She laughs against my skin. “No, no more Los Angeles,” she says, “and Erewhon?” She snorts quietly, glancing back at me, her eyes warmer than the sun slipping over the hills. “God. I used to think it was the pinnacle of luxury. But now? I think I like Piggly Wiggly better. It smells like fresh cinnamon rolls, and no one cares if I walk in wearing yesterday’s mascara.”
I let out a low chuckle, burying my face into her hair for a second, breathing her in—God, she smells like soap and sunshine, everything that feels like home.
“When I first got here,” she continues, voice growing heavier, “all I could think about was fucking leaving. I hated it. I didn’t belong here. I was so used to... that other life. The parties, the spending, the bullshit. I thought that was what made me happy.” She pauses. “But now,” she whispers, “I don’t know. I feel like... like I’m figuring it out. Figuring out who I am. Not who everyone expects me to be. Not who my father tried to shape. Just... me.”
That feeling flutters through me again, stronger this time. I tighten my arms around her, closing my eyes, letting the storm raging inside of me settle for just a little longer.
I’ve seen the shift in her this past month. The way she stopped giving a shit about designer labels, and stopped whining about her overpriced singular fucking strawberry from that fancy-ass grocery store she used to rave about.
Her heels, bedazzled trucker hats, and bedazzled boots? Those are non-negotiable.
She’s not clinging to her old life anymore.
When she started working at the bar, putting in the hours, earning her own damn paycheck, and slowly put it away. She started finding a purpose. Something outside of her father’s expectations.
She’s not just changing, she’s growing.
She nuzzles her head closer into the crook of my neck, her fingers tracing lazily over the tattoos inked into my skin, and something clicks inside me.
I think back to the bookstore she couldn’t stop talking about, the one I took her to.
I drove past it the other day, slowing my truck when I saw the ‘For Lease’ sign still hanging crooked in the window. That’s when the idea first hit me. Now, feeling her so soft and warm against me, like she belongs here, like she belongs with me—I know exactly what I need to do.
I drag my fingers along the side of her neck, feeling her shiver with my touch. I smirk to myself before speaking.
“I saw something the other day,” I say, voice low and teasing. “You probably don’t remember since you were entranced with your smutty books.”
She whips her head around, smacking my chest playfully. “Bury me with my filthy smut, I don’t care.” What did you see, cowboy? Alien smut? I know you’re into that.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, dragging in a breath, trying to hold onto the last shred of patience I have with her. “Jesus, Catalina... can you fucking listen for once?”
She smirks, that devilish glint in her eye as she turns back around, leaning into me again, as she rests her head lazily against my chest like she hadn’t just tested every oneof my nerves. I slide my hand along her hip, keeping it there.
“That bookstore, Bell’s Books? The owner’s retiring. She’s renting the property out.”
It takes half a second for what I said to sink in. Catalina jerks her head back to look at me, wide-eyed, her mouth falling open.
And then—she screams. Not a little gasp, not a squeal, but a full-body, at-the-top-of-her-lungs, make-my-damn-ears-ring scream.
Water sloshes violently over the edges of the tub, splashing onto the floor. I can’t even find it in me to care. She could run me over with her car, and I’d still want her.
She scrambles around to face me fully, sitting on her knees in the tub, her wet hair sticking to her flushed cheeks, her hands gripping my forearm with an insane amount of force.
“Are you fucking serious?” she gasps, eyes wild with excitement.
I chuckle low under my breath, thoroughly amused by her reaction.
“Dead serious, baby.”
She throws her hands over her mouth, squealing behind them, and her whole body vibrates with raw happiness. She grabs my hands, beaming so hard it physically hurts to look at her.
“I know what I’m going to do,” she says, the words tumbling out fast.
I let her hands go, only so I can cup her beautiful, flushed face in my palms, running my thumbs along her cheeks. “Use the space to hoard your books?” I tease, cocking a brow.
She smacks my hand playfully, rolling her eyes like I’m the biggest idiot she’s ever met.
“No, asshole. I’m going to open my own bookstore, but with my flair.”
