Chapter 5
Adrienne
The Slade Ranch glows like we bottled summer and strung it from the Aspens.
Bulbs swing between trees and the barn, music hums low, and the bonfire is already rolling.
The grandkids run barefoot in the grass, faces already sticky with marshmallow, dogs weaving between lawn chairs trying to lick the kids' fingers clean.
Someone’s set out half the bakery case on folding tables; the peach cobbler is already missing a corner, which means Uncle Drake got here early.
I breathe it in, savoring the smell of the fire and pretending my pulse isn’t doing that stupid skip every time headlights wash the drive.
“Look at you.” Brooklyn intercepts me before I even make it to the food table, thrusting a beer into my hand. “I hear you and the boys are planning an anniversary party for your parents. How’s that going?”
“Well, it's supposed to be a surprise, so good to see that Axel is telling everyone.”
“He said that’s why you’re running point. That and the fact that you’re always the bossy triplet in charge.”
I snort. “I’m not in charge.”
“Please,” she says, deadpan. “You’ve been running point on all three of you since you came out of the womb. But seriously, if you need my help, just let me know.”
“I appreciate it, but Axel and Aiden are helping, and I’m not letting them get out of it.”
Milly drifts up with a glass of wine, Kent at her side. “Adrienne’s been bossing us since she could talk. Don’t fight it.”
I open my mouth to fire back, but my attention keeps slipping past them, toward the driveway, the gaps in the crowd, the shadows pooling near the barn. My heart does this traitorous leap with every pair of headlights, every tall frame that isn’t him.
Stop it. You’re not looking for him.
“Relax,” Brooklyn murmurs, eyes sharp on me. “He’s always late.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” Her smirk is wicked.
And then the fire pops, sparks shooting into the air, and the crowd parts. There he is.
Scotty moves through the yard like he’s got all night, broad shoulders catching firelight, hat tugged low, stride unhurried. He claps Ranger on the back, tips his chin to Trent, and says something that makes Dolly throw her head back and laugh.
Then his gaze slides across the yard and locks on mine. The noise, the lights, all of it fades down to a hum. I look away first, because if I don’t, everyone in this yard will see exactly how badly I want him.
Brooklyn makes a smug little noise and drifts off, sparing me from elbowing her. Milly hides a laugh in her wine. And then he’s in front of me, close enough that I catch the smell of the fresh beer on his breath.
“Evening, Barbie.” His voice is low, pitched just for me.
“Evening, Scotty.” I arch a brow, lifting the bottle. “Late as usual.”
“The horses had some opinions on dinner tonight.” His mouth tips slowly. “You look… good.” His eyes do a slow, lazy perusal over my body, causing my skin to break out into goosebumps.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t purposely wear a long dress with a slit that goes halfway up my thigh with him in mind.
It offers just a little teasing glimpse of skin when I move just right…
like right now. I step just so, the slit fluttering open, immediately drawing his attention away from my face.
“Don’t I always?” I cock my head, offering a coy grin.
“Mmm, trouble.” He shakes his head, taking another long pull of beer. “Like a poisonous snake.”
“Careful,” I warn, pulse thudding. “I might bite.”
His eyes stay on mine, and instead of laughing or looking away, he takes the opportunity to look at me with more lust in his eyes than I’ve seen in a long time. “Like some trouble I wouldn’t mind walking straight into.”
Heat slides under my skin, quick and dizzy. “You eat yet?” I ask, reaching for steady ground.
“Not yet.” His gaze still lingers. “You still coming Sunday?”
“Eight a.m.,” I confirm.
“Yes, ma’am.” The corner of his mouth curves. “Your Mustang’ll be glad to see you.”
Before I can say anything else, one of the younger cousins yells my name, saving me from collapsing into his arms and begging him to take me home. I sigh. “Duty calls.”
Scotty leans in a fraction, voice dropping. “Walk with me after.”
It’s not a question. I nod, casual like I’m not already buzzing. I hurry over to where I’m needed, my eyes constantly flicking back to watch him.
After I finish up, I walk back over to where everyone’s gathered, but I don’t see him. I walk around the fire to where a rough bench sits under the stars, far enough from the noise that I can breathe and spot him. He pats the space beside him.
“Saved you a spot.”
I sit, shoulder brushing his. The fire throws sparks up into the night sky, and for a moment, it feels like the two of us are the only ones here.
“You really think Axel can handle the fireworks tonight?” he asks, smirking.
I laugh. “Not a chance, but I made sure Ranger and Tyler don’t leave him alone with anything that could blow the place up.”
