Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
When Decker heard laughter in the stairwell, he got up and grabbed the oven mitts.
The conversation with his dad had wrecked him—fanning hope in the face of an impossible situation was the worst kind of hell—and Willa didn't need to see it.
The door opened, and she and Ava burst in, all bright eyes and big smiles. Willa’s hair was loose, her cheeks flushed from cocktails and a walk across the town square, and she was just so damn pretty, he had to look away.
Though why it mattered at this point, he didn't know. His secret was out: He was crazy about her.
As he pulled the pie from the oven, Willa came up to him.
“That looks delicious.” Her lips were as juicy as if she'd just bitten into a ripe peach, and he wanted to lick them and taste the sweetness. “I saw all the pies downstairs. Do you think we have enough?”
He put the last one of the night into the oven. “We’re short about a hundred, but we’ll see how many we get in the morning.” His gaze darted away. There was no way he could hide this…this vulnerability. His dad had cracked him open, and his feelings were spilling out everywhere.
Some of the cherry filling bubbled over, and she swiped it with a finger. “Ow. Hot.”
“Funny how that happens,” his dad said, joining them at the counter. His gaze snagged on the pie. He went still. “What the hell is that?”
“A pie,” Ava said helpfully. “Looks like cherry. My favorite.”
His dad didn’t look away. “No, I mean the flowers.”
Why was he so angry? “That’s my signature. I do that on every pie.”
“Why?” his dad asked.
Tension gripped the room at his dad’s aggressive tone.
“What’s the big deal?” Decker grew concerned. Had he done something wrong? “Why’re you freaking out over it?”
“Answer me.”
“It’s just a thing I do. I don’t understand why you’re pissed about a ring of sunflowers.”
“I’m asking how you came up with the idea.”
With all eyes on him, Decker figured he could tell the truth. He was a grown-ass adult. He didn’t need to keep secrets. Besides, the book was only meant to make a lonely kid feel better. “Remember when I got lost during the Wild West Days parade?”
His dad gave a curt nod, fingers white where they clutched the counter.
“You told me to stay where you last saw me so you could find me. I was sitting on a bench in the square when this old woman sat down next to me and asked if I was lost.” The lines around his dad’s eyes tightened.
“No, it wasn't like that. She wasn’t creepy. She asked me some questions, we talked, and she gave me a recipe book.”
His dad’s jaw muscle popped. Decker knew him, knew he wanted to ask questions, but for whatever reason, he remained quiet.
“I remember it,” Ava said. “It was handwritten, with drawings everywhere. It was lovely. Really well-loved.”
“You knew some stranger gave my kid a gift and didn’t tell me?” his dad asked.
“Dad,” Decker stepped forward. “Don’t talk to her like that. She was the one who helped me make the recipes.”
But he should’ve known he didn’t need to save Ava. “I didn’t know how he got the book.”
“I’m sorry.” His dad looked at her, a lot more than apology in his eyes. Maybe a little panic? The man was hard to read.
“Anyhow, all the pies have the sunflowers.” Decker pointed to the circle of them around the rim and the larger one in the center. “I’ve just always done it.”
“Why would she give a kid a handwritten recipe book?” his dad asked.
“I have no idea,” Ava said. “We made a lot of the dishes, but the only thing he really enjoyed were the pies.”
He studied his dad. “These are the ones I give my O-line every year.”
“Do you still have the book?” his dad asked.
“Yeah.”
“I want to see it.”
“It’s at home,” Decker said. “In LA. I’ll send pictures when I get back.”
His dad nodded, expressionless.
Ava stepped closer, studying the crust. “You know what’s interesting?” She lifted his dad’s T-shirt. “These look just like the sunflower tattoo on your chest.”
His dad’s gaze didn’t leave the pie. “It was my wife’s favorite flower.”
Hurt flashed in Ava’s eyes before she could hide it. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence?” She grabbed her purse from the table. “Okay, time for me to get home. Wild West Days starts tomorrow.”
“I’ll drive you,” his dad said.
“No need.”
“You’ve been drinking.” His dad followed her to the stairs.
“I’ll take a cab.”
“No. I’ll drive you.” He entered the vestibule behind her.
“I don’t want you to drive me.” The door closed, and the two of them headed down the stairs, still arguing.
“What just happened?” Willa asked.
“I have no idea.”
A trace of citrus and sugar clung to her, but underneath it was all Willa, and it broke him. He wasn't strong enough to resist this woman. He reached for her, hugging like her life depended on it.
