Page 19 of Nate Hayes

My stomach did that swoopy thing again. I should’ve known it wasn’t just a kiss at the farmers market. Not with the way he looked at me. Not with the way he held me like he wasn’t ever going to let go.

But now he was leaving.

Italy. Kids. Escort mission. Probably flying into danger with that quiet, calm confidence he always wore like a second skin.

I hated that part. I hated how much I liked him already.

By the time Nate got the goats wrangled and came back inside, I had pulled on a long T-shirt and made some sweet tea. He looked like he’d just survived a bar fight—his hair was sticking up, a rip had appeared in his jeans, and Pancake was sulking in the corner with a bucket of feed.

“You okay?” I asked, handing him the glass.

“Define okay.”

“You have all your limbs. That’s a win on this farm.”

He took a long drink and leaned back against the counter. His eyes locked with mine, and the heat between us returned like a summer thunderstorm—fast, heavy, and impossible to ignore.

“I’ll be gone a few days,” he said, voice low. “But when I get back... I’m taking you out. No goats. No interruptions. Just you, me, and maybe a real bed the first time next time.”

I nodded, my heart thumping against my ribs. “I’ll be here. Soap to make, goats to wrangle, inappropriate fantasies to relive.”

He grinned and pulled me into a kiss that was somehow soft and dirty at the same time. The kind of kiss that left promises behind.

When he finally left, the place felt quieter. Too quiet.

I turned to walk and looked at the evil goat. “You’ve got terrible timing, you know that?”

He let out a littlemehand wandered off like he owned the place.

I smiled, leaning against the doorframe, already counting down the days.

9

Nate

The jet roared to life, and I leaned back against the seat, watching the clouds blur past the window as we lifted off. Axel sat across from me, chewing on a protein bar like it personally offended him. Neither of us spoke for the first half hour. It was too damn early, and neither of us were excited about babysitting a couple of rich teenagers with TikTok addictions and trust funds bigger than our whole damn base budget.

Don’t get me wrong—I’d lay down my life to keep them safe. That was my job. But I preferred the kind of missions that came with adrenaline and chaos, not shopping malls and side-eyes from kids who thought they were smarter than the SEALs assigned to protect them.

They stayed on their phones for most of the plane ride. When we landed in Milan, Axel finally said, breaking the silence. “Then it's a private driver through Tuscany to the grandparents' estate.”

“Do we get wine?” I asked.

“Probably. You gonna drink it?”

I snorted. “Not if I’m on watch. But I’m not above stashing a bottle for later.”

My phone buzzed, and I fished it out of my pocket. A photo of Willa filled the screen—just her, standing in front of her farmhouse, holding a bar of soap with “Goat Butt” stamped on the label and a totally serious face.

Miss me yet?

I laughed out loud.

Axel raised a brow. “That her?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s cute. The goat soap thing still weirds me out, though.”

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