Chapter 29 Ginger
Ginger
"Okay, what’s our excuse?" Hayley whispers, hurrying toward Hank and Wren’s porch. Her wedge sandals are adorable, but with the unfinished yard, I’m genuinely worried she’s going to roll an ankle.
I shift the glass bowl of pasta salad to one arm and reach out with the other, in case she faceplants in the dirt.
"It’s gotta be something good. Something tragic but not traumatic. Believable."
I chuckle. "It’s not a big deal."
"We’re forty-five minutes late," she says, already halfway up the steps. "We’ll say we hit traffic."
"On a Sunday?" I raise a brow. "In Timber Forge?"
"Fine. We’ll say…you fell down."
"You want me to lie about an injury?" I ask, incredulous.
"Yes. Say you fell down the stairs and I had to splint your ankle with a spatula."
I stop behind her at the door. From inside, I hear music, ice clinking in glasses, the swell of laughter.
"Why a spatula?"
"Because I panic under pressure, Ginger."
I shake my head, laughing under my breath. It’s only been twelve hours since Hayley’s been back in town and I’m already exhausted—and completely charmed.
"How about the truth? I was working, and you had to change thirty-five times."
She flips her hair like I’ve slandered her. "We’ll say we got lost."
"You grew up here."
"Exactly. It’s suspicious. Keeps ‘em guessing."
She pulls open the storm door, and we walk straight into chaos.
Wren, Josie, Nat, Finn, and Norah are gathered around the kitchen island, laughing and talking. Everyone turns at once.
"Look who finally decided to join the party," Wren calls out, one hand on her hip, the other one occupying one of her twin daughters.
"Ginger fell down the stairs," Hayley blurts.
"With a spatula," I add, mostly because I’m tired and there’s no salvaging this.
"We were being heroic," Hayley adds, kicking the drama up an unnecessary notch. "There was a goose. It got territorial."
"You got attacked by a goose?" Nat asks, squinting like she’s trying to figure out if we’re serious.
"Verbally," Hayley says. "They hiss. It’s very jarring."
Without missing a beat, Norah hands each of us a drink like she hears this nonsense every day. Honestly, with Hayley, she probably does.
I take a first sip and nod appreciatively. "Okay, now gimme that baby."
Wren lifts Amelia off her hip and sets her gently into my arms. The moment she’s in my hold, I feel something settle in my chest. She smells like sunscreen and baby shampoo.
"We were just talking about how none of us have been out in months," Wren says, tucking her hair into a messy knot.
"What we’re saying," Josie cuts in, leaning across the island, "is that we should go out. Like actually out. To Roxy’s."
"Speaking of," Nat says, hopping up to perch on a barstool. "That rooftop bar you posted to your stories looked so cool, Hales."
She pops a cherry tomato from a tray on the counter and chews thoughtfully.
Josie nods, swirling her wine. "Right? And don’t even get me started on their drink menu. I’m still thinking about that raspberry-basil thing. What was it called again, Hales?"
"The Heartbreaker."
"And speaking of heartbreakers—Hayley got up and sang Alone by Heart. Full power stance."
"You did not," Natalie snorts.
"I blacked out. I don’t wanna talk about it," Hayley says, raising her glass to her lips.
"Oh, we’re talking about it," Josie says. "You hit that high note like you were auditioning to shatter glass. Or bust a few eardrums."
Hayley chucks a cucumber slice at her. "Please. The crowd went wild. That one guy almost dropped his mozzarella sticks."
"And then she freaking disappears on me," Josie adds. "One second she’s taking a bow, and the next—"
Hayley elbows her best friend in the side, hard. Josie squeaks and narrows her eyes, rubbing her ribs.
The woosh of the sliding glass door brings Hank, Hudson, and Jasper inside, along with the smell of grilled meat.
"We leave for five minutes and the estrogen levels double," Hudson jokes, heading straight for Finn, who smacks him lightly.
I shift Amelia in my arms and look around—suddenly aware of a familiar figure visible through the kitchen window.
"Hey, Wren," I say, turning slightly. "You want her back for a bit?"
"Sure," Wren says, setting her drink down and opening her arms for the baby. “Will you take these veggies out to the grill? Have Hutch put them on?”
I pass Amelia over carefully, brushing a kiss against her downy head before picking up the plate of asparagus.
Conversation resumes, and I slip out the back door, sudden nerves fluttering my stomach.
The air is cool when I step onto the dim deck. Hutch stands at the railing, one boot propped on the bottom rung. The sizzle of meat and the soft hum of crickets fill the quiet.
The sight of his broad back in that dark waffle-knit shirt makes my stomach tighten. I picture stepping behind him, hands sliding over strong muscles as they flex under my touch. He’s got that Viking lumberjack thing going, but there’s a quiet humility that makes him even harder to ignore.
He straightens at the sound of my steps, that slow, familiar grin spreading as his deep blue eyes find mine. My stupid heart skips—I don’t even try to fight it.
It’s only been a day since I felt him against me, but the ache in my chest says otherwise. That easy confidence, that maddening smirk—everything about him still pulls me in. I can’t even decide what I like most. My brain is practically screaming screw the arrangement.
I try not to drown in the memory of our first night right here, his heat pressed to mine, the way his filthy words lit me up like a Christmas tree.
This fucking ass. Goddamn.
“Hey,” I say.
“Easy, California,” he says when I step forward and set the plate of asparagus down next to the grill. “We both know what happens when we’re out here alone.”
