Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Meadow

I wake up to the early morning light streaming through the curtains, my hair a mess, and the soft sound of Whiskers van Gogh purring at the foot of the bed. Or at least, that's what I assume until I look down and realize my traitorous cat is missing. Again. I sigh, rolling out of bed and pulling on an oversized sweater as I head down the hall to the kitchen.

As expected, Jane is already up, sipping her coffee and staring at a list that looks entirely too long for this early in the morning.

"Morning," I mumble, my voice still raspy from sleep.

"Morning," Jane replies without looking up. "Your kitty thinks I'm her couch, again."

I glance over, and yep, there he is—Whiskers van Gogh, curled up on Jane's lap, looking like he owns the place. "I swear, if we ever stop being roommates, you're going to be the one getting him," I mutter, pouring myself a cup of coffee. "He's basically your cat at this point."

Jane finally looks up from her list, grinning. "You might be right. He's obsessed with me. Probably because I don't try to paint him with actual whiskers like a certain someone."

I roll my eyes, taking a sip of my coffee. "It was one time."

"Uh-huh," Jane says, not buying it. "Anyway, I'm drowning in flower orders. You'd think people would pick another time to get married in Vermont, but no. They're obsessed with fall and winter weddings. Sometimes summer. Never spring. Why does no one get married in spring? It would make my life so much easier."

"Right?" I sit down across from her. "Spring is underrated. It's got blooming flowers, perfect weather . . . and no one ever picks it."

"I don't get it," Jane says, rubbing her temples. "I'm not ready for the upcoming wedding season, and here I am, already drowning in fall flower orders. I need more time."

"People do go overboard with their fall weddings. Like, we get it—you love pumpkins and rustic vibes," I say, shaking my head.

Jane groans. "And don't even get me started on the winter weddings. The amount of holly and snowflake designs I've had to do . . . I need a break before the madness really kicks in."

"Maybe next year you can convince people that spring weddings are the new trend," I tease. "Start planting the seed now."

"Trust me, I'm trying. But everyone's still obsessed with their cozy autumn aesthetics; the backdrop is so perfect for the pictures," Jane says, glancing down at Whiskers, who's now sprawled across her laptop like he's the king of the house.

"I can't believe how much time he spends with you," I repeat, giving Whiskers a pointed look. "I'm going to lose him, aren't I?"

"Oh, you lost him months ago," Jane says with a laugh, scratching behind Whiskers' ears. "He's fully converted to Team Jane."

I chuckle, sipping my coffee. "Betrayed by my own cat. Great. Just what I needed."

Jane grins, but her smile fades a bit as she glances at her massive to-do list. "Honestly, I think he'll go back to you soon. I'm about to live in my shop starting next week and not coming back until March. Not sure if I'll survive this wedding season."

"You'll figure it out," I reassure her, watching her stress mount. "You always do."

"Yeah, well, if Whiskers starts helping with floral arrangements, maybe I'll stand a chance." She glares at him, like she's daring him to actually be useful for once.

I laugh. "He's too busy being your little prince to bother with anything resembling work."

Jane smirks. "What are you doing today? The festival's almost here—are you ready, traitor?"

"Hey, I tried to give this to you," I shoot back. "Genie had other plans in mind."

"Like giving it to her grandson so you two could fall madly in love and drag him into town like she did with the other two grandsons," she teases, rolling her eyes.

"The others?" I frown. "It was only Sinclair who's with Lavender now."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Uh-huh, sure, let's go with that."

I narrow my gaze. "Wait, is Paul seeing someone?"

Jane shrugs, pretending to be casual, but I see that glint in her eye. "Maybe, but they're trying to be discreet."

"Who?" I lean in, hoping for more.

"Honestly, I can't tell you," she says, her expression turning serious. "I trust you, but it's Paul's secret to share, and I don't think he's ready."

I'm puzzled. I haven't seen Paul with anyone lately, and he's friends with practically everyone in town. But now my curiosity is piqued, and I can't think of anyone he could be secretly dating.

"Well, as long as he's happy," I say, shrugging.

Jane suddenly tilts her head and asks, "Are you happy?"

I arch an eyebrow at her. "What does that mean?"

"You seem to be spending a lot of time with Raffa. Are you happy?"

The question hits me harder than I expect, and I fall silent. I mean, happy? What does that even mean right now? My mind immediately drifts to Raffa, to the way he looks at me, all grumpy and brooding. And then I think about what I've been trying not to think about—the way I want him. His hands, big and strong. I've caught myself imagining what those hands would feel like all over my body.

God, I want him to touch me. I want those hands gripping my waist, sliding over my breasts, exploring every inch of me. I want him to cup my face, kiss me like he's starving for it. His fingers dipping lower, teasing me, making me ache. I picture him pressing me against a wall, his cock hard against me, pushing inside me, filling me completely.

I swallow hard, heat spreading through my body at the thought of Raffa. His tongue trailing down my neck, tasting my skin, his hands holding me open for him . . . God, I want to feel him everywhere. It's embarrassing how badly I want him, how much I've imagined it.

Snapping back to reality, I realize Jane is watching me with that all-knowing look, like she's just seen right through every dirty thought running through my head.

"I . . . I don't know," I mutter, trying to act casual, but the truth is, I know exactly how I feel. "But it definitely has nothing to do with Raffa."

"Liar," she scoffs, smirking. "So, we have a thing for the grumpy lawyer, huh?"

"No," I say way too quickly, my voice high-pitched and unconvincing. Damn it.

Jane raises an eyebrow. "It's okay to like another man other than Bryce the Cheater. Not everyone is going to be like him."

I cringe at the mention of Bryce, but I don't let it show. "I . . . I'm going to change. There's not much time left before the festival," I say, my voice trailing off as I practically flee to my bathroom before Jane can dig any deeper.

I close the door behind me and lean against it for a moment, trying to collect myself. My thoughts are spinning, and the heat from earlier is still simmering under my skin. I take a deep breath, stripping off my clothes and stepping into the shower, letting the hot water pour over me.

But even the water can't wash away the image of Raffa—those big hands gripping me, his mouth on mine, the way I imagine he'd take control in the best possible way. I want him. I want him so fucking bad.

Get it together, I tell myself, but it's no use. My mind keeps drifting back to him, and no matter how hard I try, I can't shake it.