Chapter 11

eleven

BECCA

He was here. Will was here .

Thunder crashed overhead as I took another grateful breath, willing my heart to slow down. Except Will was standing right there and my heart always seemed to be a step ahead where Will Clark was concerned.

But then he was striding up and hugging me hard. My arms went around his waist, and I clung to him as rain poured from the sky. I buried my face against his warm chest, moisture trickling down my neck and into my hair.

"I'm sorry," I said, loud enough to be heard over the splash of water and the rumble of thunder. "I didn't mean?—"

"It's okay," his deep voice interrupted. "Let's get back and get out of this."

His urgency was enough to cut through my humiliation and self-recrimination, but just barely.

Will took my hand and pulled me along behind him. I kept my head down, focused on his boots in the muddy earth as rain dripped into my eyes. Eventually, we stepped out from between the corn rows into ankle-high grass surrounding this side of the maze.

The rain continued to lash us as we hurried along the main path through the farm, my hand still engulfed in Will's strong, sure grip. In minutes, the long, narrow building that housed the Bake Shop came into view. But Will darted around to the far side instead, leading me into his office.

It was warm inside but shadowed. Will flipped the light switch on and off, but the power must have been out. I could still hear the rain outside, loud against the tin metal roof above us, but it had quieted enough for my thoughts to intrude.

As my embarrassment surged back to the forefront, I felt Carl's fur move beneath my hand and then his impatient nose prodding me when I'd ignored him too long. I petted his head and stroked his ears as he did his best to lick the rain dripping down my arm from where I still had my sleeves pushed up. Will was moving around in the dim office while I stood rooted to the floor, the only light coming in weakly from a window near the door.

Straightening, I blurted, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened."

But Will was pulling a towel from the supply closet in the rear of the office and not listening to me at all. With the towel in hand, he moved to stand in front of me with a quiet but firm, "Carl, enough," that had the dog slinking back to his bed in the corner.

Will gently swiped the terrycloth across my forehead and cheeks, taking great care in his movements. I started babbling so I wouldn't burst into tears. "I was distracted, not paying attention to where I was going. My sister called again, and I just started moving. I didn't notice how dark and cold it had gotten."

He ran the towel down one exposed forearm and then the other, intent in his focus.

"The wind was picking up, and I could hardly hear Heather on the other end of the line," I continued my story. "By then, I realized I was in the corn maze, and I got off the phone, but I was upset." At this, Will's eyes found mine, a concerned edge drawing his dark brows together. "And not thinking straight."

But I didn't want to talk about the phone call. I didn't want to get into the mess with my sister or how she needed my money, but never me.

Will wiped the soft edge of the towel beneath one eye and down to my jaw. The drag of the fabric along my neck had me sucking in a sharp breath. "Thank you for finding me. I just panicked when I heard the thunder, and I couldn't get the map for the maze to pull up on my phone. I tried to go in one direction and push through the stalks, but I came out in waist-high grass on the back side of the field. So I went back in to try the other direction, and that's when I heard you calling for me."

He was using the cloth to dry the wet ends of my hair and still hadn't spoken.

Closing my eyes, I admitted, "I feel so stupid. Why can't you ever see me being totally capable, having it all together? It's always when I'm failing at something a child can manage that you?—"

"Hey, stop that," Will finally said, low and firm.

I opened my eyes to his intense frown. But his hands were gentle as he passed the towel back across my forehead and hairline.

Swallowing, I insisted, "Admit it. That is what you thought."

"Maybe. Back when you were stuck in a tree," he said, but he softened the blow with a gentle swipe of the towel along my ear. "But that's what humans do, honey. We make snap judgments in the first five minutes of knowing someone. It's called a first impression for a reason. That doesn't mean it's a lasting one."

The deep timbre of his voice combined with the sweet endearment turned me inside out. I knew I shouldn't ask. It was borrowing trouble. But I asked anyway, "What was your first impression of me?"

Will focused on dabbing the skin of my collarbones and the base of my neck dry, but he smiled, this soft, tender thing that made my stomach flip. "I thought you were friendly. Talkative. A hugger."

Groaning, I covered my face with my hands.

A soft huff of laughter met my ears before Will gently pried my hands away from my overheated cheeks. He set about drying each finger carefully, his gaze focused on his task. "I didn't think I'd ever seen someone so genuinely happy to see me."

