Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
BECK
When I wake up, sunlight streams into the cabin. Hattie’s asleep on her side facing me, and the light pours over her face and bare shoulders like honey.
I want to lap up every inch. But I’ll save that for when she’s awake.
She’s told me how much she likes to sleep in. When I look down at the little frown creasing her brow, I smile. Such fierce, determined sleep.
I’m in no hurry today. Griffin and Kennedy came in for the weekend when I told them about the wedding. Pop and the farm are covered.
So I want Hattie to sleep as late as she can.
But as soon as she wakes, my plan is to put my face between her legs. If she’s sore, my tongue will be gentle.
The thought of going down on her again has me hard and aching. Because now I know her. Her scent is mine. Her taste is mine. The feel of her swollen clit beneath my tongue, that honeyed pendulum—
Bang-Bang-Bang-Bang!
I jump and swear under my breath. Who the fuck?
Hattie whines in her sleep, but she doesn’t move.
My watch says it’s 7:42. Why the hell—
Bang-Bang-Bang-Bang!
I don’t wait for Hattie to stir. I knife out of bed, pluck one of the bathrobes from the floor, and pull it on.
I manage to wrap it closed but not tie it before the imbecile at the door knocks again.
Bang—
Yeah, I’m scowling when I yank the door open.
And I scare the shit out of Hattie’s mom.
She staggers back, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ!”
Mouth open, hand at her throat, Hillary Mercier scans me from bedhead to bare feet.
“What—”
She tries to peer around me, but I match her movements to block the view. Hattie’s naked under the covers, and I’m not about to let anyone glimpse that.
“Hattie’s still sleeping, Mrs. Hillary.”
Her focus snaps back to me. I don’t know her at all, but the set of her mouth and the squint in her eyes suggest she isn’t overjoyed to see me.
“Well, she needs to get up. The breakfast starts at 8:30.”
“The breakfast?” I don’t know why I ask. Because clearly, it’s not just breakfast. It’s The Breakfast.
“The day-after breakfast.” She plasters on a smile. “For the wedding party. And out-of-town guests.”
Which you are neither.
The words hang unspoken between us.
I smile politely back. “Got it.”
So Hattie’s mom doesn’t like me. Not ideal, but I’ve survived worse. And, honestly, all that matters is how Hattie feels. So I won’t be anything but polite and respectful to her mom.
Unless Hillary Mercier is a bitch to my girl.
“So she needs to get up,” her mom says firmly. “Now. Or she’ll be late.”
Would Hattie being late to the post-wedding-hangover-brunch be so bad? Does she really need to be there at all?
I fight the urge to look back over my shoulder at Hattie. Yesterday took a lot out of her. And I honestly don’t know if our night together helped her recover or depleted her more.
I know she’s exhausted, and if it were up to me, she’d sleep until noon.
But I’m this woman’s guest—even if I’ve overstayed my welcome—so I concede with a nod.
“I’ll let her know.”
The look of surprise on her face as I shut the door in it tells me she expected to be let in, but that’s happening over my dead body.
This space and the night Hattie and I shared in it belongs to no one else.
I flip the bolt for good measure and turn back to the bed.
Hattie hasn’t moved.
I sigh.
I fucking hate to wake her.
She looks so goddamn beautiful. So peaceful, bathed in sunlight.
The morning sun makes the copper tub in the corner blaze, and an idea blooms.
If she has to wake up, at least I can make it good for her.
I choose a Community Coffee Mardi Gras King Cake pod for the Keurig and kick it off. Then I cross to the tub and turn on the taps. The gush of water in the copper tub beats and echoes like a steel drum. When I look up from testing the water temperature, Hattie is squinting at me from her pillow.
“Are you going to take a bath?” she croaks.
God, she’s so fucking cute.
“No,” I tell her with a grin. “You are.”
Even though she’s still sleepy-eyed, her face registers surprise.
I move back to the Keurig and Hattie rolls over to watch me.
“You made coffee?” She sounds more alert, and my grin grows.
“I’m making you coffee.”
When I don’t hear anything, I glance over my shoulder, wondering if she’s fallen back asleep.
But, no. She’s now propped up against the headboard, covers tucked under her arms, her hair swept over one deliciously bare shoulder.
She is a fucking vision.
