Page 1 of Long Time Coming

1

Christine “Pris”Greene

Fridays arethe best day of the week.

I practically shoulder the door open to Peaches’ Sundries & More in my rush to get inside. If I’m even five minutes late, I’ll end up empty-handed. The smell of fresh bread escapes through the door as the bell chimes above my head.

Coming from the bright outdoors, I take a quick second for my eyes to adjust to the indoor lighting. And when they do, I’m not disappointed. One remains. One glorious cheddar biscuit sits inside the bakery display.

“Lauralee?” I call, walking toward the glass-and-brass-trimmed display. I’m used to my best friend greeting me when I walk in. When she doesn’t, I peer above the counter and toward the ice cream on the right side of the register. “Lauralee?”

“In the back with some cookies,” she says, her voice slipping through the crack of the swinging door to the back. “I’ll be right out.”

“I’m getting the last biscuit, okay?”

“It’s all yours.”

I lean over the counter to slide the case open from the back, but I can’t wedge it open far enough. My stubborn side sends me toward choosing the more difficult route in everything I do, and since I have no intention of climbing over the counter, I prop my knees on a stool and try again. I just about have the buttery, cheesy bread of the heavens in my hand when someone says, “Pris?”

Startled, I slip forward, sending my ass into the air as I slide toward a face-plant on the linoleum floor. Big hands catch me, grabbing my hips as the strength of fingers dig into the plush of my lower waist.

The voice . . .

The nickname . . .

The butterflies awakened from the dead now fluttering in my stomach . . .

I’m brought to safety on the stool again and swirl around to come face-to-face with the same man I just dreamed about rather recently. Though I’ll keep that tidbit to myself instead of giving him the pleasure. I smirk. “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”

His smile just about knocks me right off this stool again. I’d forgotten how potent it was. Although, judging by my heart’s rapid pace, it didn’t. I’m right back to that sweet sixteen little girl who righteously earned the nickname. “It’s been a long time all around.”

I can’t help but notice his hands haven’t left the curve of my hips, and it seems he notices at the same time. I’m released against my silent protests, leaving a chill where his warm palms once were. Regretfully, my brother’s best friend never held me like that before. He didn’t take the chance. The threat of death from the middle Greene sibling, my brother Baylor, might have played a part as well.

I set one foot down and then not so gracefully scuttle down until I’m solid on both, coming toe-to-toe with my childhood crush after eight years. A lot has changed.

His hair isn’t as wild, though I wouldn’t call those strands on top tame. The Pass’s winds probably whipped through them when he arrived in town. A day or two worth of stubble only adds to the rugged good looks he was bestowed at birth. I have imagined a clean-shaven face from the last time I saw him. My memory didn’t serve as well as the real thing does. I think he’s even taller, if that’s possible.Damn him.

“It sure has. Tagger Grange,” I say, smiling like I still have a crush on the guy. I might.Fine. I do.The rolled-up sleeves and tailored pants aren’t deterrents to scrambling my chemistry all over again for him. “What brings you back to Peachtree Pass?” Straightening the skirt of my dress after revealing a lot of leg in my almost tumble from the stool, I fuss about it. But when the hem anchors on the top of my boot, I leave it, not wanting to come off as nervous. This dress is the least of my concerns since the man in front of me is busy stealing my full attention.

A smile hasn’t left his face, but it’s not pure sunshine. The devil lies inside as he looks me over like my brothers wouldn’t kick his ass if they caught him. Licking his lips, he takes a breath and slowly exhales. “It was time.”

The way his green eyes hold my gaze, I start taking inventory of all the ways I could have made more effort today—a swipe of mascara and a coat of lip balm are all that I’m wearing on my face while I chose a dress I reserve when it’s laundry day for everything else in my wardrobe. My cowgirl boots are scuffed and worn, broken in, and the most comfortable pair of shoes I own. I can’t say I’d be wearing anything else other than these, but maybe something more feminine would have given me the confidence to stare into his eyes a little longer.

“Can I have these, Daddy?”

Daddy?I look down at the boy tugging on Tagger’s hand. His eyes are green like his dad’s, and his smile so sweet as he looks up at Tag like he’s his hero.

Tagger squats down, getting eye level with him, and then eyes the bag of candy. “I think that’s okay. Are you still wanting ice cream?”

But I’m still stuck on the daddy part. Seems Baylor has left a few details out of our conversations over the years. Still in a bit of shock by this news, I watch the interaction, utterly fascinated that Tag’s a dad.

The blond-headed boy nods as his smile spans his face. “Yes, please.”

Looking up at me, Tagger says, “This is my friend Pris—” Shaking his head, he blinks long and hard as if the habit was just too hard to break. “Miss Christine.” He takes hold of his son’s hand as he glances at his son and then at me again when he stands to his full height. “This is my son, Beckett Grange. Beck.”

As if I wasn’t already charmed by the past standing before me, my heart melts for this little cutie at his side. I kneel to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Beck.”

“You too, Miss Christine. How old are you?”

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