Page 48 of Feels Like Falling
“If I’m free,” I say, using our joined hands to pull his chest flush against mine before popping up on my toes and brushing my lips against his, “definitely, yes.”
“Tomorrow?” he asks, his lips curving up into a smile.
“Tomorrow.”
22
MONTANA
As promised, I pulled out my good jeans and a button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled halfway up my forearms. Just like the song, “I Like It, I Love It” by Tim McGraw, my truck is cleaner than I’ve ever seen it, and I picked up a bouquet of pretty, pink peonies because I want to do this right.
Ellison deserves the effort, and there’s nothing I want more than to give that to her. So much of my growing up had been watching Grandad and Nan dancing in the kitchen or him pickin’ her flowers from the garden.
One year, he’d planted an entire field of sunflowers so she could see them from the house. It had been an incredible undertaking, but her smile had been radiant. They’d come back on their own, the seeds making way for the following year. But we haven’t touched that field since she passed—choosing to cut the flowers for her funeral service instead of letting them go to seed. It’d be too hard to see the blooms that next year when she wasn’t here to enjoy them. I’ve debated having one of the guys just till the field but I can’t bring myself to do that either.
Grandad had sown that field with love and devotion for the woman he’d cherished for more than half a century, a woman he mourned but still celebrated every day. I want that kind of love and I want it with Ellison.
Instead of making me nervous, it settles me in the best possible way. How lucky am I that I get to woo my best friend? I’d always tried to take care of Ellison growing up, and it wrecked me when we were apart. I hated not being privy to the intimate details of her life—the things that made her happy or sad, accomplishments and heartbreaks. It wasn’t my place then but I’ll never let that happen again.
We deserve our chance at happiness, and dammit, I am going to give it to her.
Taking a breath, I slow the truck as I pull down the driveway to her cottage. White oaks line each side, making it feel like some kind of fairy tale on this stretch of dirt and gravel. My heart races as I pull to a stop next to her car.
I’ve been here a hundred times before. I’d made sure everything was perfect before she moved in—combing through every inch of the tiny house and driving Archer crazy in the process. Part of me wants to tell her tonight about Sundown Realty, but the other part knows I need to wait.
Tonight is about reconnecting and enjoying bein’ able to show her off to the world.
Let everyone know she’s mine.
Reaching over, I grab the flowers from the passenger seat before stepping out of the truck. My boots crunch across the gravel, the cadence in my steps steadying my nerves as I cross the porch to knock on the door.
Footsteps echo inside a moment before the door opens, and I damn near lose my breath. Ellison’s smile is coy,knowing,and she has every right to be because I can’t get enough of just looking at her. From her worn, tan cowboy boots, up her long legs to the flowy hem of her burnt-orange dress, up to the cinched waist and the V cut of the top that shows off enough of her breasts to have my mouth watering—Ellison is a fucking dream.
No, not a dream, a reality.
My reality.
“You look incredible,” I finally manage, awe heavy in my tone. She blushes the slightest bit as my gaze finally locks on hers.
“So do you, Max.”
“These are for you.”
Her fingers brush against mine as she reaches for the bouquet and immediately brings them to her nose, her eyes falling closed as she inhales and then sighs, a smile playing on her lips.
“My favorite.”
“I know.” Wide brown eyes blink up at me full of surprise and adoration.I remember so much more than that, Eddie.“Why don’t you put them in water and then we can go?”
“You haven’t told me where we’re going,” she says over her shoulder as she turns back toward the kitchen and I follow. The space is pretty much the same as when she moved in, with white walls, black cabinets, light-gray granite countertops, and cherry-stained floors. It’s beautiful but it’s not Ellison, and I’m not sure if it’s actually that the cottage doesn’t fit her or if I’m just so fixated on how well she fits withme.
“We’re going to The Backyard.”
“What’s that?”
“They do farm to table, like the Iron Cask, but it’s more laid-back. You can still get pasta and steak but there’s also sliders and barbeque.”
“Sounds perfect.”
