“That was nice,” I murmured, my voice slightly unsteady. I was just now noticing we were still standing where anyone could have seen us.
His lips curved into a knowing smile, the heat in his eyes making the green practically glow. “That was just a promise,” he said, then leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Niceisn’t what you’ll be calling it by the time we get where I hope we’re headed.”
His voice was low and wrapped around me like a promise. My breath caught in anticipation.
Then, as if he hadn’t just unraveled me with his kiss and that line, he straightened. “You work hard all week. Today’s about treating you.”
“Okay,” I whispered, the words barely pushing past the flutter in my chest. I gave him a shy smile. “Let me clean up and get dressed. Want to wait inside?”
I didn’t wait for an answer; I just pushed the door open and disappeared toward my bedroom, heart racing.
Once the door clicked shut, I leaned against it, relishing its cool touch against my heated skin.
My breath still came in quick gasps. My lips still tingled from his kiss. And my skin still burned where his hands had barely touched me.
But it was more than just physical. It was the way he looked at me—like I was something precious.
It felt too soon for that. But his words still echoed in my head—That was just a promise.
And right or wrong, I wanted him to keep that promise. I wanted more. Not just the physical relief I knew he could give me, but what was behind that kiss. The connection. The comfort. The belief in me.
He wanted me to feel safe in wanting him back.
And God, I did want him.
I moved to my dresser and grabbed clean clothes with trembling hands, determined to enjoy the day and not think too hard about everything.
When I emerged a few minutes later, pulling my hair into a ponytail, he was standing by the table, looking over the mess I hadn’t had time to clean this morning. The table was covered in supplies—bowls and molds, scattered sprigs of lavender, a saucepan with a thermometer still inside. Awooden spoon rested in a mixing bowl with remnants of leftover cream that hadn’t quite hardened yet.
“Sorry,” I said, catching his gaze. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
“You’re worth the wait,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I’m not in a hurry,” he added, then glanced at the table. “But it looks like you were working on something.”
I followed his gaze and gave a sheepish smile. “Oh. That. Just a hobby I used to enjoy.”
He arched a brow, encouraging me.
“I used to make lavender soap with my mom,” I said quietly. “Back before…well, before things got complicated. I haven’t made any in years, but I found goat’s milk in town a while back and with all the lavender in the garden, I figured, why not?”
He leaned in and scooped a small bit from the bowl. “It’s soft. Almost like lotion.”
“It’ll continue to harden as it ages. It takes a while, but it’s worth it. Mama and I used to give them as gifts. She always said it helped calm people down. I’m not sure that actually works, but it’s good for the skin, if nothing else.”
He looked at me with a slow smile. “I believe it. I felt calmer the second I walked in here. But that might be more about being with you.”
My heart warmed at his words. I slipped my arm through his. “I’ll clean it up later. Right now, let’s go on that picnic.”
As usual, Simply Ruth’s, the popular diner in Sterling Mill, was buzzing. The low hum of conversation mixed with theclatter of dishes and the hiss of a griddle. More than a few eyes followed us as Chase and I walked inside.
Either he didn’t notice, or it didn’t bother him. He walked straight to the counter in the back like he belonged there. Which, of course, he did. I was the outsider who was more than aware of how the talking had grown quieter.
“You still like a Reuben?” Chase asked, glancing down at me.
“You remember?”
He winked. “Hard to forget how you used to hoard it and guard it like it was gold. You never wanted to share a bite.”
I chuckled at the memory. “Yeah. I haven’t had one in ages, though. Sounds perfect.”
