breast, thumb circling just enough to make her shiver.
Her lips curve. “I like where your head is at.”
I glance at my watch. “I’ve got about half an hour before we have to go.”
“Yeah?” she breathes.
I pull her closer, letting her feel how hard I am against her stomach. “Yeah,” I echo, and there’s no hiding what I want.
She grabs my hand, tugging me toward the stairs. “Fine. But you’d better not ruin my dress or mess up my hair and makeup.”
I grin. “I’ll do my best.”
I follow her up the stairs, her hand gripping mine, her dress swaying with each step. She’s muttering about her hair and her makeup, about how she has to look put together for the festival, but all I can think about is how perfect she looks right now, even without all the effort.
She’s already everything.
The bedroom door swings open, and I pull her back against me before she can reach the bed. My hands slide down her sides, over the curve of her hips, and I press my mouth to her neck, inhaling the warm sweetness of her skin.
She tilts her head just enough to let me in, a soft sigh slipping past her lips, and that’s all it takes for my restraint to snap.
I turn her gently, my fingers brushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders. I work slowly, kissing every inch of revealed skin, until the fabric slides down her body in one fluid motion.
She steps out of it, and I catch it in one hand, laying it carefully across the back of a chair. She watches me, breath catching, as if she didn’t expect me to bother with something so small, but it matters.
This dress means something to her, and I’m not about to ruin it.
When I turn back, she’s taken off her shoes and is standing there in nothing but pale pink panties and the necklace. Her hair is falling loose around her shoulders, her boots already kicked off near the door.
My chest tightens at the sight of her—so beautiful it almost hurts.
I push her gently until she lands on the bed with a laugh, the sound lighting me up from the inside out. I crawl over her, bracing my hands on either side of her head, my weight pressing her down into the mattress.
Her laughter softens when my mouth finds hers again, hot and hungry, my tongue sliding against hers.
Her panties are already damp under my hand, the fabric clinging to her. I work them down, slow, dragging the lace over her thighs, her knees, her ankles, tossing them aside. She shivers when my mouth trails lower, over her collarbone, between her breasts, across her stomach.
By the time I kneel at the edge of the bed, her thighs are parted for me, her slick glistening, and I grin because I’ve never wanted to devour anyone the way I want her.
“I almost feel bad,” I murmur, running my hands up her legs, “that I didn’t get you the matching anklet. Just so I could feel it dangle while I do this.”
Her laugh stutters into a moan as soon as my tongue meets her, the sound vibrating against my mouth. She fists the sheets, arching up, her thighs trembling as I lick and suck, as I take my time with her.
Every flick of my tongue, every curl of my fingers inside her, pulls another sound out of her until she’s gasping my name, her hips rolling against my face.
She comes hard, moans spilling out, her body quaking as I keep working her, dragging it out until she’s shaking and pushing weakly at my shoulders.
When I finally pull back, my chin wet, my cock is throbbing so painfully that I can barely focus. I shove my pants down, freeing myself, and stroke once, twice, trying to get a grip on the control that’s already slipping.
“Ready?” I ask, voice rough.
She nods. Her eyes are wide, her lips swollen from my kisses.
I line myself up and push into her slowly, groaning at the way her walls grip me, hot and tight, like she was made for me. She claws at my arms, nails digging in, her mouth falling open as I bury myself deep.
I want to say something crude, something about how her cunt is the best thing ever, something about how I’ve dreamed about this for days on end, something that matches the fire between us—I want to say “I love this pussy,” but the words that fall out are different, raw, unfiltered.
“I love you.”
Her eyes fly to mine, startled, searching. The world stills, my heart hammering against my ribs. Then she whispers, voice trembling but sure:
“I think I love you, too.”
The air punches out of me. Whatever thin thread of control I was hanging onto disintegrates.
I drive into her harder, faster, each thrust fueled by that confession, by the knowledge that she feels it too.
Our mouths crash together, messy and desperate, her moans filling me up as much as her body does.
Through my fog of desire, I hear footsteps pounding up the stairs, and then Norah’s voice rings out, loud and amused. “You filthy animals better get down here!”
Wren cries out, head falling back, body clenching around me, and I almost laugh even as I grit my teeth against the need to knot her.
“I’m coming!” she shouts back, voice breaking on the words.
“Yes, you are,” I groan into her ear, brushing my thumb over her clit, feeling her milk me as she comes again, pulsing around me so hard I must fight not to lose myself completely.
It takes everything I have to pull back before my knot forms, my body screaming for it, but I manage. Barely. I collapse against her chest, both of us gasping, her hands tangled in my hair.
After a moment, I drag myself up, grab tissues from the nightstand, and clean her gently, pressing soft kisses to her skin as I do.
She’s flushed, damp with sweat, her hair a wild halo around her face, and she’s never looked more perfect.
I help her into a clean pair of panties and back into her dress, smoothing the fabric down over her hips, fastening the clasp of her necklace again when it slips loose.
“How are you doing?” I ask quietly, brushing her cheek.
She meets my gaze, still breathless. “I’m okay.”
I hesitate, searching her face. “Do you… want to take back what you said?”
Her eyes soften, her hand cupping my jaw as she pulls me down for a kiss—slow, lingering, different from everything else we just did. “No,” she whispers against my lips. “I don’t.”
My still hard cock twitches, but I ignore it as I clean myself. What just happened between us is bigger than fucking.
It’s bigger than everything.
I love her… and she loves me too.