It was my turn to frown. "That's not true, Will. Your family. Your friends. Jordan and?—"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not a friendly guy. I'm stubborn and not easy to get along with." He glanced up from where the towel was wrapped around my right hand and squeezed softly. "‘Pain in the ass' has been bandied about. I'm the kind of guy people put up with. Yet you were so genuine and warm when you didn't even know my name. It threw me off. I was confused and distrustful. That was my first impression."

I wasn't sure how to respond. I felt sad at Will's self-assessment. Sure, he could come across as a crab sometimes, but he cared so much about the people in his life. He was an acts-of-service guy all day long. And being on the receiving end right now was as wonderful as it was foreign.

Before I could mount an argument regarding the inaccurate way Will saw himself, he asked quietly, carefully, "And what was your first impression of me?"

My mind drifted back to the day of the tree incident and then further still. I'd seen Will around the farm several times prior to our first meeting, always quiet, stoic, and frowning. Forever busy and on the go. Untouchable and unhappy.

Instead, I answered, referencing our first real encounter, "Capable. Reliable. Like there was no chance in the world you'd ever let anyone, even me—a clueless city girl—fall out of that tree." Then I paused dramatically before adding, "And you really wore the heck out of that backward hat."

"Yeah?" His gray eyes sparkled, catching every bit of light in the dim room and holding it hostage.

I liked the way he was looking at me. I liked how close we were in this dark room and the thoughtful way he'd dried my skin. I didn't think I'd mind it if Will wanted to take care of me for a very long time.

I grinned, unable to look away. "Oh yeah."

Will reached up and slowly grasped the wet bill of his ball cap, turning it to face backward. His gaze stayed playful and trained on me as he leaned in, so close I could feel his breath ghost across my still smiling mouth. I met him halfway, disbelieving and pretty sure this was an alternate reality where Will Clark was going to kiss me. But here we were, and it was happening.

I closed my eyes just as his nose brushed mine in a sweet caress.

At the first touch, I couldn't help but notice how unbelievably soft his lips were. Surprising for a man who was so rare with his smiles. I expected hard lines and firm coaxing, but Will's mouth greeted mine, warm and welcoming. He was all give and no take .

I could feel and taste the rainwater lingering on his lips because he'd taken care of me and didn't even bother wiping the moisture off himself. It was obvious Will was much better at taking care of others and ignoring what was best for him.

And then I couldn't think anymore because his calloused hand was cupping my cheek and sliding into my damp hair. I tilted my head, chasing the touch, pushing into his waiting grip.

My lips parted, inhaling a bracing breath as his tongue stroked a delicate path along the seam. Even as we deepened the kiss and our connection, Will kept the pace slow and steady. His other hand was flirting with the hem of my wet shirt before he trailed fingers beneath the fabric and up my spine. The confidence of his movements and his unhurried pace had me shivering as Will reached the band of my bra. His warm hand flattened against my back and urged me closer.

So I raised my arms and wrapped them over his shoulders. He felt so solid and present. I was protected and cared for. There was something intoxicating about the way he held me.

Will Clark kissed me like he did everything else—with single-minded attention and utter proficiency. I couldn't say I was as skilled or focused. I was caught up in his touch and his taste and how he made me feel.

When I shivered again, Will loosened his hold and sucked on my bottom lip until I groaned out my approval. But then he was pulling away.

"Arms up," he directed.

Distractedly, I opened my eyes and lifted my boneless limbs as Will snagged the hem of my red sweatshirt in his big hands.

He kept his gaze trained on my eyes as he lifted the soaked fabric up and over my head.

"Oh, okay," I said as cool air met my damp skin. "Yeah, we can do that."

I mentally considered what bra I'd put on that morning and nearly winced when I remembered the plain white cotton. Why couldn't I be wearing something sexy and see-through when Will rescued me from a rainstorm and peeled my shirt off while we made out in his office ?

Will grinned and kissed me on the nose. "Good to know." But his eyes never dropped below my face.

I felt the drag of soft, dry fabric slide over my skin as Will carefully guided my arms into a worn blue flannel.

He didn't look down or away as he deftly did up the buttons until he reached the sensitive skin of my throat. I was encased in Will's dry shirt—one he must have retrieved along with the white towel now at our feet—while he stood before me, dark hair still dripping and his long-sleeved shirt wet and clinging to every part of his body.

"Thank you," I whispered, breathing in the scent of him—maple syrup and wood smoke—within the soft cotton.

"You're welcome," he replied as he reached over and pulled my long, damp hair out from inside the collar of my borrowed shirt. "You were shaking. I wanted to get you warm."

