Page 62 of Heart & Hope

The drive home is mostly quiet. The food, we eat on the way, not wanting it to go cold. And I take great pleasure in feeding him fries as he drives. He snaps one from my fingers before he returns the affection with cheeky smiles as we fly down the dirt road toward his ranch.

Reed rolls the truck into the barn as I yawn. It’s been a busy day. And it’s not over yet; I want to run some things past him and work on the website and booking system before bed.

But Lord, I could use a glass of wine.

Red.

Even better, Merlot.

My door opens, and I realize I’ve been staring into the abyss, thinking. I start and suck in a breath as I turn to Reed. His hands are held up like he’s going to carry me from the truck.

“I got it, Reedsy.” I grab up my bag and handbag, stepping out of the truck. The seats are so comfortable, I almost fell asleep. Luckily for this gorgeous man, his ravenous hunger keptme occupied. On tired legs, I teeter toward him, and he catches me in a warm hug.

When his face sinks into my hair and he tightens his grip, I stiffen, my rules heading for a full-out brawl with my heart. Never before have they been so much at war as they are now.

“Want me to carry you to bed, Rubes?” he breathes, face still buried in my hair.

I push out of his hold with a chuckle. “No thanks, I can walk.”

His face falls a little, but he takes my bags and leads me to the house yard. The air is cool, the smell of hay and the mountain air mixing into a heady concoction. The stars out are magnificent. The blanket of shimmering silver points hangs low, like somehow, we are closer to heaven.

I follow close behind, not wanting to trip on the pavers as we head up to the dark house. No Mack here this time. And part of me is thrilled to be here with Reed. The rational part of me is screaming for my heart to let it go. To keep things cemented in the friend zone.

That thought makes me feel a loss like I’ve never felt before.

Not having the chance to have more of the only man that has ever wanted me for me, and not my bank account or status, is completely unfair. But the way things are, they’re that way for a reason. For me. For my success. A success that has been the only thing I can ever remember wanting, my entire adult life.

The door creaks open and Reed flips the lights on with one hand, my bags dangling from the other. I step inside and take in the small farmhouse. I’ve been here before, but never at night and never to stay. And I can’t fight the feeling of how right it feels. How cozy and grounding this place is.

“Let’s get your bags squared away, and I can pour you some wine, baby.” Reed walks up the stairs and to the right, and I follow a step behind. He drops my bags on the end of the bed and pads to the antique-looking wardrobe on the inside wall bythe door. Pulling out two towels, he pops them on top of my bag. “That should keep you dry.”

The towels are all of a sudden fascinating. As if thinking about the many meanings of what that sentence could mean for us. “Thanks.”

“See you downstairs for a drink?”

“Sure,” I say, turning to face him, hands in my back pockets. “Okay if I take a shower and slip into my PJs first?”

“Yup. Red or white?”

“Um...” I worry my bottom lip through my teeth. “Whatever you choose.”

He nods and pats the doorframe as he walks out and back down the stairs. I wander about the room, taking in the simple farmhouse decor, cottage-style furniture, and soft furnishings. Something unwinds in my chest, and I sink onto the upholstered chair by the window. It’s plush and way too good at coaxing my eyes shut. I snap up out of it and stand to tug the zip on my bag, before hunting for fresh lingerie and my shorts and singlet PJs. On second thought, it may get cool tonight.

I pluck out a t-shirt instead. A worn-out red one from an old cruise I went on years ago with fadedCaptain’s Choicein white marine-type font set over an even more faded ship’s wheel.

After a quick but hot shower, I pull on my PJs and head downstairs, drying my hair with a towel. The hardwood floor under my bare feet is cool but so good. Reed is in the kitchen, chopping something on a board. Two glasses sit out, a wine glass and a shorter tumbler. His glass has an inch of amber liquid. He lifts it to his mouth, drawing a sip before setting it down. I lean against the doorway, drying the ends of my hair, taking him in.

He looks good in a home of his own. His rolled-up work shirt and jeans have been exchanged for blue boxers and a navy shirt. His hair is wet. Wow, he’s fast. I hang the towel on the end post of the stairs and clear my throat. He spins back, knife in hand. Somuch like his ma. She always has a kitchen utensil of some kind in her hand.

“Hey,” I breathe.

His cheeky grin that grows instantly when he sees me, fades to parted lips and a fixed stare on my chest. No, my shirt. He’s reading it.

“Hey,” he finally chokes out. He puts the knife down and heads to the cupboard. He grabs a bottle of red and pours me a glass. “Sofa, beautiful.”

I do as instructed and flop onto the sofa. The fire is already on, despite it not being cold enough for one. But it warms my tired body, and I stretch out as he hands the wine glass to me.

“Ma sent over some of your Merlot from the party,” he says softly, as my fingers curl around the stem.

---