And it’s more than her luscious shape or her ivory skin or her cinnamon-tinted hair I want to bury my nose in—it's the look she’s giving me that grabs me by the soul.
I want to tell her so. “You look so bea—”
“I LOVE YOU!” she shouts over me.
Mouth still open, I stare.
I’ll be damned.
I should’ve guessed that the soul-grabbing look was love. What else could it be? I’ve probably been stumbling around with that look on my face for weeks.
But before I can say any of this, Hattie groans and pulls the covers over her head. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud!” she wails.
I’m at her side in two strides. “Hattie, honey—”
“OH MY GOD, I’VE RUINED EVERYTHING!”
With one knee on the bed, I tug at a corner of the blanket, but she just jerks it back.
I can’t help it. I laugh. I’m fucking elated.
Not because she’s freaking out and doing her best dime store ghost impression, but because she loves me.
Hattie Mercier loves me.
And then I screw up. “Hattie—Baby—”
“BABYYY?!” she howls. “HAVE I FUCKED UP THAT BAD? YOU’RE BACK TO CALLING ME BABY?!”
“No. Nooo.” I vow through my laughter. She’s left me no choice. I climb on top of her and stretch out, flattening us both.
Her breathing downshifts immediately.
“You’re lying on top of me,” she pants from under the covers.
“I am,” I say, keeping the laughter from my voice. “Because I need your attention.”
Silence.
Then—
“Why?”
“Because I need to tell you something important.”
She groans. “Are you going to tell me that we're moving too fast? That you want to break up with me because I’m such a weirdo?”
My hands find her blanketed arms and I grip them tight. “Nope.”
Silence. Then—
“You’re not?”
“I’m not. Can you lower the covers so I can see your face?”
For a long moment, she doesn’t move, and then she meets me halfway, lowering the blankets until her eyes peek above them.
“Good enough.” I grin down at her. “So. Is it true?”
She blinks. “Is what true?”
Even though my smile turns wicked, my heart gallops in my chest. I wonder if she can feel it. I hope so.
“You said you loved me. Is that true?”
Hattie squeezes her eyes shut and draws in a shaky breath. “Yes.”
Can she feel the way my body just relaxed? I hope that too.
“Hattie. Look at me.”
Wincing, she opens her eyes. “What?”
I’m smiling down to my toes. “I love you, too.”
Her brows leap. “You do?!”
“I swear, I do.”
She frowns. “How can you be sure?”
I bark an incredulous laugh. “How can you be sure?”
Hattie snorts. “I’m sure because I can’t stop myself from saying it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“I love you. See? I can’t stop from saying it either.”
Her narrowed eyes are skeptical, but she does me the courtesy of pulling the covers down from the rest of her face.
“When would you have said it? I mean, if I hadn’t blurted it first?”
I shrug, smiling down at her. “I could’ve said it last night. A thousand different times. But if you need proof, your mom banged on the door this morning, ready to barge in. I wasn’t about to let her.”
Her eyes snap wide.
“That’s one way of saying I love you.” I nod toward the filling tub. “Another way is with a cup of coffee and a hot bath. So, technically, I said it first.”
I start to push myself off the bed—I need to shut off the water—but before I clear the mattress, Hattie grabs me by the robe’s lapels and gives me a little shake.
“As soon as I’ve brushed my teeth, I’m kissing the hell out of you.”
She keeps her word.
And the only thing in the world that stops me from ending that kiss by tossing her back on the bed is the threat of her mother returning to bang on the door.
Instead, I hold her hand while she steps over the high wall of the copper tub and sinks in. She leans back and closes her eyes with a moan.
“This is the best way to wake up.”
With her neck long and her hair falling over the edge of the tub, she could bring any man in history to his knees.
Which means I’m the luckiest man of all time.
But I can’t keep staring at her. So I fix her coffee instead. Extra cream and extra sugar.
“Hattie…” I murmur her name, holding out the mug.
She peels her eyes open and a lazy smile spreads over her face. “I was wrong.” She reaches her hands out of the water and takes it from me. “This is the best way to wake up.”
She takes a sip. “Mmm. This is perfect.”
Maybe it’s the hot water, but her cheeks flush. She takes another sip. Then—
“Beck?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“I could get used to this.” She sounds almost shy.
I sink down into a squat by the side of the tub and peel one of her hands away from the mug.
“Hell, yeah.”
