Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BECK
I’m pacing outside of security at the Lafayette Regional Airport, waiting for Hattie’s flight to land, when my phone rings.
It’s Griffin.
I should’ve guessed.
I answer. “Hey.”
“I can’t believe you won’t let us help you,” Grif launches in. “That you’d rather sell everything than let us pitch in.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes. “Putting a second mortgage on your house is not pitching in, Grif. It’s risking your home along with ours. I won’t do it.”
Of all the possible negative outcomes, this one’s the worst. That we’ll hit a hard patch, I’ll default on the loans, and we’ll lose everything.
All of us.
It fucking scares the hell out of me.
I can’t be the one to risk the homes and fortunes of the rest of my family. No way.
“Beck, if you do what I think you’re going to do with your vodka business, Kennedy and I stand to make money, not lose it.”
He sounds so sure.
Meanwhile I’m sure of nothing.
“Grif, I’d have to borrow even more to get the distillery off the ground. It’s too much.” I shake my head. “It’s too risky. And I don’t see any other way. I really don’t. Selling to Steadman is the only path that makes sense.”
Grif groans in frustration. “There has to be something else we can do. Have you thought about crowdsourcing?”
Honestly, I have thought of crowdsourcing. But when I think about asking the world at-large for that kind of money, I want to scrape off my skin. How could I dare?
“It’s too much, Grif. Seriously, I could never raise that kind of money just by asking for it.”
“So don’t try to raise all of it,” my brother argues. “Just try to raise what you need for the distillery. We can—”
“You don’t look happy to see me.” Hattie’s voice cuts through my brother’s, my money woes, and my beating heart.
When I see her, electricity zings through me from head to toe. I drop my phone. I don’t fucking care. She’s still a good four feet away, looking unsure.
Was she always this beautiful? Even wearing that worried look?
God, she’s—
“Hattie.” I open my arms and take a step toward her just as she rushes to me. We collide. I wrap her in my arms and squeeze her so damn tight as all things Hattie rush back to me.
Her apricot smell.
The tickle of her hair on my jaw.
The soft crush of her body against my chest.
Love detonates in my heart and—I swear—it’s almost as lethal as a bomb. She could blow me to bits, and every piece of me would be hers.
This woman owns me. She owns me. I am completely at her mercy.
“OH GOD,” she nearly yells. “I MISSED YOU SO MUCH I THOUGHT I’D DIE OF IT. I MAY NOT BE ABLE TO EVER STOP HUGGING YOU!”
The stream of her fellow passengers has to part around us. We’re practically blocking the escalators. People are watching. One or two of them might even have their phones out.
I don’t care.
I tuck my face into the crook of her neck and breathe in my Hattie.
“You smell so fucking good.” My throat is so tight, it comes out a growl. “I missed you so much, it was like organ failure.”
Then I’m shaking my head and pulling away because I have to make her understand. “You can’t—” I only manage the two words when she grabs my collar and yanks me back into the vice of her hug.
And that’s fine. That’s just fine with me. I’ll speak the words I need her to hear into her hair.
“You can’t leave like that—no word, no warning—ever again.” I squeeze her hard. “Never again. Do you understand me?”
I feel her nod, but all I hear is the wet stifling of sobs, so I just hold her. I don’t know how long we stand there, holding on for dear life, but when she relaxes her grip, I relax mine, and neither of us lets go.
When we make room to pull back and look at each other, Hattie isn’t the only one with wet lashes.
She sniffles. “I knew I was going to cry. I came prepared.” She reaches into the pocket of the jacket she’s wearing and pulls out a handkerchief. For something so old fashioned, it looks brand new. Crisp linen with… wait a minute…
“A-are those sweet potatoes?”
She laughs wetly. “They are.”
I yank the hankie from her grip and study the delicate needlework. “Did you do this?”
She snorts, grabs the linen back, and wipes her eyes. “No. But it’s custom made. I had it done at Viv Couture. One of the sewists there does amazing embroidery. I got a set of five. One for you, your dad, your brother, his husband, and me.”
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a pristine square before handing it over to me.
I swallow laughter like a shot of Jack. I have no idea what Viv Couture is. All I know is that she came home with a one-of-a-kind gift for me and my family.
I don’t care that it’s a handkerchief and I’ve never carried one in my life. No one’s ever done anything like that for me. I’ll keep it in my pocket until the day I die. Hell, I wanna be buried with it.
Even though she’s said she missed me and I believe her, I like holding the proof in my hand.
“I love it. Pop is going to like his too.”
Especially if we have to sell the farm, I don’t add.
