Chapter 16
Breezy
I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night.
Not since the funeral. Not since the will-reading. Not since my whole life tilted sideways and everything I thought I’d built turned out to belong to someone else.
But last night…last night, I did.
No tossing. No turning. No recounting all my life’s choices. No staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned. Just…sleep. And I just so happened to do it in Tad Hanson’s bed.
When I finally blink awake, sunlight is cutting through the curtains, and Tad is standing at the side of the bed, holding out what looks to be a to-go cup.
“Mornin’,” he says, his voice is raspy in a way that has memories of last night rushing into my mind. “This is for you.”
“Uh…thanks.” I sit up, taking it from him and brushing my hair out of my eyes. Once the to-go cup is in my hands, the smell of fresh coffee hits my nostrils.
“Hopefully, it’s good.” He shifts awkwardly on his feet, eyes darting from me to the floor and back again. “Wasn’t sure how you like your coffee, but I remembered you ordering it with some sugar and cream at CAFFEINE.”
I take a sip. It’s hot, smooth, and about three spoonfuls too sweet. A smile tugs at my lips. “You went a little heavy on the sugar, Farmer Tad.”
He grins and rubs the back of his neck. “Guess I was trying to sweeten my odds.”
The line earns him a tiny laugh, but the moment still feels…off. The coffee might be sweet, but the to-go cup tastes a lot like goodbye.
His broad shoulders tense, as if he’s waiting for me to get dressed and head out, and I guess normally, I’d already be gone. I think he’s surprised I’m not.
Pretty sure the to-go cup is a hint, Breeze.
“I’m glad you were here last night.” His words are soft and unexpectedly sweet, but his back is tense.
He clears his throat. “And…this morning, too.” The last part comes out so discreet that I almost don’t hear it, and he’s angled to the door so hard, I’m surprised he didn’t take the opportunity while I was sleeping to strap on my shoes.
Mixed signals, thy name is Tad Hanson.
Regardless, the time to get going is now, and Norah and Bennett will undoubtedly be wondering where I am.
I don’t owe anyone explanations, but if the roles were reversed, I would be worried.
By the time I’ve tugged on my sweater and slipped into my boots, the air between us feels even more baffling.
It’s like he’s two different men at the same time.
One wants me gone, and the other seems to be searching for a reason to ask me to stay.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head into the living room.
Tad follows closely behind me, and we both stop and turn toward each other in an awkward dance of goodbye.
This part, it seems, is definitely easier when I leave before he wakes up.
I pat his arm and turn for the door, but Randy swings it open with so much force I jump back in surprise and bump right into Tad’s chest.
“Tad! Get your ass out here!” the other Hanson yells, having unleashed the command before his vision could catch up.
“What the hell, Randy?” Tad barks, but his brother’s already spinning back toward the porch, eyes wide and body panicked at the sight of me, seemingly, in Tad’s arms.
He gives a half-startled, “Uh…morning?” before bolting back outside. Tad follows after him quickly, and I follow behind the two of them in confusion and curiosity.
The cold hits instantly, sharp and biting, and then I see…
Well, I’m not entirely sure what I’m seeing.
A cluster of woolly shapes crammed half in, half out of a squat little building. Some of them are bleating, some are shoving each other, and one has what looks like a giant sack over its head.
The snow is trampled into a muddy mess, and the air smells…ripe.
“What in the actual hell?” I whisper.
Tad grabs my hand, already dragging me forward. “They broke into the feed shed.”
“The what?”
“Where we keep the grain.” He points with his free hand. “That idiot Nash—” he jerks his chin toward the sheep staggering blindly in circles “—managed to get a whole bag stuck on his head.”
I blink. “Oh my God! Is he suffocating?”
Tad snorts. “No. Just stupid.”
We’re running now, snow spraying up around us, my coffee splashing dangerously close to my wrist. “Why are they all shoving each other?” I call out, trying desperately to keep up.
“Because sheep are greedy little bastards. One gets a mouthful, the rest want in. It’s like a Walmart Black Friday circa 1995 in there.”
Randy throws his arms up when he sees us coming. “Wow, Tad! Isn’t this fantastic? A true vision of our sheep-farming excellence!”
Tad ignores him, letting go of my hand and wading into the wool storm.
The sheep with the bag stumbles into another one, knocking them both into the snow. Grain scatters everywhere, and suddenly, there’s a mad dash of bleating, wool, and tiny hooves scrambling over one another to get a bite.
Tad curses as he lunges forward to use some muscle against the flock. “Come on, Breezy. Help me block them in!”
I freeze. “Block them in? With what?”
“Your body!”
“My what?”
“I promise, Breezy. I would never put you in harm’s way,” he says as he nods toward where he wants me to stand. “I just need your beautiful presence right over there to distract them. They won’t do anything besides move in the opposite direction of you!”
Tad is in the thick of it, muscling sheep back into the shed while Randy wrestles the bag off the one’s head.
And somehow, against all odds, I find myself edging sideways in the snow, arms flung wide, trying to shoo woolly bodies back where they belong. My boots are not made for this. My pants are not made for this. I am not made for this.
