6. Bella

6

BELLA

M y nails dig into Wyatt's biceps as I watch him thrust into me. He's nice and thick and long enough to hit my G-spot every single time, in every single position. This man is some kind of sex god, and this is exactly what I needed.

Mewling escapes the back of my throat as my toes curl. I've lost count of the number of orgasms this man has given me. Between the way this man can fuck with his cock and the talent of his tongue, I am wrung out. Or almost. Fuck, he's going to make me come again, and I can't be sure this will be the last time.

How's a girl supposed to say no to a man who knows how to make her come? I can't do it.

And the way he kisses me when he's close… I can't hold back.

An orgasm crashes through me, and Wyatt's control wanes before he joins me. When he sinks to one side and pulls me close, I chuckle. "Who knew a man your age would have this kind of stamina?"

He scoffs in mock offense. "A man my age?"

"Yes. The gray on the sides there gave you away." I giggle, and then yawn.

He trails a long finger down my cheek, to my collarbone, and speaks in a voice that could lull a baby to sleep. "You can rest for a little while."

And maybe it has something to do with his tone, his eyes, or the way he makes me feel safe and sound, but before I know it, I close my eyes.

When I come to my senses, Wyatt is sitting on the sofa beside the bed, his eyes turned to the window. His profile is shrouded in semi-darkness, his back partly illuminated by the sparse slivers of moonlight slipping in. This has been lovely , I think to myself, but it's time for it to end . I can't afford to become a mess of conflicting emotions this close to going back home.

Unsure of how to carry this forward so it runs its natural course, I stir in the bed, and he straightens his spine immediately. "Freya," he says, turning the entire force of his impeccable charm on. "I thought I'd let you sleep."

Okay, he's hot and considerate. This is too much for me to handle right now. I sit up on the bed and lean my back against the pillows. "Uh…thanks, Wyatt. Look, I need to make something clear. I'm not looking for this to extend into…something more. I mean, it was really nice, but I'm very busy."

Look at me, sounding like a complete jackass. I realize that the way I've worded things, and how I've behaved tonight, could all lead to Wyatt feeling let down. When a shadow crosses his features and adds an unexpected layer of darkness to his eyes, I can't blame him.

A moment later, though, he's seemingly composed himself. He offers me a little chuckle. "Well, can't say I'm surprised. We don't go to bars to meet our happily ever afters, do we?"

I don't know what to say to this. My ears begin throbbing, and I pick at my blanket guiltily. "I'm really sorry," I finally mutter, my voice dropping. "I think I've behaved irresponsibly, and it was never my intention to hurt you. It's just that this," I wave my arms around me, "is too good for me right now. If I go on along this trajectory, I'll be hurting you and myself more, and I can't do that. I'm also a mom, and I kind of don't have time to be anything else right now."

I don't see any sense in keeping this from him since he's already seen the nursery on the way upstairs to the bedroom.

Wyatt dips his head in acknowledgment. "I have a thing for strong, solid women," he replies dryly. "We may surprise each other yet, Freya." He laughs. "Is that even your name?"

"Bella," I finally admit with a little laugh of my own. "Was it too juvenile?"

He stands up to button his shirt and throws his jacket over his shoulders. "No," he says softly. "You were perfect. In another world, I'd get in that bed with you and fuck you until your legs turned to jelly. And once we finished, I'd make you breakfast and leave with your number. But I can see that none of those things are what you want or need right now, so I'll head out."

In fact, all of those things sounded pretty great right now, but he was right. I can't risk it. I can't risk being stupid in love once more. A large chunk of my heart is still hurting from how River left it. Maybe Millie wasn't too far off in saying I need closure.

"Bye, Wyatt."

"See you, Bella."

