Chapter 45
THATCHER
Something about watching that woman walk away from me hits me hard every damn time.
It’s not fear. Not exactly.
It’s this deep, primal thing—like my bones are wired to her, and any distance between us tugs on something I can’t explain.
Like my body just knows she’s mine, and it doesn’t like the space.
But I also know she needs her freedom.
Her independence.
I can’t hover like some damn guard dog, even if every part of me wants to.
I want to watch her every second.
Want to follow her, ride shotgun, stand between her and the rest of the world just in case anything or anyone even thinks about hurting her again.
“Come on, boss,” Mack says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Gus is here with the shingles. We can patch the roof while Tim and Lonny install the new genny.”
I grunt my acknowledgment but don’t move.
Not yet.
Not until I see her open the truck door—the one I gave her the keys to the day she started.
The sawmill name and logo are stamped on the side, and I like knowing she’s riding in something that marks her as ours. As mine.
She’s got her leggings tucked into those willow painted boots I bought her, the ones she made that cute little squeak over when she first tried them on.
Her thermal’s snug under the sawmill tee, and her hair’s in a messy bun like she’s got shit to do—and still somehow manages to look like the sweetest sin I’ve ever seen.
Adorable. Sexy. Capable.
And mine.
The taste of bubblegum still lingers on my tongue from our kiss.
Sweet. Special. Her.
See she tries to act like it’s no big deal—like I kiss her like that every day.
Like it doesn’t knock the breath from my lungs each time.
But I know better. Kisses are a love language and mine say the same things each time.
I need you.
Stay safe.
I trust you.
You’re wanted.
Come back to me.
I’m waiting for you.
I know it’s a lot. Intense. But it’s how I feel.
For the first time in my life, I’m in love.
I haven’t told her yet.
I need to.
I press my lips together and still taste her. And I grin because I found it finally, just the other day.
The source of that tantalizing bubblegum flavor.
It took me a while to figure it out. To find the sweet reason bubblegum clings to her breath in the mornings, why it coats her pillow, and makes me half-hard every damn time I catch a whiff of it.
For days I thought it was candy. Maybe just actual gum.
Hell, I even checked her coat pocket once when she wasn’t looking, thinking she had some kind of sweet tucked away.
Truth is, I can’t get enough of it.
That scent is summertime and sunshine. Days filled with fun and promises.
It’s home. Familiar. It’s her.
Anyway, I finally caught her in the bathroom brushing her teeth, humming to herself like nothing in the world could touch her, and I saw it.
That bright little tube with the cartoon dinosaur on it.
“You’re using kids' toothpaste?” I asked, leaning on the doorframe, smiling like an idiot.
She froze, toothbrush in her mouth, then flushed and nodded.
“I, uh… yeah. It’s the only kind I like. My teeth are sensitive. Everything else is too minty. It makes my eyes water.”
I laughed, stepped in, kissed the damn bubblegum off her lips, and told her I’d buy out the whole store if she wanted me to.
If she liked it, it was good enough for me.
Now? That scent is mine. She is mine.
And I’ll never smell it without thinking of her—barefoot in my bathroom, her hair a mess, eyes sleepy and sweet and full of trust.
Fuck.
I’d bottle it if I could.
Keep it around my neck like a talisman.
Because every time I taste that bubblegum, it’s not just about sweetness. It’s about safety.
It’s about her letting go of her old doubts and fears.
It’s about her trusting me, trusting that she belongs here.
With me.
And it’s with bubblegum on my lips that I stand in the mud, still as stone, my guys watching me like I’m crazy.
I don’t give a fuck.
I don’t move until I see her buckle up, adjust the mirror, and glance back at me through the windshield.
I lift my chin, a little territorial grunt rumbling in my chest when she flashes me that soft smile.
The one that tells me she sees me watching—and she likes it.
Only then do I turn toward the crew, every step heavier than it should be.
Because no matter how much work needs doing today, the only thing I’ll be thinking about is her. Out there in the world. Away from me.
And counting the minutes until she comes back.