Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Raffa

The days pass without incident. Once Meadow confronted her ex, he left town and hasn't been heard from since. She hasn't wanted to talk about it, and I haven't pushed. We've fallen back into our routine, preparing for the festival. The longer I'm here, the more it feels like I'm becoming part of this sleepy little town.

I've settled into a rhythm, and surprisingly, I'm enjoying it. The thought of returning to Boston doesn't sit right with me. It's probably the combination of having my siblings close—Sinclair swings by almost every weekend with Lavender—and then there's Meadow.

I want to know her better, more than I already do. I've scratched the surface, but there's so much more. Lately, she's been consumed with the gallery, and we only see each other during festival prep. I know she's excited about the business opening, but I miss her. It's strange to admit, but I do. Part of me wonders if she's been avoiding me since everything went down with her ex.

I used to be the one who avoided things too—not an abusive asshole like Bryce, but a selfish prick who didn't care about anyone but himself. Honestly, I hope I've changed. Maybe I'm fooling myself, though. Who knows?

Before heading to the festival grounds, I stop by my grandmother's bakery. Seeing her always brightens my day, but it's thoughts of Meadow that have me waking up earlier than usual. She's become the highlight, the reason I actually look forward to each day. Even when I'm in a bad mood, one look at her smile and everything feels a little better.

When I walk into the bakery, the familiar smell of fresh cookies hits me instantly. Grandma's behind the counter, loading up a tray of her famous chocolate chip cookies—my new addiction since I got here.

"Hey, Grandma," I say, stepping behind the counter to give her a hug. She beams and pulls a warm cookie from the tray, handing it to me on a napkin.

"I'm doing just fine, sweetheart. Where are you off to this morning?" she asks, sliding me another cookie like she's reading my mind.

"I'm meeting Meadow at the festival grounds. She's been swamped with the gallery opening, so we haven't had much time to meet up. But I'm happy for her," I say, taking a bite. It's perfect, as always.

Grandma gives me one of her looks, a knowing one, like she's figured something out that I haven't. "What's that look for?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"I've noticed you've been a little grumpy lately. Since Meadow's been busier. Something going on between you two?" she asks with a teasing grin.

I just smile, choosing not to answer. Instead, I kiss her cheek and head for the door. The bell jingles as I step outside, shaking my head. Grandma's always meddling, but this time, she's not wrong.

When I get to the orchard grounds, I spot Meadow immediately, and damn if my heart doesn't skip a beat. What the hell is happening to me? I've been in a few serious relationships, and none of my exes ever made me feel anything like this. It's both pathetic and terrifying.

My thoughts drift back to the other day, when I kissed her. I want to kiss her again. Hell, I want to kiss her more, touch her more. I stop myself from going down that road, but lately, I've been thinking about all the things I want to do to her with my mouth, my hands, my cock . . . I've had to jerk off in the shower more times than I can count just to keep myself from losing it.

"Hey, how are you doing today?" she asks as I walk over and start helping her with the decorations.

"I'm good. Always good on the days I get to see you," I confess, maybe a bit too boldly, but what do I have to lose at this point?

She smiles back, but doesn't say anything. A faint blush rises to her cheeks, and I feel a little thrill at that.

"So, I was thinking, maybe we could hang out more when you're not busy with the gallery?" I suggest, trying to keep it casual. "If you need help with anything, I can come by and lend a hand."

"Sure, I'd like that. And no, I haven't been avoiding you," she adds, surprising me. "I've just been really busy."

I laugh it off, not admitting that she's right. "I know you've got a lot on your plate with the gallery. But yeah, I'd love to hang out more."

We work in comfortable silence for a while, and it feels . . . right. Like this is how things should be. For the first time in a long time, I feel less stressed. Being here, working with her—it feels like I actually belong somewhere. It feels good. But then the reality of my life in Boston creeps in, and I know it's not that simple.

My siblings would love it if I moved here, but what about the firm? I've spent years building that place, putting everything into it. How do I just walk away from that? The responsibilities, the clients, the pressure—it's all waiting for me back in the city, and I'm not sure how to balance it.

I glance at Meadow as we work, and the thought of leaving feels . . . wrong. But how can I make it work?