Page 103 of That Moment
He’s younger in it, but still Hudson Slade through and through. He’s got that famous Slade stare, but his eyes are softer because he’s looking at his little girl like she hung the moon. She’s squishing her face against his, her eyes practically squeezed shut. It’s the kind of picture that reminds me of the smell of sunscreen and hose water and popsicles melting down our wrists.
Something squeezes tight under my sternum. My thumb drifts over the tiny smile until it blurs. “Damn, Barbie,” I breathe, throat rough as creek rock. She deserves the world.
I flip it shut gently and turn it over. The clasp’s fine-boned and wrecked, bent just enough that it won’t catch. On the back, there’s a small engraving.
Love always, Dad.
I wonder how long she’s spent looking for this. There’s no way she hasn’t turned over every corner, pulled out every drawer in search of it. She’s always been sentimental, so I know it would mean the world to her if I could get it fixed and return it to her.
Nate can fix this easily.
Palmer’s Pawn has seen worse, I’m sure, and they’ve been around since long before I was even born. Nate Palmer runs the shop now, since his dad retired. I can hear him now, grumbling about the cheap solder here, reaching for that little torch to fix it.
I picture setting it in her palm once it’s fixed. I imagine the way I know her face will light up. And because my stupid heart has no boundaries tonight, the thought jumps the fence and sprints.
And tell her, idiot. Tell her right then what she does to you. Tell her you’re in. That you’ll show up. That slow doesn’t mean scared. That you’re in love with her.
The back of my neck heats. I swallow it down.
Not yet. We said slow—I said slow because I need it. I’ve got a decade and a half of commitment issues to undo. I curl the chain into my fist, feel how small it is against my palm, then slide it into the pocket of my jeans, safe against the heat of my thigh.
“Palmer first,” I say to the empty bay, to the car, to myself. “Then I’ll return it.”
I finish pulling the cover over the Mustang. Turn the lights off, bay door down, and keys into the drawer where they belong.Locket safe. I pat my pocket once more, just to make sure, and lock up.
“You’re in deep, man,” I laugh to myself as I walk to my truck. But for once, I’m okay with it.
Chapter 19
Adrienne
The whole week feels like my brain is trying to think through honey. Everything’s soft and slow and shimmering around the edges. I answer emails, take meetings, and sign invoices, but every time my brain drifts, it slides right back to the garage. To him.
To the way he looked standing over me. I’ve never seen his eyes that dark, never seen his abs flex like with such restraint as I looked up at him from my knees. The taste of him, the sound of his voice when he begged me not to stop. It’s dangerous how easy it is to replay every detail.
I try to shake it off, shifting in my chair, pretending I’m not trying to squeeze my thighs tighter together. My body still remembers every rough, perfect second of that night. A knock at my office door startles me. I sit up too fast. “Come in.”
Axel steps inside, and before I can even read his expression, he’s closing the door behind him. That click alone makes my stomach drop.
I narrow my eyes. “Never good when you shut the door.”
He smirks but doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he sinks into the chair across from me and folds his arms. “Is something really happening with you and Scotty?”
There it is. Subtle as a freight train.
I blink. “Not sure that’s any of your business, is it?”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, giving me that brother stare that used to scare off half my high school boyfriends. “I’m not judging, Adrienne. I just want to know what’s going on. Because after what I saw Saturday night?—”
“Don’t.” I lift a hand fast, cutting him off. “Nope. We are not talking about what you ‘saw.’”
He laughs under his breath. “Good, I’d rather never mention it again. But I’m not blind.”
“Apparently not deaf either,” I mutter, cheeks flaming. “You know, for a guy who used to call him a playboy—” Axel raises an eyebrow. “—you sure seem invested all of a sudden.”
“He’s still a playboy, sis. I’m just wondering if you have your head too far up your own ass to keep that in mind.”
I groan. “Oh my God, please stop saying words.”