But Tad glances back at me—sweaty and laughing—and suddenly, I don’t care.
Instead of being horrified, I’m laughing right along with him. Something about snow, sheep, and the smell of farm feces unleashes ducts I thought were clogged a long time ago.
I feel alive.
…
The sun is higher now in the sky, and somehow, the yard looks ridiculous and right all at once.
After this morning’s debacle with the feed shed, my clothes and boots were destroyed. Now, I’m in Tad’s clothes. His jeans hang off my hips like a tent, his flannel is huge, and his boots are about five sizes too big.
I look like some badly styled country music video, and I’m grinning anyway.
There’s mud on my cuffs and grain dust in my hair, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not thinking about how I have no idea what I’m going to do with the rest of my life or the fact that I’m currently squatting at my brother’s house with absolutely zero plan.
Instead, I’ve spent the whole morning pulling sheep out of places sheep should never be, slipping through mud, and laughing more than I probably have in months.
After we got the feed shed under control, Randy didn’t ask any questions about what I was doing at Tad’s place.
He just gave me a quiet nod, the kind that said he’d seen more than he’d comment on, and went about his morning.
He’s been out in the back fields ever since, working the snowplow near the creek that’s started backing up.
But Randy Hanson is steady like that. Quiet when Tad is not.
He’s brooding in a way that somehow feels protective instead of cold.
Tad is fixing the last bit of fence near the feed shed. His jaw is set in a firm line, and his strong hands work the wire with competence. He glances over, and for a second, his face softens before he goes back to focusing on the task at hand.
And I’m currently sitting on a bale of hay, taking a short break while watching him work.
When my eyes catch sight of the discarded and hardly drunk to-go cup of coffee he made me this morning, I can’t stop myself from pointing out the giant elephant in the room.
“You didn’t want me there this morning,” I say. My words are blunt and direct. I don’t sugarcoat it or wrap it up in a nice, tidy bow of pleasantries. I just state the truth.
He drops the wire for a beat, and a deep, heavy sigh escapes his lungs.
“It’s not about not wanting you.” He rubs the back of his neck, but his eyes don’t quite meet mine.
“I’ve just got some shit, Breezy. My life doesn’t allow me to be anything more than casual.
” His gaze finally meets mine. “I’m not the guy you settle down with. ”
“Good thing I’m not looking to settle down,” I say and keep my eyes locked with his.
“I have my own shit, Tad. I’m only temporarily here in Red Bridge.
But I don’t need to be worried about falling asleep in your bed and you having a breakdown over it.
I’m too old for that. I deserve more than that. ”
He stands there for a moment, like he’s choosing whether to step toward me or away. Then he steps closer, and his voice is raw, not performative. “Breeze, you deserve the fucking world.” The line is smooth, but the way he says it makes it feel unpolished in a raw and genuine way.
Honestly, it threatens to knock the breath out of my lungs, but I lift one shoulder and grin instead. “Well…how about a very casual, playful kind of world where you occasionally fuck me senseless while I’m in Red Bridge?”
For a heartbeat, he looks stunned, but then his reply is a crooked, dangerous smile. “In this world…” he says, lowering his voice, “do I get to lick your pussy too?”
Instantly, heat blazes up my spine. There’s a beat—ten, maybe twenty seconds—where the farm noise, the flock, everything, falls away, and it’s just him and me.
“You know,” I say, offering a flirty wink in his direction, “I think that can be arranged.”
He laughs, low and quick, and closes the small space between us. His hand finds my face, and his thumb brushes my bottom lip. The world tilts, not because of anything he says, but because of how he makes me feel—seen and wanted and dangerously easy to unravel.
When he kisses me, it’s soft and deliberate at first, a promise without anything heavy attached. But then, it quickly slides into something hungrier. More desperate. More passionate.
I let myself fall into it, into the warm press of his body, forgetting about the fact that I’m wearing boots five sizes too big and have hair full of grain.
Eventually, we break apart with laughter on both our lips, and it’s messy and sweet and exactly where I want to be.
Because I don’t want serious or commitment.
I want casual. I want easygoing. I want freedom.
Frankly, this right here is the only kind of complicated I can handle right now.
I rest my forehead against his and let out a small breath. “Also,” I whisper quietly. “How about we keep this between us?”
“Ah.” A slow smile starts on his lips. “You sure do love the thrill of playing that ‘we’re just acquaintances’ game, huh?”
“Maybe a little.” I giggle. “But also, I fear Eileen Martin would run out of ink if Red Bridge knew that I was hooking up with the most eligible bachelor in town. I mean, there’d be daily front-page spreads, Tad.”
That earns an amused chuckle from him. “You’re right,” he says. “Wouldn’t want to bankrupt the Red Bridge Chronicle.”
And when he kisses me again, it feels as if we’ve made a pact.
But it’s not love or promises or commitment.
It’s just a secret.
A distraction.
A very spontaneous kind of freedom.
And I tuck my chin against his shoulder, smelling dirt and cedar and the faint ghost of his shampoo, and I let myself believe that a very casual, playful world with Tad Hanson is exactly what I need.