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“I love you, Wes.”
I gripped her waist, pulling her closer, feeling my chest ache with how long I’ve waited to hear her say those words. “I love you too, and one day, when I have a house for us, that key will be the one to open it.”
She giggled into my neck, a slightly watery sound that had me realizing she was crying happy tears.
“Okay.”
I shifted back to catch her gaze. “You realize that will mean you have to get used to me hanging around your dad, right?”
She pushed her bottom lip out then rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly what they’ll call you if you’re not careful.”
My brows caved in confusion. “They’ll call me what?”
“A hang-around. They’re going to think you want to become a prospect, Wes. You have to make it clear you’re only there for me, otherwise they’ll take you from me.”
I laughed at the mere idea of not only them accepting me but me ever wanting anything more than her.
“I’d never choose anything over you.”
I grabbed her hand and pulled her along with me as I headed back to her house. No way was I letting her walk home in the dark, and I’d be in trouble once I got home, so I couldn’t go out to the treehouse.
I pulled her to a stop and kissed her.
She moved with the kiss, returning it breathlessly, then adding, “You do realize you sort of make it seem like you might want to marry me someday, Wes, with this sort of thing?”
I laughed into her neck.
“One day at a time, River.”
NINE
CALLIE
Sasha lived in a barn.
On the outside, it was plain, with weathered gray, chipped boards, and a dark, pitched roof, the inside had been renovated to near perfection. Natural light spilled through the overarching windows, illuminating the hardwood under our feet. Thick rugs softened the space, along with cushioned chairs and a long, L-shaped couch. The walls were redone with shiplap so they were smooth to the touch.
I sipped my coffee, taking in the decor and enjoying the sound of a nearby rooster crowing. A tin can holding faux wheat stalks was in the corner, and so was Max, curled into a ball on his dog bed. The guest bed she put me in was one of the softest I’d ever slept in, and from the fact that Laura was still sleeping, I had to assume hers was just as soft.
Overall, this place was incredible, but my eyes kept catching on little things that had my breath hitching the slightest bit. Sasha had photos of my dad all over the place, and pictures of me as a little girl…and pictures of me and my dad together. My heart squeezed painfully tight as I left the safety of my chair and walked over the scattered rugs to trace one of the images sitting on the mantel. In the image, I’m wearing overalls, and in my hand is a big beach ball. I remembered that day.
How did she have all these photos?
“Oh good, you’re up.” Sasha yawned from behind me. “Did you find the coffee?”
I turned, lifting my cup. “Yeah, thanks for leaving it ready to go and having creamer.”
Fluffing one of the couch cushions, her thin robe swayed until she tied it more securely at her waist. This morning, without her makeup, she looked a few years older. I had placed her at mid-thirties, but now I was wondering if I was a few years off.
“What should we have for breakfast? I was thinking of grabbing some—”
“Why do you have pictures of my dad all over your house?” I cut in, then gestured to the photo on the mantel. “And of me? What is all this and who were you to my dad?”
Her arms fell to her sides, the pillow she was fluffing dropping with the movement. I watched her countenance transition from caring host to guarded and emotionally distant.
She blew out a breath, making some of her falling hair lift from her face.
“Could we at least have breakfast before we dive into all of it?”
