Page 45 of Fixing to Be Mine

I inhale, then exhale through my nose, trying to calm myself down before it spirals out of control. My sister not only took my fiancé, but now she’s working against me.

Colt walks in, running a hand through his hair, but he looks exhausted. He glances at me, but doesn’t push. He heads to the dresser to pull out a T-shirt.

I speak up before I can second-guess it. “Will you sleep in here again? From now on.”

He pauses, then looks at me with a crooked smile. “Whatever will make you happy.”

“You say that like you care,” I say.

“I do,” he admits, kicking off his boots. “I want the best for you.”

A part of me knows that’s true.

“You deserve someone who can love you like you need,” I tell him. “I don’t believe in love anymore.”

He smiles. “You will.”

“You’re so confident.” I remove my earrings and set them on the bedside table.

“My older brother always told me that when I met the woman I was supposed to be with, I’d know,” he says, sounding too casual as he smiles.

“What does that feel like?” I ask, needing confirmation if this is what’s swirling inside of me. It’s never sizzled like this with anyone else, but right now, I don’t trust myself or my emotions. I’ve been through too much shit, too fast.

He unbuttons his shirt, and I can’t peel my eyes away from him.

“You tell me.” He smiles. “I know you feel this too.”

My breath hitches. “You’re so direct.”

“I don’t have time to waste, darlin’. You’re leaving in thirteen days. I plan to make each one count,” he admits, sliding his belt from his jeans.

Colt moves to his dresser and pulls out a pair of black pajama pants.

I pull my gaze away from him.

“Please choose your favorite side,” I add, trying to change the subject. “Or the whole bed. I don’t care …” I tug at a loose thread on the hem of my dress. “I sleep better when you’re close. You calm everything down in me.”

He glances at me like he can hear every single word I’m not saying.

“Welp, now that I know I calm you down, I might sleep in the middle.”

The weight in my chest loosens enough to give me some relief.

He gets dressed for bed, and I steal glances at him, knowing I shouldn’t.

When he turns around, he tosses me another shirt. “This one is soft.”

I unfold the burgundy shirt and see his name written on the chest. On the back is the cattle brand he has tattooed on his chest. “Mmm. Trying to claim me with your family brand?”

This earns me a deep chuckle.

“Eventually,” he says. “I need some water. I’m suddenly parched. Would you like a glass?”

“No thanks,” I say.

He leaves the room, giving me privacy to change into his shirt. I glance at myself, wearing his name over my breast in thefull-length oval mirror that’s beside his dresser. When I turn, I look at the room and imagine beautiful artwork hanging above the bed, a plush rug under my feet, and a few tall lamps. The furniture is beautiful, all handmade. I wouldn’t change a thing, only make small additions.

He walks in, catching me staring. “Imagining our future?” he asks.

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