Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(97)

The little red house with a man who makes my heart race and my cheeks heat just by scowling at me the way he is now.

And I have to wonder if it’s not a scowl at all. Because the expression is so full of love, so full of longing, that the muscles in my chest seize and I rush to park so that I can be out of this vehicle and breathing the same air as them.

My boys.

“Willa!” Luke’s quickly forgotten guitar rests on the step as he tears across the front lawn toward me. “I’m so glad you’re back!”

“Me too, pal. Me too,” I say as I wrap my arms around him. But my eyes fixate on his dad, who’s standing there, wearing a pair of jeans like a second skin, hands casually slung on his hips. Fucking hat turned backward.

A country boy who looks as good as Cade Eaton should be illegal.

But instead, he’s mine.

“Hi,” I breathe, unable to tear my eyes away.

“Hi, Red,” he replies but he doesn’t move. His son stays latched onto me like a little barnacle.

“How are you?”

His jaw pops as he stares back at me, and I get nervous. Maybe in doing what I thought was best for Cade, I shot myself in the foot.

But when he says, “Better now that you’re here,” I know that’s not true.

Giving Luke a little pat on the back, I say, “Luke, can you head inside for a few minutes? I need to have a private chat with your dad. And I’ll know if you’re eavesdropping.”

The sheepish grin he gifts me has me smiling back at him. His bright blue eyes, sun-kissed cheeks from a summer spent in the sun . . . I’ve never fallen harder or faster for a single person in the world than I have for Lucas Eaton.

“Okay. But first I want to show you the sidewalk we made.” He threads his small fingers through mine and pulls me off the gravel driveway to the freshly poured walkway. Like, I think it might actually still be wet.

When we get closer, the wet concrete confirms my suspicions. I can smell that chalky scent permeating the surrounding air, but it’s what’s decorating the walkway that stops me in my tracks.

There are shiny stones pressed into the concrete, laid out in the shapes of hearts, running the full length of the walkway.

“Plain was boring. So we decorated! They’re like that day we used chalk on the driveway at the main house!” Luke exclaims.

I peek up at Cade. “Like Valentine’s Day threw up everywhere?”

His lips twitch and he just nods.

“And then up here”—Luke drags me toward the house—“we wrote our initials inside the hearts.”

“I love that!” I exclaim, giving him a firm side hug.

He nods happily, biting at his lip, and looking so damn proud. “And this one is yours.” He points at a heart that’s right next to one with the initials C.E., except this one says W.E.

“My initials are W.G., bud.”

I give him another squeeze and he giggles. Cluelessly. “I know. But dad made that one. I told him the same thing.” My head snaps around to Cade, who still hasn’t moved but is staring at me like I might disappear if he blinks. “But he said they wouldn’t be for long.”

A sob that could pass as a laugh bursts from my lips as I blink furiously, desperate to not fall apart right here in front of them. “I love it, Luke. The whole sidewalk is just beautiful.” I hug him again, sucking in air through my nose and trying to compose myself.

“Good. I’m so happy you’re back! If you didn’t come back today, Dad said he was going to drive into the city and get you.” I almost chuckle. That’s such a Cade thing to say.

After one last hug, Luke bounds up the stairs to the front door. But just like he’s done once before, he stops and looks back at Cade and me with a pleased smile on his face and says, “See, Dad? I told you not to be sad. I told you she’d come back. Our wishes came true! She loves us too much to leave.”

The screen door slams and he’s gone.

And I’m crying, hands covering my face. I’m overwhelmed. Relieved. And, okay, possibly hormonal.

“Hey, hey.” Within seconds Cade is reaching for me, gathering me into his strong arms and holding me tight against his chest. “Baby, don’t cry. You don’t need to cry. I think if you cry, I might cry. And I’m not a crier.”

“I’m not a crier either!” I sob, nuzzling against his shirt and taking deep pulls of his pine scent that I missed so badly these last few days. “But I swear I haven’t stopped crying since I left this place.”

He rocks us gently, like a soft, quiet dance. The only music is the chirping of birds and gentle breeze across the hay field out back. He doesn’t talk. He just holds me until my breathing evens out and the stress has melted from my limbs.

Eventually he tips my chin up so that I’m forced to look at him. His chiseled, masculine features are a welcome sight. “You paying attention right now, Red? Because I’ve spent days thinking hard about my life, and I’ve got some things to tell you.”

I nod and press my lips together, a silent promise to listen to him and not just talk at him.

With a deep sigh, he starts, “Thank you. Thank you for being the first person in my life to put me first, to give me options. I’m not sure I deserve that gift, but I know that I’ll never forget it for as long as I live.”