When really, it was his.
“Rough night?” she asked.
“Birdie called me ‘that man.’” The words came out rougher than intended, his mouth close to her soft, silky hair.
Her arms slid around him, holding on like she understood what he needed without him asking.
And his body reacted before his mind could catch up.
His shoulders dropped. His grip tightened.
Something inside him, something that had been pulled tight for so long he didn’t even think about it anymore, finally gave way.
Because everything he’d ever yearned for as a child was right there in his arms.
He might’ve worked hard to suppress it with stats and records, but it had never really gone away. He knew that because something would trigger it—sitting alone on a plane surrounded by teammates who were talking, laughing, connecting with each other.
Sometimes, alone in his hotel room, it threatened to pull him under. And what would he do? He’d think about stats. About what record he was on track to beat.
And it shut down the noise in his heart.
She shifted, her cheek pressing against his chest, her palms warm and solid against his back, like she was holding him together.
The ache he’d spent years outrunning evaporated.
Because this—her—was what he’d been missing all along.
The club had been temporary—and cruel. His dad’s house had never felt like his—they’d moved in when Decker was eight and had just discovered sports.
In LA, he’d lived in four different places but barely spent time in his current one.
He hadn’t even bought the furniture. His decorator had done all that.
It was like staying at a high-end beach-front rental.
He’d never had a home—until he stepped into Willa's arms.
“I need you.” He’d never said those words to anyone in his life.
“I’m here.”
“No.” She didn’t get it. “I need you.” Abruptly, he pulled away. “Fuck the pie.” He turned off the stove and grabbed her hand.
“Decker.” She had to hurry to keep up with him.
Once in his room, he lifted her and tossed her onto the bed. With her hair in her eyes and lipstick licked off, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.
She shifted restlessly. “Someone missed me.”
He pulled off her cowboy boots, one at a time, letting them drop onto the floor. Then, he lunged forward, bracing his hands at either side of her head. “Not someone. Me. I missed you.” He swept the hair out of her eyes. “And I’m going to make sure you know it.”
Nothing turned him on more than the hunger in her eyes when she watched him yank off his T-shirt. Heat burned in her eyes when he unbuckled his belt and whipped the leather out of the loopholes. It landed on the wood floor with a clunk, the sound heightened by the tension in the room.
“Come here,” she whispered breathily.
He untied his boots and kicked them off, then pushed his jeans and boxer briefs down.
“Oh, wait. Wait, wait, wait.” She hiked up on her elbows.
“Look at you.” She licked her lips. “I swear, you’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen.
” She sat up on her knees and ran her hands over his abs and pecs.
“I’ve been wondering about all this ink.
” Lightly, she scratched her fingernails across his skin.
“Are you going to tell me about that number twelve now?”
“It was Zach Callahan’s jersey number. He’s retired now, but I admired the hell out of him.”
“And what about these numbers?” She traced her fingers over his ribcage, teasing a spray of goose bumps.
His dick was hard, and all he could think about was lifting her T-shirt, but he kept himself in check. “Coordinates.” Because just her fingers on him was somehow enough.
“To?”
“A piece of land I own.”
“Really? Where?”
He hesitated. “I don't want anybody to know.”
“Okay, but if you can’t trust your road trip buddy by now, I don’t know what to tell you.”
He was so gone for her, he'd tell her anything. “You know my dad’s got land in Willow Basin, right?”
“Yes, honey buns. I’ve been there, remember?”
“Well, he owns a lot of it. And each of us gets a hundred and twenty acres.
You've got the whole Teton face and the river in your backyard, and it feels like the rest of the world just— stopped.” He could see how much his city girl disliked the idea of living so far from civilization.
“But you're also ten minutes from a gas station and twenty minutes from town.”
“Mm.” Her fingertips trailed down his stomach, and she gripped his cock. “You're a lucky guy.” She fell back onto the mattress. “And now, you can make me a lucky lady.”
She was trying to keep the mood light, because he’d made it clear they couldn’t be more than this—a few weeks of fun.
But it was so much more than that—always had been.
And it was time to let her know.
His hands slid under her shirt, palms grazing warm, smooth skin. He lifted the fabric slowly, drawing it over her head before tossing it aside.
A pink lace bra cupped her breasts, and the surge of desire got tangled up with something deeper. Something unbearably tender.
He reached behind her and flicked the clasp. “Take it off.”
Her gaze held his as she slipped the straps down her arms and let the delicate fabric fall away.