Page 17 of Almost Had You

I take a sip and moan. “Sugar,” I drawl, spinning in his arms to face him, the jar in hand.

“Now you gonna give me some sugar?” Mercer licks his lips. A breeze hits my face.

Leaning in, I kiss his lips once, closing my eyes to feel this moment more deeply. I feel his hands taking the jar from me, and I break away.

“Let’s put the lid on it and take this sugar a little more seriously. What do you say?”

“I’d say that’s a fine plan, Mercer Ballentine.”

He places the tea back in the basket and rolls onto me, lips crashing into mine. His tongue finds mine and as the kiss turns to fire, his hand traces the side of my waist and hip, I catch his gaze. “Do we really only have three weeks?”

The turned-on smile he wore all last night and right now fades into something more somber. “Don’t bring that up now. Not when I’m trying to forget it.”

“If it’s that horrible, why do you want to go back?” I ask, running my thumbs across his wet mouth, memorizing the bow of his lips—the slant of his chiseled jaw.

“I have to. It’s my job. My dream.” And with that, he’ll never have to explain further. I know what it’s like to have a dream that seems unobtainable. Something you don’t think anyone else will understand. “You’re going to be a hard goodbye, Clover Wellsley. Of that, I’m certain.” He pushes up on his hands so he can get a better look at me. “If you finally get on out of here, and make it to Cape Cod, I’ll be there when I get back from my deployment. We could have a crack at real time, darlin’.”

“We’d be more than just a three-week fling?” I ask, raising both brows.

He quirks a brow. “Would you want that? I’m just your scapegoat right now.”

I hit his shoulder. “You’re more than a scapegoat. I’d like more than a three-week fling. What little girl dreams of growing up and having a three-week fling with a military man. That’s not in the textbook. I hate to break it to you.”

He grins. “Okay then, it sounds like we can count on Cape Cod. You. Me. More snow than you’ll know what to do with. It grows on you.”

“You’re assuming I escape Greenton with my life.”

“You will. I’ll make sure of it. Wanna have some lunch?”

I nod as he rolls off me and starts taking stuff out. Removing my boots, I cross my legs. “This place is so beautiful. How many girls have you taken out here?” I ask, my tone light.

He chuckles. “A few, but not for the reasons you’re thinkin’. This is Bentley’s fishing spot. I’m the only other person who knows how to get here, I reckon. I’ve brought girls out here to hang out with him.”

“He’s letting you borrow his spot? How sweet of him. It really is beautiful. If my dad knew about it, he’d have a park built here in no time.” I hug my knees up to my chest. “Something to make more money.”

“Mercer shrugs. “I didn’t ask Bent. Better to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission.”

I accept a small sandwich he’s handing me and take a bite. “I did see my forever in Greenton until a few years ago, you know? I’m not sure what happened. What changed for me.” Chewing slowly, I look at Mercer eating. “I want a dose of what you have. You got out of here and you’ve seen the world.”

“I’ll give you a dose, alright,” he replies. “The world is a bit of a mess right now, Clover.” His eyes glass over as he gazes at the pond. “The safety and security you have here is so rare it’s hard for me to tell you to leave it behind. It’s one of the few untouched places since the war began.” I know this fact. “Maybe that’s why it’s been hard for you to leave the known.” Mercer recalls the start of the war when the terrorist attacks sparked in nearly every city in the United States and abroad. No place was safe. Greenton was.

“I think you’re right. I think that combined with the fact that all of my family and friends are here made for a lethal combo. I’m ready though. I’m calling Goldie. When you leave, I’m leaving too. She said she’d need a couple weeks to get ready for me.” I tell him everything that I’ve never told another living soul. About the duplex Goldie owns that I can move into. About the salon and how I’ve been driving up to the city to the teaching salon to keep my skills up a few times a week for nearly two years. That’s my quilting class. The first six months, I kept quilting stuff around my house, then I just told my mother I kept it where my lessons were. I tell him about the exams and practicals I will have to take to transfer my license. I have done my research; my plan is solid.

“I know I said it before, but I like you in those clothes,” Mercer says, wiping his hands on his pants.

I clear my throat after swallowing a large bite. “This beautiful man picked them out for me.”

“He has good taste,” he replies. “About dinner at my house tonight,” he adds hesitantly.

I shake my head. “Unless you don’t want me there, I’m eating dinner at your house.”

“My mama gossips as much as Tannie,” Mercer says.

“We’ll give her something to gossip about,” I reply.

He runs a finger down my shoulder. “On second thought, as much as I love these clothes, I think I’d rather see them on the ground.” Mercer tugs on the tight fabric of my shirt, and then my jeans.

“Oh, sir, you are really forward.”

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