Page 103 of Always Meant for You
He leans in, not breaking eye contact, not pretending this isn’t the edge of everything. Then he stops a breath away. “You want to know what I’m thinking?”
“Yes, I’m begging, Cal.”
His gaze darkens. “I’m thinking I should kiss you.”
Chapter Nineteen
CAL
I brace against the surge building inside me. One shift forward, one breath lost to instinct, and I’ll be gone. My mouth will meet hers, and the rest will follow without hesitation.
She’s watching me like she’s waiting to see if I’ll move toward her or run from the weight of what’s hovering between us.
I want to taste her, hold her steady, pull her into the place where pain loosens its grip and nothing else matters. Not the past, not the plan, not the bruised edges we’re both carrying.
Every wall I built to keep her out doesn’t hold anymore.
She shifts, and light skims the chain around her neck.
The letter glints, and my heart strains under the weight of it.
“I don’t know how this always seems to happen, Mabel,” I say, my words barely a whisper.
She tilts her head. “How what happens?”
“How you keep getting more beautiful every time I look at you.”
She doesn’t look away. Neither do I.
I don’t care that I sound desperate.
It’s true.
And I am desperate.
For her.
I wish I could find the words to explain that I’m trapped between fear and longing. How I’ve been trapped since that day under the willow tree.
I lean in, letting instinct guide me, needing her mouth on mine more than my next breath.
“Mabel Muldowney, as I live and breathe!” a man bellows from across the drive.
Mabel gasps, and I draw back. Her hands slip from mine. My pulse kicks hard as I glance toward the barn and spot Harry Sperry waving with both arms. The old man’s beaming as if he’s been waiting all year for this exact moment.
The shift is jarring. I still feel the heat of her hands in mine. Now, we’re snapped back to the real world, to schedules and small talk.
Mabel smooths her dress. “Is that Larry Sperry?”
“No,” I murmur. “That’s Harry. Larry’s younger brother. He’s in charge of operations now.”
She frowns. “I’ve mixed up the Sperrys my whole life, especially all the brothers.”
“It’s easy to do,” I say. “They breed dairy cows, repeat first names, and somehow all look the same. That’s the people. Not the cows. Though . . . maybe both. You know what I mean.”
She giggles, and for a moment, the tension eases.
“Harry’s with Sherri, right?” she asks.