Her smile is epic. “I love it when you say that.”
I laugh and squeeze her hand.
She glances at the cottage’s door and wrinkles her nose. “What did my mom say when you answered the door?”
I scratch my jaw. “Well, I don’t think she was thrilled to see me.”
“Dressed like that?” Wicked humor turns her eyes to half-moons. “I would have paid money to see her face. God, I can’t wait to tell Margaret.”
“You’ve told me that she’s always waking you up. Maybe she’ll stop if there’s a chance I’ll be there to answer the door,” I say with a shrug.
“Um, yes, please.”
I check my watch. “I should get dressed.” But I don’t move. I think about her all the time, but I’ve never pictured her soaking in the tub. Clearly, my imagination is slacking. The sight of her like this is better than any fantasy.
And I don’t want to leave her.
“When can I see you again?” I ask.
Her eyes warm. “I can come to the farm tomorrow. Bring lunch for you and your dad.”
I nod. “I’d like that.” But it’s not enough. “Can you pack a bag and stay the night?”
God, her smile is enough to knock me on my ass.
“I think that can be arranged.”
I lean over the side of the tub and kiss her. “It’s a date.”
I kiss her again, a long, savoring kiss that builds until we’re both breathing hard and one sleeve of my robe is soaked.
I pull away and catch Hattie’s mug before it drops into the water. “Right,” I say, panting. “I should probably get dressed and leave you to your bath.”
Flushed and a little dazed, Hattie nods. “Yeah… Yeah. I should hurry or Mom will freak.”
We are focused and disciplined for the next thirty minutes until Hattie asks me how she looks.
She’s wearing a rusty red shirt dress, belted at the waist. The deep color contrasts with her skin so well, I want to devour her like a slice of red velvet cake. The sharp collar opens to a seductive V at her cleavage, and the tie at her waist makes my hands itch to run my hands over her curves.
“That dress is my kryptonite,” I say hoarsely.
Hattie preens. “I made it.” She turns to show me the back and the way the skirt flares over her hips and kisses the back of her knees.
“It’s fucking gorgeous.”
“It has pockets.” She tucks her hands inside in demonstration.
“I’m impressed.” I grab the belt at her waist and gently pull her to me, then give the belt a little tug. “I like this part a lot.”
I run a finger along the edge of the collar, skimming her skin. “This too.” I peel the collar back and plant a kiss on her clavicle.
Her breath hitches.
I kiss my way up her neck until I reach her earlobe and suck it into my mouth. She shivers.
“I-I’m going to be late,” she rasps.
I growl my disappointment. But she’s right. I pull away but take her hand.
When we leave the sanctuary of the little cottage, sadness is like a bee-sting. Hattie looks at the cottage over her shoulder, and I know she feels it too.
I squeeze her hand.
We’re quiet as we follow the path to the pool on our way to the big house. Heading back toward other people is jarring.
And it feels wrong to know I’m leaving her to face them alone.
“Should I crash the breakfast?” I ask when we reach the back porch.
Hattie’s smiling, but it’s subdued. She shakes her head. “Margaret and Merrick won’t mind, but my parents and Grandma Eloise would crap themselves.”
I chuckle and pull her into my arms. “I love how funny you are.” I kiss her once and cup her cheek. “I love you, Hattie.”
Saying it gives me a rush of rightness. For a moment, it blunts the ache of leaving her.
Her breath quickens. “I love you, too.”
Yeah, I want to stay with her today. All day. I want to walk in with her and dare her family to bat an eye at us. I want to spend the day doing whatever she wants to do. I want to sleep beside her tonight.
Be inside her again tonight.
“Will you call me later?” I ask, bargaining for what I can get.
Hattie grins. “Of course.”
“And I’ll see you tomorrow?”
She nods. “I’ll bring poboys and an overnight bag.”
I laugh, suddenly feeling better. “Okay. I like the sound of that.”
She rises up on her toes and kisses me. “Until tomorrow.”
I watch her climb the steps of the grand house and disappear inside. I’m already anxious to talk to her later.
But she doesn’t call.
I wake up Monday morning to four texts she sent at 1:02 a.m.
Hattie: I CAN’T COME OVER.
I HAVE TO DO SOMETHING.
IT MIGHT TAKE A WHILE.
I’M SORRY.
And I don’t see Hattie for thirty-two days.