I could have corrected him, told him that I'd been shivering from his touch and how good it had felt to be in his arms. But instead, I reveled in the feel of Will's limitless care and concern.

The way he'd undressed and then redressed me had every feminine part of me swooning. He hadn't sneaked a single peek at my chest. Will had stopped kissing me to make sure I was comfortable. He'd respected boundaries when I'd been ready to hurdle over them like a track star.

That was maybe the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me.

"You're still all wet," I noted.

"I'll be okay. It's slowing down out there anyway." But he did take his hat off and brush a hand through his hair, the ends coming away damp.

I glanced toward the window. Listening, I did notice that the patter of raindrops was markedly less violent against the metal roof. And the sky was lightening as the storm gradually blew past.

"You should still probably get that wet shirt off," I said.

In reality, I was not this sassy, confident woman suggesting Will get undressed. But I figured I could fake it till I made it .

He raised a brow, his gaze knowing. But he didn't call me on it. "Oh, should I?"

I bent down and grabbed the towel from the floor. "I wouldn't want you to catch a cold."

Will grinned. "You've been in the South too long. That's just an old wives' tale." But he didn't wait for me to argue. He just reached back with one arm and did that hot guy thing where the shirt comes up and over with minimal effort and a single flexing bicep.

He watched me take him in, a roguish lock of black hair falling enticingly over his forehead.

I would like to say I exhibited Will's respectful restraint, but I did not. I ogled his fine form. And then I ogled it some more.

My greedy gaze moved over his leanly muscled body, taking in his firm chest with a smattering of dark hair. Briefly, I noted a scar on his rounded right shoulder, but I didn't let my eyes linger there. Instead, they skimmed the ridges of his taut abdomen and the very enticing vee that sliced into the waistband of his worn jeans. When I was done enjoying the return trip to Will's face, I found him looking on in amusement.

Taking a step closer, I tried to play it cool as I lifted the towel and started working it over his damp skin.

"I gave you my only backup shirt," he said, lips still tilted in a grin.

His hands came to rest on my waist while I leaned closer, running the terrycloth smoothly down one strong forearm.

"I don't mind," I offered magnanimously, and he laughed.

I made it to his belly button before Will gripped my fingers. He took the towel from my hands and tossed it on the chair behind me. Then we were kissing again, my arms wrapped behind his neck and Will's hands on my back guiding me in close.

The softness was still there, but we skipped right over the exploratory touches. I opened for Will as his tongue stroked into my mouth. He made a sound that I felt low in my belly when his warm palm gripped my waist beneath my borrowed shirt .

My fingers toyed with the wet ends of his hair. They were long and curling around the nape of his neck, and I liked scratching my nails against his scalp. Another low groan met my ears, and I thought it was okay that Will was a man of few words if he kept encouraging me like that.

But then static squawked from somewhere between us, and we both startled. A voice emerged, tinny and small but undeniably Laramie Burke. "William Jeffrey Clark the Fourth, did you or did you not find Becca? Are you both dead somewhere, struck by lightning?" Larry demanded over the radio.

Will cursed, and I stared in horror. Did everyone know that I'd wandered off like an idiot?

Shirtless Will gave me an apologetic wince before unclipping the walkie-talkie thing from his waistband and speaking. "Becca's fine. I've got her. We're both fine."

"Oh, well, gee. Thanks so much for letting us know. We've been worried sick but so glad you're?—"

Will turned a dial on top until Larry's voice cut off abruptly. "I'll apologize later."

"They all knew I was missing?"

With a sigh, Will admitted, "I didn't know where you were. I came back to check on Mom after I saw the thunderstorm warning and saw all your stuff still out on the table." I straightened, remembering my laptop and bag. Noticing my alarm, Will squeezed my arm gently. "I brought it in here."

He pointed at my things sitting on a folding chair behind the desk.

"Thank you." My voice was thick with gratitude, not only for saving my computer but for rescuing me too. For caring enough to notice I wasn't safe and for tracking me down.

"I tried the sunflowers first, but when I couldn't find you there, I knew I didn't have much time before the weather turned. I radioed to see if anyone had seen you. And Larry had caught you going into the corn maze on the phone."

"My sister," I confirmed, looking down at where my fingers were nervously worrying the buttons along the flannel I wore .

I felt a finger beneath my chin. Raising my gaze to his, Will said, "I'm sorry she upset you again."

