Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(52)

I traced the mark on his collarbone. “Funny how we both have a scar from that day. Think it was fate?”

He laughed a little. “Probably. Or stupidity. One of the two.”

“I wanted to impress you so badly,” I confessed.

“It worked. I was so sure you wouldn’t jump.”

“So sure that you bet something you didn’t even own,” I reminded him with a poke on the chest.

He laughed again, and my heart trilled faster at the sound of it. “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you someday. Does the leg you broke ever bother you?”

“Not really. I thought about getting a tattoo to cover the scar, but decided against it.”

“How come?”

“Well, for one, the scar is kinda badass, don’t you think?” I lifted my leg in the air and we both looked at it.

“Definitely,” he teased. “If you were coming at me and I saw that scar, I’d think you were scary as fuck.”

Slapping him on the chest, I lowered my leg and he caught it, tucking it between his. “And for another,” I went on, “it felt like a good reminder that I should look before I leap and all that. It’s a lesson I needed to learn. I’ve always been too hot-headed and impulsive.”

“But I love that about you.” He threw an arm over my hip and pulled me flush against him. “Don’t change.”

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’m still that girl on the roof. You dare me to jump, I jump—but you better come with me.”

He smiled. “You jump, I jump.”

With my heart about to burst from my chest, I looped my arm around his neck and pulled him on top of me. It felt like I’d never be able to get enough of this new Oliver, who had all the best of the old Oliver but who’d matured and changed in ways I could never have anticipated. My feelings for him were ballooning quickly—it was frightening and exhilarating at the same time.

“Oliver,” I said breathlessly, when he was inside me again and I felt the last rope tethering my heart to my chest begin to fray. “Tell me it’s different this time. Tell me I have nothing to be afraid of.”

He picked up his head and looked me right in the eye. “You have nothing to be afraid of. I promise. Everything is going to be perfect.”

I believed him.





Around eleven, we finally dragged ourselves from bed. Oliver held my hand as we walked to breakfast in the warm July sun, and I felt an inner calm I hadn’t felt in a long time—maybe forever.

But in contrast, Oliver actually seemed a little nervous about something. He kept checking his watch, clearing his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. Over eggs and pancakes, I caught him staring into space with a concerned expression on his face.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. Fine.” He gave me his usual cocky grin and took another bite of his omelet.

But it happened again while we were waiting for the check. “Hey.” I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes. “What’s going on in there? Something is on your mind.”

He frowned. “Sorry. I think it’s just the family thing. I’d rather hang out with you but we have to head to Harbor Springs pretty soon.”

“It’s fine, Oliver. We’ll hang out there for a couple days, and then we can leave. I really don’t mind.”

“Yeah.”

“We should probably head down to Detroit so you can show me around the distillery, right? I mean, I am the majority owner now.” I gave his foot a little kick under the table.

That made him smile. “Right. Hey want to walk around the dunes a little more before we hit the road?”

“Sure. If you don’t think your mom will be upset we’re coming later.”

“We’ll make it in time for dinner, and that’s good enough.”

A walk around the dunes turned into another romp in the sack, and we didn’t get out of bed until the management banged on the door at three o’clock.

Laughing, we quickly got dressed and hit the road.

“Need anything from home?” he asked me as we approached Traverse City. “We can easily stop.”

“No. I have everything I need, and we’re late already.”

“Are you sure?” He grabbed my hand and kissed it. “I don’t mind stopping. Hell, maybe we should skip the cottage altogether and just spend the night alone.”

“We can’t do that,” I chided. “Your parents are expecting us, Oliver. Let’s just get there.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

For a little while, we listened to music and talked about the rye and what steps we’d have to take in terms of the business on paper. Oliver seemed in good spirits, relaxed and happy. But gradually, he went silent, and I noticed the nervous rubbing of his neck again. The furrowed brow. The tight grip of his hand on the wheel.

I wanted to ask him about it, but I didn’t want to be annoying. Family dynamics were complicated, and spending time with everyone under one roof could be stressful. Maybe that’s all it was.

Around five o’clock, we drove up the long, winding driveway at his parents’ place. There were several other cars parked in front of the house, and Oliver pulled up next to the last car in the row and turned off the engine.