I chuckle out a groan, then meet his eyes, swapping places with him to lean back against the railing. “Just when I think you’re an actual grown-up, you have to go and ruin it by opening your mouth.”
His lips tip up in a lazy half-grin. “Miss me yet?”
It’s no secret that I crave control. In all things. And Hutch makes me lose it. Or maybe he takes it. Either way, I’m finding that I like it. My God, do I like it.
The words are out before I can overthink them. “What if I said yes?”
His brow lifts in surprise, and his eyes flicker with something dangerous and honest before it flits away, and that damn smirk slides back into place. He takes another step closer, damn near caging me in, and I tilt my head way back to look up at him.
His voice is rougher now, a trace of the passion from our last time together creeping back in as he reaches up and lifts a curl of hair off my shoulder. “I’d say you’re lucky my family is on the other side of that glass.”
I drag in a slow breath. To anyone looking out, it’d look like a casual conversation, me half hidden behind his massive frame. Yet I can’t stop the trembling in my body, the insane urge to lean up and press my lips to his. To find out exactly what he means by that.
For a moment, I forget about the BBQ, everyone else, and the rules we put in place. It’s just Hutch and me standing where he first made me come, that familiar, undeniable pull stronger than ever. Neither of us has to say it, but I think we both know that this isn’t over.
Laughter rings out from inside, startling a glance from me in that direction. No one is paying any attention to us, but I put my hand on his chest to push him back a step anyway, worried someone might see and ask more questions I’m not ready to answer.
But the second my fingers touch the cotton of his shirt, his body heat seeping through to my fingertips, my eyes drop to his lips and my hand fists in his shirt instead.
My fingers itch to pull him closer while my brain screams that anyone could be watching us.
But I don’t have to because he steps forward, putting us flush against each other. Dropping his head, he breathes me in.
“God, you smell good,” his voice rumbles out, skittering goosebumps across my skin.
“Mmm,” I hum, our faces inches from one another.
It's then that I realize I am on my way to well and truly fucked over this man. I don’t know why or how, but there it is.
“We can’t,” I manage to stutter out, and he pulls back a fraction to look into my eyes. “Not here.”
“Let’s get out of here, then,” he says, nuzzling his nose against that spot between my neck and shoulder, making my knees weak.
I sigh and push at his chest again. Not hard, but enough to let him know I’m serious. I want him, but we need to be discreet. “It’s a birthday party, Hutch.”
“Jasper Blake is a forty-year-old fucking man,” he growls, making me chuckle. “Pretty sure he won’t miss us.”
“But your siblings will,” I say, hand still on his chest. “Wren for sure will.”
He huffs out a breath, his voice coming out a little desperate, and it’s kind of adorable. “I really am your dirty little secret, aren’t I?”
I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth and grin up at him, tugging on the leather of his belt. “If I say yes, will you punish me?”
His eyes drop to where my hand rests, and when they meet mine again, they’re darker, narrowed with heat, and the rumble in his chest lights a fire in my veins.
He slides a hand into the hair at the nape of my neck and yanks my head back.
It doesn’t hurt, not really, but it does have a rush of blood heading south.
“You know what I did last night?”
I narrow my eyes at him. His voice low, ragged, close enough that I can feel the words at the base of my spine.
“I laid in the Vanagon, thinking about this deck, this exact spot. The first time I buried my fingers inside you. How tight you were. How wet. How you clawed at that makeshift table while I wrecked you from behind. How goddamn sexy you sounded when you came for me.”
My eyes widen and heat pools in my core.
He huffs out a laugh that might be embarrassment, or maybe incredulity. “Jerked off like a fucking teenager, like I couldn’t stop myself. Didn’t even touch my cock at first. Just laid there, hard as fuck, trying to convince myself I didn’t need you again.”
A shiver rakes down my spine and my thighs clench like they’ve got a mind of their own. God.
“I know I shouldn’t have. After everything. But I still came with your name on my lips.”
My breath catches like I forgot how to breathe. Heat pulses through me, fast and low.
“Holy shit,” I breathe. It slips out before I can stop it, hoarse, wrecked, horny as hell.
“Bet that’s what you’re thinking about too—me wrapping my belt around these pretty fucking wrists, pinning you down, spreading you out and teasing the fuck out of you until you beg me to let you come.”
His words pull a desperate whimper from my throat, my fingers flexing on his chest as the sliding glass door slides open behind him and someone clears their throat.
Hank.
Luckily, it’s dark out here, and even with Hutch’s size, he’s able to make letting me up off the railing as simple as shifting his weight.
I glance up at him, fully aware that I’m lust drunk and shivering and loathing the loss of his body heat and his filthy words.
I’m so in awe of him. I know from how he handled me on that zip line that he’s got a surprisingly tender heart, but he’s got an even filthier mouth, and the contrast is so fucking sexy.
“Meat about done?” Hank asks, gaze flicking from us to the grill.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, stepping around Hutch and nodding toward the grill. “I was just about to put the asparagus on.”
Hank keeps his gaze on Hutch, and something passes between them. I’d laugh if I wasn’t worried Hank might actually be pissed at Hutch. This was exactly why we needed to be discreet.
“I’ve got it,” Hank mutters. “Thanks, Red.”
“I’ll go see if Wren needs any more help,” I say with one last glance at Hutch, who is grinning at his brother.
I don’t know when or how it will happen, but as I head back inside, the promise of more with Hutch is undeniable. I only hope I can survive it and emerge unscathed.