Page 68 of Where I Should’ve Been

“Thanks. Really. That means a lot.” That earns me a small smile, and it’s all I need to tip her chin up, brush my thumb along her jaw, and kiss her.

The kiss is soft and lingering and something that feels like a promise even though I can’t give her one. She slides her hand up my chest, fingers curling into me like she’s holding on for more than just tonight.

I roll her beneath me, easing the phone out of reach, and when she looks up at me with those big blue eyes of hers, I silently fear that I’ll never be ready for her to choose London or Miami or anywhere that isn’t here.

Which makes me the world’s biggest asshole because I can’t give her more than these fleeting moments of time.

I kiss her again, deeper this time, because it’s the only way I know how to keep her close without asking her to stay.

26

Breezy

Friday, March 12th

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Red Bridge, it’s that these people can turn absolutely anything into a holiday.

And tonight is evidence of that fact.

It’s the town’s tenth annual Winter Line Dancing Festival, which isn’t even an actual holiday and lands a mere eight days away from spring on the calendar.

No one outside Red Bridge has ever heard of it, but tonight, Clay’s bar is packed shoulder to shoulder like it’s Mardi Gras. Apparently, it’s a Red Bridge tradition for everyone to get together to celebrate winter’s last gasp by stomping boots in unison to whatever fiddle music the band cranks out.

I can’t decide if it’s ridiculous or charming. Maybe both.

The air is thick with beer and fried food. Josie’s behind the bar with Clay, and a big smile is on her face as she teases her husband in between pours. Bennett and Norah have already claimed a table, Autumn sitting between them in her pink cowgirl boots with a Shirley Temple and a pile of maraschino cherries. Sheriff Peeler is making the rounds, clapping everyone on the back like he’s grand marshal of the parade.

And I’m standing off to the side of the dance floor, half amused and half wondering if I should get the hell out of here before I end up line dancing with Mayor Wallace.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I know the voice before I see his face and turn to find Tad standing beside me, a grin of pure confidence on his face. “Dance with me, Miss Bishop?” His hand is already outstretched like he knows damn well I’ll take it.

I arch a brow, playing along. “Isn’t that against boss-employee relations?”

Tad leans in, close enough that his breath stirs the hair at my ear. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell the sheep.”

Before I can answer, a voice cuts through the crowd.

“Beatrice Bishop!”

I turn to find Eileen striding over to us, a notebook in her hand and her eyes alight with bulldog focus.

Oh, here we go.

Once she closes the distance, I don’t hesitate to tease her. “Eileen, I don’t think now is the time to be harassing people for an article you will undoubtedly embellish and dramatize.”

Eileen ignores the dig and gets straight to the point. “Oh, honey, it’s always time for that. Rain or shine or festival. And since you’re here tonight, I’d be remiss in my duties as Red Bridge’s most trusted reporter if I didn’t ask you how life on the Hanson Farm is? Word on the street is that you’re working there nowadays?”

I smile sweetly, already knowing exactly what I’m doing. “Oh, you know, Eileen. It’s been very hands on.”

Her brows shoot up. “Hands on?”

“Mm-hmm. Early mornings. Long nights. A lot of…manual labor.” I pause long enough to let the innuendo hang between us. “But I’m adjusting. My boss is an excellent teacher.”

“And Breezy is an excellent student. Very hands-on kind of woman. Always up for a challenge,” Tad chimes in, and Eileen’s eyes go so wide I fear her eyeballs might pop out of her skull.

“Good with her hands?” Eileen chokes out. “Please expand.”

“There’s not much to expand,” he says. “She’s a real natural…with the flock. A real go-getter.”