Page 61 of Small Town Firsts

I hear Myla’s bare feet padding across the tile floor and turn to find her once again dressed in her clothes from yesterday. “Hope you like sandwiches, darlin’. My cupboards are bare. Just shopped, too, but those boys ate me outta house and home.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Sandwiches sound great, Cash. You think you’ve got it bad? Just think about their mama.”

“Think about you, darlin’. Soon enough, that little rascal you’re carrying will eat up all the food in your pantry, too.”

“Don’t I know it. He’s already making me eat damn near everything in sight.”

“Well, you look good for it, so keep at it.” She blushes as she finishes off her sandwich before collecting both of our plates and depositing them in the sink.

“Thanks, Cash. I wish I could stay and actually help clean. I mean, not that I’d change what happened, because it was . . .” she trails off.

“It was what? Magical? Phenomenal? Damn near religious?”

“Perfect. It was perfect,” she tells me with a soft push to my shoulder. “Now hush up and walk me to my car.”

“Yes, ma’am, and as the saying goes, ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go.’” Myla Rose turns her head to lookat me, amusement swimming in her deep chocolate eyes, but a snort is all she offers in return.

Much to Myla’s dismay, I not only open the door to Bertha, but I also buckle her in before sealing my lips to hers in a scorching kiss. “I’ll talk to you soon, darlin’. Let me know when you make it home, ‘kay?”

“You know I will, Cash.” I close the door and give the hood two taps before watching her reverse down my short driveway.

I head back inside and clean until I can no longer take the silence screaming at me. Myla Rose spent less than twenty-four hours in my house, but damn, it doesn’t feel like home without her.

I already miss her voice—that sweet Southern drawl. I try to watch some TV, mindlessly flipping through the channels, but nothing holds my interest. My thoughts are too eaten up with remembering the feel of her. The way her long hair fanned out on my sheets like a fiery halo. The way she moaned my name as she shattered beneath me.

I fire up the computer in the office, trying to immerse myself in the business side of my work. Nothing like numbers to quiet your soul. Except it isn’t helping. Not one lick. I pull up my Spotify to drown out the lack of her presence, but it’s no use. Every goddamned song makes me think of her.

The fact that I’m missing her even though she’s barely gone has me feeling a little crazy. In my head, I know I’m being irrational, but I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again . . . nothing about love is rational.

Fuck.Love?

I . . . love her?

I love her—I love Myla Rose McGraw. The realization smacks me square in the chest, stealing the air from my lungs.

With that revelation fresh in my mind, I tear ass out of the house and head straight for my workshop. I want to channel thisfeeling into every part of the crib I’m building, and what better time than when it’s fresh in my mind?

While I’m well aware she’s more than forgiven me, I have every intention of following through on the plan Simon, Drake, and I came up with. Only now, this crib will be built not as an apology, but as a way to show Myla Rose my love for her—every part, package deal and all.

With the plans I drew up the other week laid out before me, I set to work marking, measuring, and cutting the lumber. I went with a stunning pine for the build and plan to varnish it. I know it’s gonna be amazing, and I know it will measure up to the one she saw in that boutique.

About half an hour into the actual build, my phone finally chirps with an incoming text. I all but throw my speed-square and pencil to the ground in hopes that it’s Myla Rose.

Myla Rose

Home! Sorry I kept you waiting. My phone was dead.

Me

Just glad you made it safe, darlin’.

Myla Rose

Thank you for this weekend, Cash.

Me

Nothing to thank me for. I enjoyed it just as much, if not more.

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