I hear his footsteps thud down the staircase, and then the sound of the front door opening and closing. Then, I'm alone with my thoughts once more. I get out of bed and pad over to the window. Morning is just making her appearance known with slivers of faint scarlet slicing across a deep indigo sky. I sigh and turn my nose up at the welcoming smells from the local bakery across from my home. The old owner, Dave, wakes up at four in the morning every day, like clockwork, to get his shop up and running. It's quaint and has a sweet old-world charm about it, and right now, the smells are delicious enough to draw me down the stairs and out the door.

The bakery, a hole-in-the-wall with faded blue paint, is already bustling with activity. A warm, buttery scent wafts out, wrapping me in a comforting embrace. It's chaos inside, just as it should be. A toddler is waging a valiant war against a sprinkle-covered donut. Dave's wife, Isla, is humming a country tune as she expertly braids dough for cinnamon rolls. A group of regulars occupy a corner booth, sipping coffee and swapping stories. The display case is a treasure trove of delights—huckleberry scones, apple fritters, and towering buttermilk biscuits.

My eyes lock onto a plate of breakfast cookies—hefty rounds studded with chocolate chips, pecans, and oats. They're a taste of pure comfort, reminiscent of childhood camping trips and crackling campfires. I place my order, adding a steaming mug of cowboy coffee, strong, black, and just a touch sweet, to the mix. I snag a spot by the window, the sun casting a warm glow on the worn leather armchair.

Unwrapping the breakfast cookie, I take a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating marriage of vanilla, cinnamon, and chocolate. The first bite is pure sensory bliss. The cookie crumbles slightly, releasing a burst of flavors—bitter-kissed sweetness from the chocolate, nuttiness from the pecans, and the perfect touch of savoriness from the oats. If I was peckish before, I'm ravenous now. The cookies vanish in no time, leaving a trail of crumbs in their wake.

Heart awash with contentment, I notice a hummingbird flitting around the wildflowers outside the window. Once I've finished, I wrap up two cookies for Ginny, who will be home soon. Then, wiping a stray crumb from my chin, I head back home, my heart full and my belly even fuller. I may have a dusting of powdered sugar on my nose and a smudge of chocolate on my cheek, but it's a small price to pay for a taste of pure joy.

My timing is perfect, because not ten minutes later, the sound of a horn tells me my daughter is home. She hustles through the open door, her hair framing her face like a halo, her smile like the sun. "Mama!"

I open my arms and pull her into the tightest of hugs. God, let me have some more years of this pure love before she becomes a teenager who won't let me hug her. "Hi, baby. I got your breakfast. Would you like some milk to go with it?"

She nods eagerly. Once she's finished breakfast, I give her a bath and finish getting ready. A few hours later, she's in the backseat of my trusty old Honda, and I'm driving.

We leave Spokane behind, venturing onto the open highway that stretches eastward. The landscape transforms before our eyes, rolling hills giving way to vast, golden plains stretching endlessly toward the horizon. The air grows crisper, carrying the heady, sweet scents of sagebrush and wildflowers. Rusty, my Honda, cruises through charming small towns, where we catch glimpses of pronghorn antelope grazing in the distance. As the sun dips lower in the sky, piercing the clouds with shades of orange and pink, Whispering Pines is in sight.

A little while later, the tires of my trusty Rusty crunch over the gravel as we pull into the parking lot of The Buckhorn Grill. Ginny hops out, her energy as boundless as ever. Seriously, where does she get it from? "Mama, look!" She points at a faded sign advertising “World Famous Huckleberry Burgers” .

"Those do sound good, honey." I take her hand, relishing how the wintry air lands crisply on my skin. She adjusts her hand so she's holding only a finger of mine with her whole fist, and we walk over to the eatery and cross the threshold.

Inside, the scents of sizzling meat and wood smoke surround us, with the smoke curling into lazy swirls over sparse tables populated by locals. We squeeze into a booth upholstered in worn leather. Ginny chatters away, her words a whirlwind of excitement about the horses she saw on the drive. A television above the bar blares news of an incoming storm, but I wave it off. Storms are a dime a dozen here. How bad could it be?

