Never Enough (Billionaire Cowboys #2)

Chapter 1

chapter

one

Gracie

The bell over the bakery door jingles, but I don’t look up I’ve got my hands in the glass display case laying out a new batch of eclairs.

SugarBakers is loud this morning. Espresso hisses.

Chairs scrape against our linoleum floor.

Kelsie laughs hard at something Caroline says.

The low hum of conversation from the couple tucked into the corner table who come in every Saturday and split one croissant like it’s foreplay.

This is my normal and I love it. But I can’t ignore the foreboding feeling that I awoke with.

An uncomfortable buzzing in my chest warning me that something is about to happen, like my ribs are vibrating around a live wire.

My Granny used to say the women in our family have a gift.

So far, all this “gift” has provided me is a little heartburn right before something happens. Usually something unpleasant.

“Gracie.”

I freeze, then wince. The sound of my name lands low and hard, like I’ve dropped a plate and I’m bracing for the shattering of glass.

I haven’t heard that voice in three years, but my body remembers it anyway.

And not in a good way. Not in a warm-gooey, comforting way.

Instead, everything tightens, braces… prepares for disappointment.

Well, this explains the damn heartburn. Some gift.

I rub at my chest, take a cleansing breath, then stand upright and turn to face the worthless worm of a human I wasted too many years of my life on.

He’s standing at the counter like he belongs there. Like he didn’t walk out of my life with a shrug and a “sorry, it just happened and her name is Jules.”

“Andrew,” I say, because I’m a good southern girl and manners demand I be polite. “Welcome to SugarBakers.”

His smile is the same, a little too bright and wide. Earnest. He gives the space around us a cursory glance. “Looks good. Guess y’all got the bakery up and running.”

I say nothing because “no shit!” doesn’t seem appropriate for a Saturday morning. Caroline and Kelsie, my best friends and co-owners of SugarBakers, appear at my sides, flanking me like sugar-dusted bodyguards.

“Yeah. I was in town and thought I’d stop by.”

“What can I get you?” I ask, already reaching for a pastry bag, needing something—anything—to do with my hands.

“Actually,” he says, holding up a hand, “I was hoping we could talk.”

Kelsie makes a noise of disgust.

Every instinct in my body screams no. Absolutely not. Fuck. Right. Off. My pulse kicks hard against my throat.

“I’m at work right now so it’s not a good time.” Frankly, I wish the bakery were a little busier. “We’re about to hit our busy time for the afternoon.” I give Kelsie and Caroline meaningful looks. “Go ahead. Say what you have to say.”

He glances around again, and I know he’s uncomfortable. That near plastic-looking smile of his falters just a touch, but he seems to fortify himself. He looks directly into my eyes, as if he still has the right to such an intimacy.

“I screwed up.”

“Is that your apology?” Kelsie asks.

“A little late,” Caroline murmurs.

“I was scared,” he admits.

I snort. “Scared of what, exactly?”

He puts his hand on his heart.

The gesture would’ve worked once upon a time, but now it just looks theatrical and rehearsed.

“How much I felt for you,” he says. “It was overwhelming, and I just freaked out.”

“Bullshit,” Kelsie fake coughs.

“Andrew, you brought a new girlfriend to my cousin’s wedding. The wedding where I was expecting my own proposal because my boyfriend had been hinting as much. Instead, you dumped me and then promptly introduced me to Jules.”

“I’ve done a lot of work on myself,” he continues. “Therapy. Reflection. I’ve grown a lot.”

Caroline makes a soft, skeptical sound behind me. I love her for it. It feels like armor sliding into place.

My girls have my back. I never have to question that.

“I’m not the same guy,” Andrew says. “And when I heard you were still here, still single—”

“I never said I was single.”

His smile falters for half a second. Recovers quickly. That’s new. Or maybe I just never noticed it before.

“That’s fair. I guess I just hoped…” He reaches into his jacket pocket.

My stomach drops.

Oh no.

No, no, no. Not this. Not now.

“Oh wow,” I say before I can stop myself. “You didn’t even ease into the emotional whiplash. Bold choice.”

He ignores that and drops to one knee.

The bakery goes silent. Even the espresso machine seems to have gone quiet.

“I love you,” Andrew says, solid and sure, like all you have to do is say it loudly enough to make it true. “I always have. And I want to do this right.”

He opens the box.

The ring is pretty. Of course it is. Classic. Expensive. The kind of thing meant to make women cry in a good way.

Three years ago, I probably would have cried. But so much has changed in these years since Andrew left me. And looking at that ring and him on his knee, I feel absolutely nothing.

“I—” I start, already planning my escape, when the bell over the door jingles again.

Heavy footsteps pound across the bakery floor, each one landing like a punctuation mark.

“Gracie Lynn”

Henry Blankenship stands on the other side of the glass display case.

His jaw is set, and his eyes are locked on me, completely ignoring the man who, for all intents and purposes, is at his feet.

Relief hits me so fast, it’s almost dizzying.

I don’t know what I think Henry is going to do about this, but maybe he’ll just scare Andrew off.

Henry’s gaze drops. First to the ring, then to Andrew on his knee. Then he slowly looks back at me. Something dark and dangerous flashes through his expression. My pulse stutters in response.

Henry moves. With purpose. He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t rush. He simply steps forward, hooks a hand in Andrew’s collar, and hauls him upright like he weighs nothing.

“Hey—” Andrew starts.

“You’re too late,” Henry says calmly.

The room holds its breath.

“What do you mean I’m too late?” Andrew asks.

Then, Henry does some kind of action-hero nonsense where he swings himself over the counter in one smooth move.

The second he’s behind the counter, he strides towards me.

He slides an arm around my waist and pulls me into him.

The blood is whooshing through my ears and I think I might be hallucinating.

Henry looks down at me in his arms.

One of my hands rests on his chest, and he’s so warm and solid beneath my palm. His heartbeat is steady, and instinctively, my own chaotic heartbeat slows to match his. I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but his blue eyes search my face, and he gives me a ghost of a smile.

“Too fucking late,” he says. “Because she’s already married.”

And then Henry Blankenship kisses me.