Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(36)

Her response comes fast, without hesitation. “No.”

I pull her closer, lining our hips up and feeling her hand slide across the expanse of my shoulders.

As we sway, I take my time trailing my fingers over her rib cage. And I don’t miss the way she shivers when I do.

“You’re a hell of a dancer,” I husk.

She smiles up at me. “Yeah. A total weirdo.”

I chuckle, rubbing a thumb over her lower back. Her hand feels clammy where it’s gripped in mine.

“Pretty good at guitar, I might add.”

“Ah, well, when Ford Grant is your dad, it’s pretty much mandatory.”

“What about the voice?”

“What about it?” Her eyes roll, suddenly shy again.

“Your voice is beautiful.” I say it because it’s true and I met her eye when I do. She’s strangely uncomfortable with being complimented, always deflecting or making a joke. We sway quietly to the song, listening to the words.

It goes on about a stranger’s heart that has no home—smiles covering your heart. It’s haunting and beautiful, and I find myself straining to listen. “What song is this?” I ask, entranced. “Her voice almost sounds like yours.”

Her eyes dart away, and my hand tightens on her waist. I let myself imagine my calloused hands gliding over her smooth skin. Worshipping every inch of her. Sinking into her.

“The song is ‘Fade into You’ by Mazzy Star. It’s one of my favorites,” she rushes it out quickly before the compliment leads her to changing the subject entirely. “Thank you for trusting me with Luke. This is already the best summer I’ve had in a long time.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for making him laugh like that. Best sound in the world. You missing anything about the city?”

“No. Just riding.”

She steps closer, and I feel the press of her against me. The heat. The friction. My hand splays on her back. “I’ll find you a horse to ride.”

“You’re a good man, Cade Eaton. Quite possibly one of the best.” Her voice is so soft that I barely hear it.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I drop my head toward her. Everything around us fades away. I don’t know how she has this knack for telling me the things I crave. Tracing my insecurities the way she does. Soothing the hurt she doesn’t even know exists.

I trail the tip of my nose up the side of her neck and wish I could swallow the small moan that escapes her. I want so much more than one stolen dance in the kitchen while my son is off doing god knows what.

“You guys are both the biggest weirdos!” Luke mocks us as he runs back in wearing his too-small Batman costume from last Halloween. We both startle, pulling away quickly, realizing we were altogether too close just now.

And maybe Luke’s not wrong. There’s definitely something weird happening.





13





Willa





Willa: Hi, Lawyer friend. Can I ask for some legal advice?

Summer: Do you need me to come bail you out? Just send the address. I’m there.

Willa: Is it illegal to bang your hot boss?

Summer: Are we talking about your brother or Cade?

Willa: Fucking gross.

Summer: Dude. I’ve had to listen to you make hot dad jokes for years. Shooters gotta shoot.

Willa: I’m never coming to you for advice again.

Summer: My legal advice is to be very specific when you ask a question.

Willa: OK, FINE. Is it illegal to bang Cade?

Summer: You’d have to ask him. Haven’t seen him with a woman the entire time I’ve known him. Maybe he thinks it’s illegal?

Willa: He is a stickler for the rules. Maybe I’ll break them and see if he spanks me.

Summer: Fucking gross.





Once I hear the door click shut the next morning—so Cade doesn’t have to be scandalized by my nipples—I peek in through Luke’s slightly open door to see him sprawled wide in his bed, looking adorably exhausted.

Smiling to myself, I pad through the quiet house toward the kitchen. The sun is up, but barely, and the light in the house is blue. The birds sound so damn happy, trilling away outside. I can’t wait to sit on the front porch with my book and a hot cup of coffee.

I stop in my tracks when I get far enough into the kitchen to see that there is still a sizeable amount of coffee left in the pot.

As I draw closer, I see a Post-it note on the counter, written in a choppy scrawl.

Red,

The coffee is for you. Starting some two-year-olds today. If you feel like getting your back broken, meet me at the barn and you can sit on one.

- C

I snort. Oh, I feel like getting my back broken alright.

By him.

Not a horse.

He’s also left a mug beside the coffeemaker. I trail my fingers over the rounded handle, remembering the feel of him pressing in behind me as I reached for a cup the other morning. The feel of him pushing his hips into mine as we swayed in the kitchen.

I pour myself a cup, and it tastes better just because he made it. Just because he left everything out, knowing I was waiting for him to leave. Because he listened to what I told him.

Cade is the embodiment of actions speaking louder than words. He wasn’t about to fall all over himself apologizing for not making enough coffee for me. Instead, he just made more and left me a mug, knowing that it would make me feel good.