There was a question in his voice. Will knew that my relationship with my family was complicated, but I didn't want to talk about the phone call. I didn't want to talk about my sister or her increasingly heated demands for money. And most of all, I didn't want my crappy family history to sneak into this room with us and change the way Will was looking at me.

He was finally noticing me. Finally acting on our slow-simmering attraction despite his cautious nature. It felt tenuous, this thing happening between us. I didn't want to lose it.

"It's okay," I murmured.

Will scrutinized me for a moment before nodding. He glanced toward the window and the bright sunlight shining beyond the glass. "Looks like the storm moved on."

Disappointment threatened. Maybe the kissing had been madness-induced—a spell cast for only a moment. A literal perfect storm of circumstance, heightened emotions, and rain-slicked bodies. Part of me worried that Will would remember I was a tourist and pull away. And then my lips might never taste his again.

He roughly dragged the towel over his wet hair. "I should get out there and assess any damage. Make sure we don't have any downed trees and help Dad in the fields."

I nodded, already backing away. My fingers continued fidgeting with the buttons on my borrowed shirt, and I stared awkwardly for long enough that a star was probably born somewhere in the galaxy . . . maybe two.

"But I'll see you tomorrow?"

Will's question had me halting in my tracks. "Yeah." I cleared the high-pitched surprise from my voice. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good." He smiled.

Maybe the spell hadn't been broken.

Maybe Will would keep on looking at me like I was something special after all.

The following morning was cold. It was the first time I'd had to switch the heat on in the tiny house. I thought of the fireplace in the living room and looked forward to snuggling up there tonight with a book and a glass of wine.

The thunderstorm had cleared out the evening prior, but it left cooler air in its wake, and when I made my way to the Orchard Bake Shop the following mid-September morning, I had to admit that it was a bit chilly for working outdoors.

I wore a striped beanie and several layers of warm clothes, but I knew that sitting outside for any length of time would cause the morning chill to seep through.

When I arrived at my table beneath the covered porch, Will's desk chair was waiting on me. And in it was a thick blanket. I picked up the soft dove-gray fleece and held it to my face. It was Will's alright. That same inexplicable scent of pancakes cooked over a campfire permeated the fabric and made my mouth water. How did he even smell like that?

I glanced around to make sure Will's mother hadn't seen me huffing the blanket like a lunatic. Then I set my laptop up and wandered to the window to place my breakfast order.

Maggie didn't comment on how I'd gone missing during the storm. She greeted me warmly, like always. Chloe said she'd come take her break with me in a little bit. And no one made a big deal about what had happened yesterday.

Huh. If no one else was going to give me a hard time about my mistakes, maybe I didn't have to beat myself up over them either.

The time away from my life back in Detroit had been good for me. I didn't have my grief staring me in the face every morning when I woke up in Mrs. Walters's apartment. I could ignore the texts and calls from my sister and the silence from my parents. They didn't even know where I was.

In Kirby Falls, I could be someone different. Someone who tried things and spent my time making an impact. Here, I had friends. Even in the short time I'd been in town—just over a month—I had Chloe and Jordan and Mac and Larry. They were kind, genuine people, and they liked and included me. I had Maggie's sweet mothering and so many new acquaintances from my adventures in town.

How was I supposed to leave in six weeks ?

I stared at the blanket in my lap, as secure and thoughtful as the man who'd left it for me. How was I supposed to pretend that Will wasn't one of the biggest reasons I wanted to stay in Kirby Falls for good?

Guilt ate at me as I even considered the prospect of giving up Mrs. Walters's home—something she'd wanted me to have. I didn't know if I was strong enough to cut ties with my sister once and for all. A part of me always hoped for a relationship with Heather that went beyond use and abuse. Besides, if I wasn't there to give her money, who would take care of her when she got herself into trouble.

It was easy enough to ignore Heather's demands for bail money for our father when I was six hundred miles away. I knew that those funds wouldn't help Heather. They'd just further my dad's criminal career. The guilt-ridden, soft spot I had for my sister made the thought of packing up and abandoning Detroit nearly unconscionable.

But when Maggie delivered my latte and apple cider doughnut with a comforting squeeze to my shoulder and a sweet, "There you go, sugar," I couldn't ignore the warmth that flooded me at her genuine care.

What would it have been like to grow up with a mother like Maggie Clark?

A fresh wave of shame had me biting my lip. It was wrong and ungrateful and disloyal to think that way. I'd been lucky enough to find Mrs. Walters. Her unwavering support and gruff love had seen me through to adulthood. Heather had been stuck with only our neglectful parents for role models. No child deserved that. She'd already had a juvie record by the time I'd met Mrs. Walters. If anyone had needed saving, it was Heather.