We order the huckleberry burgers along with fries piled high on a tin plate, and tall glasses of ice-cold huckleberry lemonade. Ten points to this place for what has to be one of the most delicious burgers I've had in a while. The flavors explode in my mouth, perfectly savory, slightly spicy from the smoke, layered with subtle hints of umami from the tangy huckleberry sauce. Ginny giggles as purple juice dribbles down her chin.

After lunch, we continue our journey. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the fields. Finally, we reach the Carter mansion. My mom is standing by the front gate. She gives a smile worth a million diamonds upon spotting Ginny. I can't help it—I smile at the loving way she looks at the little urchin.

"Grandma! Grandma!" Ginny bursts through the door as soon as I park, her arms outstretched.

My mom picks her up and inhales the sweet scent of her hair. "Ginny, my little sunshine! How was the drive?"

"It was awesome! We saw horses and ate huckleberry burgers!" Ginny recounts the day's adventures with her usual enthusiasm.

"That sounds wonderful." Mom turns to me, her eyes twinkling.

As the two of them hug it out, Dad appears in the background.

"Dad," I say, letting him bundle me into a bear hug. I rest my head against his sturdy shoulder. The years have tamed me enough for me to realize where my safest spaces are. This tops the list.

"She's wonderful." He nods at Ginny. "You're doing a great job raising her."

I ignore the lump at the back of my throat. My parents were around for me during my pregnancy in a way I'd never dared hope for. It was my decision to leave Whispering Pines afterward. They wanted me to stay. I just couldn't.

"If you…" he starts but doesn't finish. He knows who the father is but also respects my decision to keep him from being involved.

"I'll get going," I say, my voice muffled against the warm, wooly material of his coat.

"You can stay."

I sigh and extricate myself from his arms. "I know I can," I say pointedly. "But I want a bit of time to regroup. Get some chapters done."

"Your book," he comments, nodding slowly. "How's that coming along?"

"I'm a little stuck," I admit. "Made a badass heroine and can't seem to get her to like anyone else."

"Hmph." He snorts. "Sounds familiar. You'll figure it out. You always do."

I smile and kiss his cheek before saying goodbye to Ginny and my mom.

My shoulders feel achingly light as I head toward the cabin I've rented. The snow starts falling as I drive, the flakes swirling in the headlights. I pull up to a rustic log cabin bathed in warm, inviting light. It's even more charming than the pictures promised.

A man steps onto the porch, his silhouette outlined against the glow. As I approach, my heart skips a beat. It's Marcus. He’s one of my dad's oldest friends but I don’t know him well. The last I saw him was at the party where I met…oh, well, no point recalling that. Also, I thought I was renting the cabin to have to myself. I wasn’t expecting him to be in residence.

I sigh as I watch him walking to the edge of the porch. He catches sight of me and gives me a smile. He looks just as handsome as I remember, his laughter lines etched deeper around his eyes, his smile as warm as sunshine.

"Bella?" he calls, his voice tinged with surprise.

"Marcus!" I smile, hoping I look more composed than I feel. A part of me wants to just get back in the car and drive away.

"You look beautiful," he says, his eyes sweeping over me. A blush creeps up my cheeks.

"Thank you," I stammer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Silver fox with a tongue like honey. Just perfect, now that I'm trying my best to swear off men.

"Did you invite a boyfriend?" he asks, his tone playful.

I burst out laughing. "No, Marcus, I didn’t invite a boyfriend to come with me."

"Well, then, let me show you around." He gestures toward the cabin, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

The snow is coming down harder now, a thick blanket muffling the world outside. Inside, Marcus shows me the cozy living room with a crackling fireplace and a spacious kitchen with gleaming countertops.

We reach a room lined with bookshelves. "This is the office," Marcus says, his voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

As I step inside, a cough sounds from behind me. It's the tone, it's the sound of that voice. I'd know it from a million miles away. I wheel around, my heart almost leaping out of my chest.

Standing in the doorway, his silhouette stark against the snowy backdrop, is River.