Chapter 16

16

Grady

When I blew off work to go look for some perspective in a place that held so many happy memories, I didn't expect my little trip to the lake would end with Annika's bike in the bed of my truck, Sue objecting to being squished behind me in my extended cab, and Annika herself strapped in beside me, and dripping wet like the rest of us while rain pounds on the truck roof, but it's all so right that no matter what happens ten minutes from now, I'll forever have this memory of not fucking something up with her.

Finally.

"How long have you had Sue?" she asks, and I'm grateful for the neutral topic while I flip on the windshield wipers and steer the truck up and out of the valley.

"Since somebody let a whole herd of goats loose to ruin the biggest destination wedding in Shipwreck in four years last summer."

"Who lets a herd of goats loose?"

"Sarcasm assholes." Okay, so maybe not a totally neutral topic.

But she snort-laughs while she points the air conditioning vents away from her wet skin, which is pebbling in the cool interior. "That's what we've come to? Turning livestock loose in each other's towns?"

I relax more at the teasing note in her voice. "Not like they could send unicorns."

"We're not Scotland," she agrees.

"What's Scotland have to do with it?"

"You don't know?"

"Yeah, hold on a minute while I pull Scotland facts out of my back pocket." I shoot her a raised brow you're not making any sense look, my face defaulting back to old habits, because she was almost always three steps ahead of me.

Almost.

Not that time she couldn't keep frogs and turtles straight, but most every other time.

Her dark eyes study me closely and dip momentarily to my lips before she shifts in her seat to stare out at the rain. "Scotland's national animal is the unicorn."

"Oh. So that's only stuff people from Sarcasm care about," I tease.

Tease .

I'm dripping wet, teasing Annika Williams, who's riding shotgun in my truck while rain pelts the world around us.

And I swear she just checked me out.

This is a teenage fantasy come true.

"Far better to aspire to be majestic and unique than a criminal," she quips.

Sarcasm's Unicorn Festival used to be just the plain Corn Festival, and I used to humor her attempts to tell me corn was better than pirates.

You can't eat pirate coins, and pirates always had scurvy , she'd insist.

But there's nothing cool about cornbread and grits , I'd argue back.

She pointed out once that pirates wouldn't have had whiskey without corn.

I pointed out that pirates preferred rum to whiskey, and she came back with the argument that won every time.

And there aren't any real pirates in Shipwreck anyway .

The old memories make me smile.

And miss who I used to be. Not just before she came back to town, but back when I used to dream about running my own bakery and going home every night to a woman who wasn't perfect, but was perfect for me, and our three or four little hellions.

It's been a long time since I thought about settling down.

Or even wanted to think about it.

"How's the Army?" I ask her.

"Army-ish."

"You get deployed?"

"Couple times."

"Going back?"

"Depends on the paperwork."

My heart lurches, and it's not because she's on the verge of walking through the door back into my life.

What happens to her mom and sister if she goes back?

"Are they being dicks?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No. I have a good commander. But it's still paperwork."

"Harder than baking a cupcake," I wager.

That earns me a side eye and a noncommittal hm .

So I don't remind her she once burned boiled water in high school. "Remember the time we were out on the lake when a storm blew in?"

"I remember Mama reading me the riot act for trying to get myself electrocuted by lightning before I finished my American History essay."

"Your mama never read anyone the riot act."

"She'd read you the riot act."

"Yeah, but I deserve it."

Guilt and I don't get along well, and while admitting I'm wrong and I also don't get along well, I'm feeling lighter than I have in two weeks.

Right now, I'm not at war. I'm not worried about my bakery's bottom line. And I'm not alone.

She's studying me again, making my own goosebumps bumpier and goosier. I want to reach across the center console and take her hand again, feel that smooth skin, the warmth of her palm, the strength in her fingers, and I'm about to brave it when Sue bleats in my ear and nips at my neck.

"Get back, mangy goat," I grumble.

" Maaa! " he replies indignantly.

Annika shifts to pet his wet face, which puts her knee within easy reach. I don't grab it, because I don't know what my goat would do if I tried anything with him watching over, which is a big change from the asshole who was shoving me toward her not ten minutes ago.

Maybe he's trying to say, Go for it, idiot, but don't take liberties .

Who the fuck knows what's going through his head?

"What's that, Sue?" Annika says. "You don't like being called names?"

" Maaa ," Sue tells her.

"Oh. You don't like being called Sue ."

"You get him to answer to anything else, you can have him," I tell her, even though I'd fight anybody who tried to take my goat away from me. "I tried every name in the book, and the only one he'd answer to was Sue."

"You look like Gerald," she says.

Sue snorts all over both of us.

She shrieks and tries to wipe the goat drool off with her wet tank top, and I decide Sue's getting gourmet grilled brussels sprouts for dinner, because hello , flat Annika belly and adorable belly button.

