Page 21 of Small Town Firsts

"Mmmhmm, every year, like clockwork. She started coming when she was a little girl, and through the years, she got to know a lot of the vendors. So I guess, eventually, it was kinda like she was coming to catch up with old friends."

"I like that. Tell me about her?"

Her eyes light up at my taking an interest. "Yeah, okay. Grams lived here her whole life. Her husband actually builtmy house with his bare hands. It was his gift to her when he proposed. Worked on it day and night until it was complete. My Papa passed away shortly after Mama was born, but Grams soldiered on. She raised Mama there, and me. And now, I'll raise my little bean there."

"That's incredible," I tell her honestly. "I can't imagine being grounded by roots like that. Sure would like to, though." She looks at me like she's not quite sure what I mean, so I elaborate. "My dad's job kept us on the move every few years. Actually, I lived here in Dogwood when I was a kid."

"Is that how you know Drake?"

"Oddly, no." Her brows crinkle in confusion, and she looks so damn cute. "When I lived in Arkansas?—"

"You met him when he moved away with his mom?"

"It's a small world after all." She cracks up at my line. Her laughter is contagious, and before I know it, we're both doubled over laughing. Honestly, by the time we regain our composure, I don't think either of us remembers why we were laughing in the first place.

"You ready for what's sure to be the best part of your day, Cash Carson?"

"Lead the way, darlin'."

"The best partof my day is standin' in this long ass line?" I goad her.

"No. The best part is at the end of this line. C'mon."

During our wait, we talk about everything and nothing all at once. I feel so damn comfortable in her presence that the long minutes we spend waiting seem to pass in the blink of an eye.

At the halfway point in the line, they have a small table where a woman’s selling . . . tickets? No words are exchanged. Myla Rose just holds up two fingers and passes her a twenty-dollar bill before I can think to grab my wallet. By the time the lady hands back her change, I'm scrambling to not look like an ass.

"Myla, let me?—"

She gently pushes my wallet back to me. "This is my treat. You've never experienced this greatness, and I am excited to be the one to give it to you."

Now, I know she doesn't mean anything dirty, but my mind . . . yeah, he's not on the same page. My thoughts are racing a mile a minute over all thegreatnessshe could give me.

"How many?" the lady barks from inside her booth.

"Two, please." Myla Rose hands her our tickets in exchange for two of the most over-the-top strawberry shortcakes I've ever seen. I'm talking huge, fluffy cuts of angel food cake covered with a mixture of fresh strawberries and compote, with a fluffy whipped cream mountain as its crowning glory.

Myla Rose hands one to me, and together, we head to the makeshift pavilion where they've set up folding tables and chairs. Once seated, Myla wastes no time digging into hers.

"Damn, girl. You gonna eat all that?"

"Eating for two, you know." She giggles and pats her belly.

"Something tells me you devour this cake every year, no matter what."

She snaps her forefinger and thumb together. "Aww, you caught me." I can't help but to smile at how carefree and cute she is. For the first time, she finally seems totally at ease in my presence—and that feels like a victory.

She takes the last bite of her shortcake, and we both stand to throw away our plates. It's then I notice she has a little whipped cream on her bottom lip. I reach out to wipe it with my thumb at the same time she goes to lick it away. Her tongue swipes acrossmy skin, and I'm hit with white-hot need.I need this woman. To taste that whipped cream straight from her lips.

Our plates long forgotten, we lean toward one another until our lips meet—a soft brush at first, exploratory. Shifting my hand to cup her jaw, I angle her exactly how I want her. She gasps softly, allowing me to deepen our kiss. I lick my tongue against hers, drinking down her sweet strawberry flavor. She runs her hands up and around my neck, her nails digging lightly into my shirt collar . . . gripping, grasping, wanting. I work my other arm around her waist, my hand resting just above the sweet curve of her ass. She presses her body in closer to mine, so close that I can feel her heartbeat against my ribs. It beats a fast rhythm, full of want and desire. I'm lost in her. Lost in her taste and the sound of her soft moans. Lost until someone loudly clears their throat, reminding us that we’re in a public place.

She looks down and runs her fingers through her hair before nervously dragging her eyes back up to mine. I can tell she wants to say something, but she doesn't. She just shakes her head and gives a little smile before scooping up our trash from the table and walking off to dispose of it.

In the three minutes she's gone, my thoughts kick into overdrive.What business do I have kissing her? I'm not ready for a relationship, or even these kinds of feelings. How do I know she's not like Kayla? How do I—my racing mind grinds to a halt when she reappears.

"Myla Rose, listen, I?—"

"It's okay, Cash."

---