Page 88 of Fixing to Be Mine

I smile. “Backatcha.”

She lifts her head and meets my eyes. “I still have to leave—you know that, right?”

“Yes. When that time comes, I won’t ask you to stay even if I want you to,” I confess. “You have to make that decision on your own, darlin’.”

“I know.” She settles again, arm hugging my chest in a way that manages to restrain me and comfort me at the same time. She’s warmer now, almost feverish, and I can feel her breathing even and slow. She’s already drifting, but she holds on for one last alert minute—maybe panicked, maybe greedy—her words crowding out in a rush. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I consider her words, exhaling slowly, as she melts into my side.

“I think you saved me,” I say finally, letting it hang there.

She’s asleep by the time I’ve spoken out loud.

I lie awake after, listening to the settling of pipes and the ancient creaks of the old house. Our skin sticks where we’re pressed together. I try to memorize this moment with her because I don’t know what our future holds.

Even now, under the weight of her sleep, I can feel the ripple of some inevitable goodbye traveling through me. She’s going to leave, but the reality is she’s always been leaving. Every day that passes is one less day I’ll have with her, and that thought nearly destroys me. I hold her a little tighter because I already miss her. But no matter what happens between what we were and what we’re becoming, I have hope, and I hang on to that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

STORMY

I’m still barefoot and flipping through paint swatches in the hallway when Colt finds me.

“Are you sure you want me to pick the color?” I ask. Leaving my imprint on his walls seems like a big deal to me, and I can’t decide.

“Positive,” he tells me as he leans against the doorway, arms crossed, wearing that lazy smirk that drives me wild. “Could use your touch.”

He’s shirtless again, and he still smells like soap from the shower he just took. Colt looks annoyingly good without even trying. Today, we woke up at sunrise and have worked nonstop, taking only food and water breaks. However, every wall is up and painted with a base coat now. We’re a good team.

“You doin’ anything tonight?” he asks casually.

I raise an eyebrow. “Well, I was gonna spend some quality time with paint samples, maybe light a candle, whisper sweet nothings to eggshell whites.”

He chuckles. “Cancel your plans. Let’s go out.”

I pause, the paint swatch in my hand already forgotten. “Like … out,out?”

“Yeah. Out on the town,” he says. “A change of scenery would be nice.”

I stare at him for a beat, trying to gauge how serious he is. But he’s watching me with that steady look he gives me right before he rearranges my rules. Right now, I want him to rearrange my guts, but I keep that to myself.

“Can I ask where we’re going?”

“There’s a bar downtown called Boot Scooting. It’s one of the local country music bars that has a nice dance floor and pool tables in the back. London’s band is playing, and I’d love to support them. Plus, the drinks are cold.”

“Sounds like fun, but I dunno if my two left feet can handle any more dancing,” I tease.

He steps into my space, and I look up at him.

His voice drops. “Oh, come on. Need to teach ya how to two-step.”

My stomach dips, heat flaring under my skin. “Uh …”

He moves forward, grabbing my body. He guides me gently, his hand firm against the small of my back, the other holding mine in a loose, confident grip. “It’s easy. One step, then two, just like this.

“One,” he murmurs, stepping back slowly. “Two. Step together.”

I follow, a little clumsy at first, but his body doesn’t waver. He’s patient, and he moves in a slow rhythm, his bare feet sliding across the old hardwood like he was born, knowing how to do this.

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