He chuckles, leaning back, the firelight painting his jaw with shadows. My gaze drags, cataloging every line I shouldn’t be staring at.
Dangerous, I think. So damn dangerous.
The bench is rough-sawn and warm from the fire. Our shoulders touch, separate, touch again with the faintest shift of breath. He’s relaxed back like he’s got nowhere else to be, thumb tracing absent circles along the bottle’s label. I pretend not to watch his hand and fail spectacularly.
“Remember when Ranger tried to jump the creek on a four-wheeler?” he asks, eyes on the fire. “Swore physics didn’t apply to him?”
“He landed in the mud like a sack of flour and then panicked when he realized he was going to have to call his dad.” I smile, settling into the easy cadence that comes naturally between us.
We laugh, recalling memories from our childhood and easily talking about the most recent drama that’s happening in town.
The night hums, a moth butting itself silly against the lantern over the barn door. I hear one of the kids yell a tearful, “But I’m not tired!” which every parent knows is code for I’m going to pass out in three minutes.
I tip my head back, the Aspen crowns fluttering slightly from the wind. My eyes scan the inky sky, looking for constellations. “That one’s Cassiopeia,” I say, pointing. “Vain queen. Liked to brag.”
“Sounds familiar,” he says, lazily.
“Watch it.” I elbow him, then point again. “Perseus. And over there, we have the Big Dipper.”
“Little Dipper,” he says, pointing toward the sister constellation.
“That’s right, that one was always your favorite. What is it that you’d always say about it? It’s not the size, it’s the motion in the ocean?” I giggle, his eyes narrowing at me.
“You’re still a fucking brat, you know that?”
“Proudly.” I look back up at those stars before I say something else. “And that one is—”
“Trouble,” he murmurs.
I lower my arm. He isn’t looking at the sky.
We both sit there for what feels like minutes, but I know it’s just time standing still, like it always does when I’m around him. I turn my gaze back up to the sky, silence settling back between us.
“Do you remember our first kiss?” I ask without looking at him.
He chokes on a laugh and coughs into his fist. “What—our only kiss?”
I shrug. “Semantics.”
His knee bumps mine. “Of course I remember. Spin the bottle. Old hayloft. Your cousins cheated.”
“They did not.”
“Milly nudged that bottle with her toe like a pro. I still owe her for that.”
“She did?” He nods with a laugh.
“You were thirteen.” He groans, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Jesus. I was fifteen. Who let us play that game?”
“Every bored teenager ever played that game,” I nudge his shoulder. “Relax. It was nothing, stop acting like it was traumatizing.”
His voice drops, low and rough. “Wasn’t just nothin’.”
Heat spills through me, slow and molten. I pretend to study the sky again so he can’t watch the way I react. The memory sharpens: his mouth careful, the hay dust floating like glitter, our friends hooting below us while my heart broke the sound barrier in my chest.
“It was my first,” I admit quietly.
His breath catches. “First…kiss?”
“Mhmm.” I angle a look at him, letting the admission hang. “You never knew that, did you?”
He stares at me. “No. You didn’t act like it was your first. Hay dust in your hair. You didn’t blink.”
I reach over and steal his bottle of beer, lifting it slowly so my wrist brushes his fingers. “You were terrible, by the way.”
He makes an outraged sound. “I was not.”
“You were,” I say, absolutely lying. I take a small sip, the cold bite of beer refreshing. “You kissed me like you thought I might break.”
His mouth quirks. “You looked like you might. Big eyes staring at me the entire time.”
“I was thirteen, nobody told me you were supposed to close them.” I set the bottle back into his palm and watch his hand swallow the neck. “Maybe we should try again. You know… see if we’ve improved.”
He tips his head back to the stars and groans, a low, unguarded sound that slides right down my spine. “Fuck, Adrienne.”
“What?” I play innocent.
He drags a hand slowly over the rough stubble of his jaw, breathes out slowly like he’s counting to ten. “You know damn well what.”
I cross my legs, and the slit in my dress parts like a curtain. Night air skims my thigh; his gaze follows, hot enough to burn. I let the skirt fall more open, my knee turning toward him like my body has its own agenda.
“You’re baiting me,” he mutters.
“Am I?” I glance down at my own leg as if I’m surprised to find it there. “Seems like your eyes are fishing on their own.”
He drags his attention back up with visible effort, and I feel that like a thumbprint on my skin. “You’re playing with fire,” he says.
“We’re sitting next to a bonfire.” I tip my head. “Feels appropriate.”