LUKE AND WEBB
CHAPTER FIVE
LUKE
I openedthe back of my SUV and heaved a sigh at the mound of groceries there, which seemed to have doubled during my two-hour drive home.
“‘Move to Vermont,’ they said,” I muttered under my breath as I grabbed a cooler filled with frozen food. “‘Enjoy rural living,’ they said. Nobody talks about how far it is to Costco.”
A deep chuckle emerged from the barn, and I turned to find my husband with one boot propped back against the siding, thickly muscled arms crossed over his equally muscled chest, watching me with a smirk.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said softly. He curled his fingers in a come-hither gesture. “C’mere and kiss me.”
I rolled my eyes. Webb’s hair was damp with sweat, his legs and boots coated in flecks of grass clippings, his blue T-shirt and jeans streaked with substances I couldn’t immediately identify… and probably shouldn’t try to. But his eyes were filled with the same absurd level of affection, adoration, and lust as they’d been during our weird, wonderful, ass-backward courtship. Three and a half years after drunkenly blowing a bugle and finding ourselves hand-fasted—three and a half years of mostly joy and occasionally heartbreak—Webb Sunday still made my heart stutter.
So of course, I did as he requested, dropping my box of groceries and sauntering toward him… butslowly, pretending to play it cool.
I failed miserably, if the way Webb’s smirk grew was any indication.
When I got close, he lifted a hand—probably the only part of him that had been recently washed, I noticed with amusement—to grip my chin. Then he lowered his lips to mine and kissed me, hard and deep and claiming, until my toes curled inside my sneakers.
Ask anyone in Little Pippin Hollow, and they’d tell you Webb Sunday was kind of a Renaissance man. A business owner, an heirloom orchardist, an amazing father, a Scout volunteer, a brother who’d do anything for his siblings, a pillar of the community.
But what I knew—and what no one else around here would ever learn, if I had anything to say about it—was that Webb’s greatest talent waskissing.
Webb kissed me like I was his sole focus, like he had all the time in the world and planned to spend every second of it imprinting his love for me right into my bones.
So it was zero surprise that I forgot all about my long drive, about The Big Conversation I knew Webb and I needed to have, about the popsicles dying a slow, sticky death in the cooler. I sucked in a big lungful of cut grass and clean sweat and chased the taste of Blue Raspberry Gatorade—Webb’s summertime hydration of choice—with my tongue.
Sometime later, Webb pulled back just far enough to press our foreheads together. “Mmm. Missed you,” he murmured.
I huffed out a laugh, still breathless and swamped by love. “Since you got out of bed this morning?”
“Morning comes early in summer, baby. You know that.”
I nodded. Webb was out of bed with the birds, especiallywhen it was forecast to be beastly hot, as it had been for the past week…
Andespecially-especially when staying in bed meant a greater-than-zero chance of me forcing him to have The Big Conversation.
“Besides,” he continued, setting his hands on my hips and giving me a smile full ofintent. “I knew you were dropping Aiden and the dog at Porter and Theo’s place?—”
“Porter was already hauling out his ‘Special Effects for Beginners’ kit when I left them this morning,” I interrupted. “He and Aiden are going to build a working volcano, recreate a battle fromReturn of the King, and make hot fudge from scratch.”
Webb shook his head. “God help the professor.”
“Nah, Theo looked suspiciously excited. Pretty sure your brother’s letting him be Gandalf.” I grinned broadly. “Your family’s the best.”
Webb’s green eyes flared hotter as he tracked my smile. “They are. But they’re also always fuckinghere.” His fingers tightened on my hips. “Tonight, though, Aiden and Bear are gone, Em’s visiting her college friend, and your mom and Aunt Sue are still on their Irish wool tour. You know what that means?”
I pretended to think about it. “There’s a possibility the pint of ice cream I put in the freezer yesterday isn’t empty and that I’ll be able to crochet more than two rows of my temperature blanket while we talk without interruption?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Sadly, no. I caught Aiden shutting the freezer guiltily last night and smelling distinctly like Boston Cream Pie. But!” He pulled me against him. “It means we’re alone.Trulyalone. And I’m thinking we can find something way more fun than crocheting to do.”
I noticed he didn’t mention anything abouttalking.
“More fun than crocheting?” I ran a hand over his chest,his hard muscles warm under my hand. “I don’t know. I really like crocheting.”
“Uh-huh. But it’s been nearly a week since you and I… blew a bugle.” He bounced his eyebrows lasciviously. “And evidence suggests you like that, too.”
