Chapter 23
The house was quiet after a long, perfect day.
Junie was in bed, her hand resting against the stuffed cow she’d insisted on dragging into her room. I brushed a hand through her hair, smiling at how quickly she was falling asleep again after we got her inside.
“Big day, huh, cutie?” I whispered.
Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t answer. I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, letting my lips linger before straightening again.
All of this—today, the carnival, the laughter, the people—was more fulfilling than I could’ve imagined.
I’d been so afraid of stepping back into this place, of being the outsider, the new girl in a town where everyone had known each other since kindergarten.
Where every time someone looked at me it was with pity in their eyes and sadness in their tones, knowing what I was going through.
But that wasn’t what happened. No one skirted around Violet’s name or tiptoed in conversations. They were just friendly, supportive, and understanding when I occasionally needed a moment to myself.
Still, nothing had prepared me for Junie shouting Dad! across the park.
It kept replaying in my head—the way her face lit up, how natural it sounded, as if she hadn’t even realized she’d said it.
And the look on Ty’s face… Shock, sure. But also this quiet, stunned joy I’d remember forever. Like she’d handed him the most precious gift of all.
I wasn’t sure how it made me feel.
It didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel wrong. If anything, I was sure Violet would’ve loved it. She’d always said she wanted Junie to grow up surrounded by love, that family wasn’t just who you were born with, but who you chose.
It was impossible to look at Ty Hudson and not see how much he loved that little girl.
It was written in every gesture, every word.
The way he carried her when she was tired.
How he always remembered to wash her purple plate, so it was ready for the next meal.
He’d even let her paint his toenails last week, sporting bright pink nails for all to see.
It was simple, really. Junie loved him. He loved her. And if my chest ached at that, maybe it was because I knew exactly how she felt.
Because I loved the way he was with her. And I loved the way he was with me.
It was too easy to say I only liked him because he was good with Junie. That it was gratitude, or admiration, or some grief-shaped hole he’d filled. But that wasn’t true.
I liked him three years ago, back when he was just some stranger on the street. He had that same dry sense of humor, that calm, quiet steadiness that always seemed to cut through my chaos.
And now? Now he was all of that, multiplied.
He was thoughtful without trying to be. He was patient in ways I couldn’t understand, never rushing, never demanding. He didn’t step in and take control; he just stood by, waiting to help when you needed it most.
Sometime in the last few weeks together, I’d fallen for him.
I traced my fingers through Junie’s hair again, the soft rhythm of it soothing and steady.
I didn’t a little bit want this.
I very much wanted this.
That was the problem.
Because if this moved forward with Ty—and I really, really wanted it to—what happened if it went sideways? How could I ever leave? How could I break something that made Junie this happy?
The thought hollowed out my chest. I leaned down and pressed one more kiss to her forehead before standing, tugging the blanket higher around her shoulders.
“Night, cutie,” I whispered. “I love you.”
I shut her door quietly, easing out into the hall. The rest of the house was dark. Only one light was still on, a soft golden pool spilling from the kitchen at the end of the hall.
I hesitated for half a second, tugging at the hem of the Mayhem hoodie I still wore. It was big enough to hit mid-thigh, hiding the fact that my shorts and T-shirt underneath were long gone to comfort after a day in the sun. But right now, I didn’t want comfort.
The air smelled faintly of wood smoke and pine, a scent that seemed to linger in every crevice of this house. I padded down the hall, quiet enough not to wake Junie, my heart thudding a steady rhythm.
When I rounded the corner, I found him exactly where I knew he’d be—sitting on the end of the sofa, waiting for me.
One arm was stretched along the back cushion, a drink loose in his other hand.
His hat was on the coffee table, his dark hair sticking up in messy tufts after a long day.
The lamplight from the kitchen spilled over him, catching on the edge of his mustache and the hard line of his jaw.
His shorts rode up enough to show the tattoos on his thighs—bold black ink against tan skin, teasing at the hem every time he shifted.
And those eyes. Hazel, warm, and focused on me.
I couldn’t look away if I tried.
Ty Hudson was gorgeous. Not in a polished, magazine-cover way—but in the real kind. The kind that crept up on you, steady and unassuming, until suddenly you realized your heart was in your throat.