"Sue hates Gerald," I tell her. "Don't call him B-O-B or A-S-S-H-O-L-E either."

"Maximus?" she says with a grin.

Sue nips at my ear.

" Back , or I'm leaving you on the side of the road."

The goat harrumphs and plops back on his haunches in the back seat.

"Maybe you should've gotten a dog or a cat," Annika whispers. "Or a hamster."

It's all so normal .

Except for the part where I realize her nipples are hard pebbles under her tank top, and I suddenly want to know how they taste.

Fuck , I missed her.

But I've always missed her, as much as you can miss someone you never fully had.

"I'm sorry," I say again. The words don't come easy, but they're necessary.

She's worth it.

At least, the Annika she was is worth it. I don't know the Annika she is .

But I want to.

Bakery be damned.

"Start over?" she asks softly.

I come to a stop at the preserve exit and glance at her.

The first time I got lost in those expressive brown eyes, I was fourteen years old, and I didn't know what was happening, but I knew that I wasn't supposed to be sitting in biology gaping at my lab partner, who'd just informed me that I wasn't rubbing hard enough on the faucet to really get a good sample for making mold grow.

It shouldn't have been a profound statement—mold spores aren't profound—but she was straddling this line between confidently telling me what I was doing wrong without wading into know-it-all territory, and for the first time in my life, it occurred to me that there were people who would correct me because they cared, and not because they needed to be right.

And that possibly Annika was the only person who would ever fall in that category, and I had a desperate need to know if she liked chocolate chip cookies or blueberry muffins better.

Can I sit with you at lunch? I'd asked.

And then she'd looked at me exactly like she's looking at me now.

Guarded but eager. Like she's holding her toe an inch above a lake that might have nothing more dangerous than trout lurking in its depths, or that might be full of cottonmouths, but she really, really wants to dive in, even if it means facing her biggest fear.

We can be friends , she'd told me , but so you know, I don't date. I'm going into the Army to pay for college in four years, and I'm not dating anyone at all until I'm financially solvent and know who I am .

What fourteen-year-old says that?

Apparently the kind that grow into the kind of women who sit in a truck with a guy they have every right to hate and ask if we can start over.

I throw the truck into park and turn to her, hand extended. "Hi. I'm Grady Rock, and I make the best damn donuts in the world and bake muffins that can give your mouth an honest to god orgasm."

One of her eyebrows arches delicately. "That's your version of starting over?"

I smile my best smile and angle my head to use my dimples to my full advantage, because my grandmother's been telling me my entire life that dimples are lady-killers. "I believe in honesty in relationships. And I promise I won't hold it against you if you try to top me. That'll just make me work harder."

"And now that I know what your ego gets out of this relationship, what do I get?" she asks.

My hand is still extended. "Whatever you want."

Her breath catches and hangs between us, and her gaze dips down my face again, then lower, to where my wet shirt is clinging to my chilled skin, just as hers is molding to her breasts and her belly. A droplet falls off her hair and meanders down from her collar bone, taking a lazy path to the dip between her breasts, and I'm so glad I'm not fourteen anymore.

Her heavy gaze lifts back to mine, and her lips tremble. "Can I start with having my friend back?"

"Whatever you want, Annika."

She holds my gaze while her hand slowly reaches out to take mine, and the instant our palms connect, I feel home .

Grounded in the midst of a storm.

"I'm Annika Williams," she says, her voice wobbly, "and I have every intention of being a very high maintenance friend, because I need more than I can give right now."

"Just so happens I owe a lot more than I have any right to ask for."

"You really do."

She wheezes out a small laugh while I smile and pull her hand to my mouth, because I can't help myself.

I want to ask her to be more.

But I need to earn this.

And I will.

She stiffens as my lips graze her knuckles, and Sue butts his head in and maa s in my ear again.

"Alright, alright," I grumble to the goat while I release Annika's hand.

Letting go shouldn't be this hard.

But I've already said goodbye to her too many times.

I don't want to let her go again.

"Mama's appointment is over in twenty minutes," she says quietly. "And for the record, I'm sorry too. I should've called when I got home. Or…a few years ago."

Where would we be if she'd called a few years ago?

I ignore the question, because it doesn't matter.

"To Sarcasm we go." I put the truck back in gear and slide one more look at her. "Were you really going to bike all the way back?"

"Think I couldn't do it?"

"Think I would've liked watching."

"Not enough women in Shipwreck?" she asks lightly while she reaches back to scratch Sue's head again.

"Turns out I have very exacting standards."

I could definitely get used to the feel of that gaze studying me. In a car in the rain. At a table over the perfect fudge lava cake. In my bedroom.

One whiff of Annika Williams, and I have it bad all over again.

She's my kryptonite.

"Hope you have the determination to match," she murmurs.

It blends in with the raindrops pelting the truck roof, but I hear the challenge.

And I smile.

Because you know what?

I'm damn sure up to it.