While I couldn't change the past or my older sister's circumstances, I could try to help her now. Abandoning Heather and up and leaving Detroit to live out some fantasy in Kirby Falls wouldn't make me a better sister. I'd be one more person neglecting her in favor of my own selfish wants.

An image of a rain-soaked Will flashed in my mind. His warm touch on my bare skin. How he'd carefully buttoned me up in his shirt. Will Clark was definitely a want. A loud and insistent part of me fairly shouted that he was a need too.

My thoughts were leading me around in a circle of discontent. I picked up my phone and texted Pippa and Cece a picture of the sunset from the prior evening. The storm front in the distance had made for some dramatic purples and blues as the sun had gone down. After we chatted back and forth via text for a few minutes, I settled in with my breakfast and got to work.

Chloe joined me an hour later, and we talked about the Orchard Festival tomorrow. I had plans to set up the vendor booths on Main Street bright and early with the rest of the volunteers. Chloe would be helping out in the Grandpappy's tent with Maggie, Will, Larry, Mac, and several more employees.

It wasn't until nearly lunchtime that I was startled out of my work by a strangled voice behind me.

"What in the hell is that?"

I turned to see Will's face hovering above my shoulder, staring in horror at my laptop screen.

Stifling a laugh, I put a hand up to block the character illustration I'd been working on.

But he gently pried my hand away to get a better look. I did laugh now. I guessed the cat was out of the bag, and our game of guess-Becca's-work-from-home good-girl career was over.

"Is that an ogre?" Will's face was a study in confused dismay. "Also, that doesn't seem physically possible."

"Stop." I giggled. "Just sit down, and I'll explain."

Will immediately climbed onto the seat next to me, straddling the bench and sitting close. His eyes finally drifted from the computer screen to scan my features.

"Hi," I murmured, feeling shy all of a sudden.

"Hi," he replied, a small smile tilting his lips up beneath his beard.

"I'm a graphic designer," I admitted, shifting the computer to face him more fully. "I work on book covers and graphics for authors. Sometimes . . ." I indicated the steamy image in front of us. "I make not-safe-for-work illustrations for special editions or swag or other merchandise."

Will eyed the ogre and his human bride, both scantily clad in a hayloft, their bodies frozen in a moment of interspecies passion .

"It's for a monster romance," I explained.

"A . . . monster romance," he echoed.

"Don't kink shame."

Will's eyes flicked over at my teasing. "I apologize to any ogres I offended."

I grinned.

"Will you show me some covers you've worked on?"

Despite his initial shock, Will seemed genuinely curious. So I maneuvered to a folder and pulled up some images, giving him a cross-section of book covers I'd created over the years.

"This doesn't count as you guessing my job," I finally said after Will had watched me scroll through photos for several minutes. "You cheated. You sneaked up on me."

He looked affronted. "I was just walking by, minding my own business, when I saw an ogre with someone bent over a hay bale. I could have been a kid on my way to get a doughnut, you know."

I laughed. "Well, you still didn't win."

"Fine," he agreed, amusement softening the typically firm line of his mouth. Maybe I was noticing his lips a little more intensely since the events of yesterday. Chances were good that was the case. "We'll call it a draw."

"A draw," I confirmed.

"You sticking around for a bit?"

"Yep." I wondered where this was going. We hadn't discussed the kissing yesterday. Will had gone to his truck to grab a dry shirt and then joined his father in the orchard to make sure there hadn't been any damage to the apples or the property. I'd gathered my things and walked in a kiss-drunk haze to the tiny house. Then I'd slept in Will's shirt. I'd considered washing it and bringing it back to him today but couldn't bring myself to actually do it.

"Jordan is bringing pizza over for lunch. Would you like to join us?" Will sounded cautious. He watched my face carefully, like I might try to kiss him again or demand a marriage proposal .

There wasn't really anything to be weird about. Lunch with Will and Jordan and Chloe wasn't, like, a date or something. And honestly, I didn't think Will was the kind of guy who had any intention of playing games with me. We probably needed to have a conversation before any more kissing happened, but I'd worry about that when the time came.

I was on vacation. It wasn't like I could just uproot my life and marry the guy. Not that he was asking to marry me. He was asking me about pizza. Currently. I needed to speak with words, not just obsess inwardly.

"Sure," I replied, pretty proud of how cool and unaffected I sounded. "No pineapple, though."