His eyes flicked over my bare legs before meeting my gaze, then pointed his beer at me.
“Are you done avoiding me?” he asked, voice low, that little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the wall. “Who says I was avoiding you?”
He lifted his can to take a sip, and the label caught the light.
Daisy Cutter.
The same one I’d ordered in a dingy little bar in Chicago, on a night I’d remember forever. It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet here he was, always remembering every little thing about me.
Any hesitation I had about what came next vanished.
I crossed the room in a few steps, the wood floor cool beneath my bare feet, and stopped in front of him. His hand loosened around the can as I reached out, setting it down on the end table beside us.
“You’re always so patient,” I murmured.
His brow furrowed, lips parting to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance.
I slid into his lap, straddling him, the hem of the hoodie slipping higher up my thighs. His breath hitched, and his hands came up to my hips in a steadying grip.
My fingers found the edge of his jaw, the faint stubble rough under my touch. His eyes searched mine, heat and disbelief warring there. With him looking at me like this, I wasn’t scared of the future. I was scared I’d hate myself forever if I let this man walk away from me twice.
“You think I’m patient?”
I trailed my thumb along his cheek, then smiled. “You’re the most patient man I’ve ever met.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through both of us. “Not anymore.”
The space between us disappeared.
His mouth met mine with that same careful heat that had been simmering between us for weeks—steady at first, then hungry. All the restraint we’d both been clinging to fell away.
The day, the carnival, the crowd—it all blurred until it was just this. Him. Me. The quiet hum of the house and the soft sounds of the night around us filtering in through the open windows.
When I pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breathing uneven.
“Now what?” he said.
“Now”—I kissed along his jaw, waiting until he tipped his head back. When my teeth grazed over his skin, he let out a low groan—“Now, you take me to bed.”
His hands slid beneath me, strong and certain, and I was in the air. My arms flew around his neck with a startled laugh that turned into a soft gasp when he adjusted his grip.
“Ty,” I squeaked, half protesting, half dizzy. “You can’t just—”
“Yes, I can,” he said, the grin in his voice impossible to miss.
He started down the hall, his steps steady even with me clinging to him. I was short, curvy, and expecting him to set me down any second, but he didn’t. Not once.
Ty nudged open the door to his room with my ass, the faint light from the hallway spilling across us. He kicked it shut behind him, the soft click of the lock echoing in the quiet.
His mouth found mine again as he set me on the edge of the bed, then shifted his weight forward until I was forced to lie back. My fingers tangled in his hair as his hands slid under the green hoodie, pushing it up.
“Fuck,” Ty said, his stubble scraping against my neck when he pushed it over my hips, revealing how little I wore underneath. “Every time I see you in one of these big hoodies, I can’t stop picturing you in just these little panties underneath.”
His hands slid over the fabric covering my center, pushing just hard enough that I gasped, my back arching against the mattress.
“Look at you, so wet already,” Ty said, still rubbing me over the fabric. “Have you been like this for hours, sweetheart?”
I nodded, words lost to me as he dropped to his knees on the floor and trailed open-mouthed kisses along my upper thighs.
“Tell me I can taste you,” he said, his breath hot against my skin. “Tell me I can have these pretty legs over my shoulders and lick up every drop like I wanted to weeks ago. I want to feel you come apart under me like I’ve been imagining for years.”
“Do it,” I managed, my voice breathless with even these little teasing touches. “Please.”
“What a good fucking girl you are, Daisy.” His fingers hooked under the fabric of my panties, pulling them down my thighs before tossing them aside.
I expected him to lift my legs up over his shoulders, staying on his knees to fulfill these dirty promises, but Ty was never quite what I expected.
Instead, he stood, stripping off his shirt with that one-hand overhead grab men did. Next came those short-shorts, leaving him in nothing but black boxer briefs stretched tight. His hand slid over his hard cock under the fabric, giving it a squeeze.
Moonlight cut through the window, painting him in a glowy haze that only amplified how chiseled every inch of this man was.
I leaned on my elbows, raising a brow in challenge. “Chickening out?”
“Not a chance,” Ty said, the side of his mustache lifting with that crooked grin that was more than a little wicked. “Not a fucking chance, Daisy.”