And only then do I remember Grif and my phone. I scan the floor at our feet and snatch up my cell.
Griffin hung up. Of course he did.
But there are two texts waiting for me.
Griffin: And you were worried she’d left you?! Damn. Kennedy and I could hear her shouting about how much she’d missed you from over here!
Griffin: Our conversation isn’t over, btw. Go be with your girl. We’ll talk tomorrow.
I manage not to roll my eyes as I tuck my phone in my back pocket.
“You checked bags?”
Hattie nods. “Bags and my sewing machine.”
I blink.
She took her sewing machine.
It’s another gut punch. A reminder that she knew she’d be leaving for a long time. She knew and she didn’t tell me.
I want to be able to let that go.
The truth is I’m not there yet.
But I’m so fucking glad she’s home.
I take her by the hand, a claiming, and we head down.
Twenty minutes later, she’s in the passenger seat of my truck with her sewing machine stashed at her feet, her bags in the bed. She’s beaming at me, and I realize what’s different about her.
“You got some sun while you were gone.”
“Did I?” She flips down the visor to check herself in the mirror. She blinks at her reflection. “Whoa. It looks like I’m wearing bronzer.” She angles her gaze. “And got highlights.”
A grin splits my face. “You didn’t notice?”
Shrugging, she flips the visor shut. “I guess I was outside more than usual. And I walked a lot. And went to Balboa Park. And one afternoon, my group mates and I went to the zoo.”
Not proud of it, but I’m jealous of all of the missed moments. The people who got to watch her enjoying San Diego. How they had her for almost as long as I did before she left.
I can’t get that time back, but maybe she’ll share her memories with me.
We pull out of the parking lot. “Tell me about it. Tell me everything.” Then I find my manners. “If you want to. Are you hungry? Should we get food first?”
Hattie surprises me by turning in the front seat to face me. Her hand lands on my forearm. “I want to tell you everything. And I am too hungry to think. Can we get pizza?”
“Pizza Village okay?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Dine in or carry out?” I ask.
Hattie snorts. “Carry out. I’ve been surrounded by thousands of people all day. The only person I want to see or hear or touch—” she squeezes my forearm and my nerves thrill, “is you.”
An idea takes shape. Holding her hand, I call in an extra-large cheese, black olive, and mushroom—Hattie’s choice—and the order is ready when we reach the legendary pizza joint on Lafayette’s northside.
The sun is low in the sky when we get back to the farm, and I ask Hattie to stay in the truck.
I know Pop will make himself scarce, but I want real privacy.
I head inside and grab a few supplies. Then I drive Hattie all the way across the fields to the line of trees at the south end of our farm.
Javier and his crew have left for the day, so it’s just us and the gathering sunset.
As soon as I cut the engine and open the truck’s door, all we can hear is the wind.
“We’re gonna have a sunset picnic.”
Coyness tilts the corners of her hazel eyes. “So that’s why you brought the sleeping bag,” she teases, eyeing the bed of the truck through the back dash.
I shrug, playing along. “I mean, the sun’s going down. The temperature will drop soon.”
“And is that—” she eyes the cardboard box I tossed into the truck bed “an air mattress?”
I pin her with my stare. “Only if you want it to be.”
Hattie visibility swallows. “Oh, I want it to be.”
“Hang here a sec.” I fire up the truck’s engine again and leave it running when I get out.
Hattie’s bags get relocated on the ground.
At least it’s dry. After I open and shake out the new air mattress, I spread it out.
Then I slide open the cab’s rear window and hold up the power cord. “Care to do the honors?”
Her eyes shine. “Sure.”
She takes the plug from me, and in about five minutes, we have a bed for two.
“Any objections to pizza in bed?” I ask.
“Pizza in bed sounds like the best thing ever.”
I put her in charge of the Bluetooth speaker while I spread the sleeping bag over the mattress, Olivia Dean’s The Art of Loving settles gently around us.
I set the box of pizza and the mini cooler I packed onto the sleeping bag and beckon Hattie to me.
“I love this part,” she mutters as I bracket my hands around her waist and lift her onto the truck bed. She scrambles onto her knees and then climbs onto the mattress. “It reminds me of the day we met.”
A smile splits my face as I climb up beside her. The air mattress is surprisingly firm. “I just hope you’re happier now then you were that day.”
Hattie rolls her eyes. “Oh, man. Everything has changed for me.”
I grab the pizza box and open it between us. “Yeah?”
She helps herself to a slice before taking a bite, shutting her eyes, and moaning softly.
God, I missed her so much.