I wake up alone. That doesn’t seem strange at all—it’s pretty normal for me, actually, par for the course. Until I stretch, and my whole body screams in aching protest, and I remember what the hell actually happened last night.

Fuck.

I roll over and check the bed beside me. It’s empty. Cold. But right there on my side of the bed is a wet little puddle, the evidence of what we did last night. It’s mostly dried now, but I can’t help staring at it, wondering if I’m a complete idiot. I’m on birth control of course, but what was I thinking? I barely know Grant. I don’t know if I should be fucking him—how did he put it?

A shiver runs down my spine at the memory. Raw.

But it feels better that way, I have to admit. It felt right having him inside me, nothing between us. Feeling his hot cum fill me up.

I rub my temples and sit up. My ass and my pussy protest with an aching throb. Yep, he was true to his word. He definitely fucked me so hard that I’m going to have trouble walking today, let alone finishing yard work.

Not that I’m complaining. I’ll take that ache any day. When I clench my pussy, the pressure makes me feel as though he’s still inside me. It’s the echo of the sensation of his wide girth filling me up, and I fucking love it, I can’t lie.

I roll out of bed and sleepily reach for my suitcase. I should probably unpack it, I think, before I remember with a faint pang that I’ll be leaving again in just four days now anyway, so what’s the point?

Four days. Can we really get this farm back in shape in less than a week?

What do I do if we can’t? Ask for more time off work? My boss would let me, but… Do I really want to spend more time here than I need to? More time in this crappy little town that I couldn’t wait to escape as a kid, and that I can’t wait to get out of all over again as an adult?

Hell no. I’m just going to have to step up my game. Work as hard as I’m playing.

But something about the thought of leaving makes my chest feel funny now. Before, all I wanted to do was run. Now… I don’t know.

I shake my head. I’m just being ridiculous. One good fuck and I want to hang out in this Podunk place longer? What am I thinking?

I grab a change of clothes and pad out to the shower. The house is empty, silent, even though the roosters outside are only shrieking about dawn just now. Grant wakes up early, even for a country man.

In the bathroom, I squint at my reflection. My hair is an absolute mess, and I still smell like a mix of sweat and sex after last night. But there’s an undeniable shine in my eyes, color in my cheeks. The look of a girl who’s recently had the fuck of her life.

I exchange a grin with the girl in the mirror and turn the water on hot. As I soap up, I brush my fingertips over my mound, and suppress a gasp. Yeah, definitely sore. But that lovely, deep, aching kind of sore that reminds me all over again how fucking fantastic last night felt.

I can’t stop picturing Grant above me in bed, his body arched over mine. The way he grabbed me and picked me up off the bed like I was weightless. The way he claimed me, fucked me hard and possessively, and came inside me, no shame about it. Just like the big rough and ready Country Man he is.

My heart starts beating faster, and I have to slide a hand between my legs just from thinking too hard about last night, a curl of pleasant memories tingling in my brain.

I stroke my clit, but even the lightest touch makes it flare red-hot. So I tease my fingertips across my mound, pressing just hard enough to turn my clit on without pushing too hard or getting sore.

All the while, I picture Grant fingering me. The way he rolled straight over and claimed my pussy without any hesitation. I picture him storming in here right now and taking me all over again in the shower, pinning me against the wall as he fingers me.

My clit throbs again, and I add a second finger, rubbing just hard enough to get my legs trembling, my knees shaking and my breath coming fast. When I come, I have to sag against the shower wall to hold myself up, and there’s another rush as my juices, mingled with what was left of Grant’s cum inside me, rush down my inner leg. I groan aloud, loving that hot sensation, loving the feeling that he was still inside me.

I finish washing, and once I’ve toweled off, I feel steady enough to walk at least semi-normally, though my legs still have a tendency to bow outward, a telltale giveaway of exactly what we were up to last night.

Not to mention I was already sore from the farm work.

Well, I’ll just get more sore today, I resolve. So I might as well get used to it.

I dress in my now-favorite jean shorts and another throwaway T-shirt, one of the many ragged ones I brought with me on this trip, intending to throw them away at the end. I hadn’t worn jeans and a T-shirt this often since… Well, I can’t even remember now. But there’s something relaxing about it. Something that feels really at home, no matter how much I don’t want to admit it.

Like returning from a long vacation to find your familiar old comfy clothes right where you left them.

Except this isn’t a return from vacation for me. This is just a break in my normal life. I remind myself of that as I stride out into the kitchen.

Once again, there’s already a pot of coffee brewed and some rolls out by the microwave. I grab one and pour two cups of coffee this time, checking out the kitchen window.

It doesn’t take me long to spot Grant. He’s set up next to the shed today, ripping up the fence that borders the house to replace the posts. There’s a stack of new posts beside him, and some wire to run between them. He’s about halfway done.

I shake my head, in awe of how fast this man works. Then I scoop up both cups of coffee and pad out barefoot into the yard.

“Grant,” I call.

He turns, glances over his shoulder.

I lift the second cup. “Re-up?” I ask.

He smiles and runs a hand through his hair, turning away from the fence and setting down the post holer he’d been using.

He jogs across the grass to my side, and I pass him the cup, sneaking a peek at his white tank top, which sticks to his sweat-slicked muscles as he leans back to take a long drink of the coffee.

I fucked him last night, I think, a thrill sparking through my body. My belly tightens with pleasure at the thought.

Then he finishes drinking and I quickly tear my gaze away, back to the fence, sipping from my mug as well. “Finished the roof already?” I ask when we’ve both taken a few more sips.

“Yesterday,” he nods. “While you were resting.”

“Thank you.” I bite my lip and catch his eye. “I… Sorry again about that.”

“Don’t be,” he says, his voice fierce and sincere. It’s so vehement that I don’t even try to argue with him this time. I just bow my head in agreement and take another sip of coffee.

“Need any help with these?” I ask, nodding at the fences.

He shakes his head. “I’m good on these.” Before I can butt in and insist that I want to help—that this is as much my project as his, if not more so, since it’s my mother’s farm we’re fixing up. His dad just bought into it was all—he seems to preempt my argument. “I had planned to start on the house itself soon, though,” he says. “Repaint the rooms now that the electrical wiring’s done, and get a head start on the gardens out front.”

“That gate too,” I say. “And the porch, the tire swing…”

“What’s wrong with the tire swing?” he responds, almost defensive. I blink, startled.

“Nothing, just… It’s ancient. The rope has got to be rotten through by now. It can’t be safe.”

He shakes his head. “Some things don’t need changing, you know. You can leave some stuff be.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What’s so special about that one swing?”

“Nothing!” He groans and takes another long drink of his coffee. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Grant—”

“There’s a party tonight,” he says, startling me.

I blink up at him for a few seconds in silence, not exactly sure how I’m supposed to respond to that. “Okay?”

“Would you like to come with me?”

I let that hang for a moment. He wants to spend time with me, thinks one part of my brain. He wants to be seen with me in public, thinks another part. Even after yesterday. Even after everything. But still… I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking about what kind of party it could possibly be in a town like this. “You don’t seem like the partying type,” I say after a moment, mostly to stall.

“Normally I’m not,” he replies simply.

I lift an eyebrow. “Is this a special occasion then?”

“I’m normally not the partying type,” he clarifies. “But I am the attend-a-local-social-event-with-a-sexy-as-hell-woman-on-my-arm type.”

“Ah.” I grin a little more deeply. “Well, in that case… I’d love to go.”

His smile deepens, just for a second. “Good.” Then he turns his back to set down his coffee cup on the back table and dust off his hands. “Well. I should get back to work.”

“I should start work,” I reply with a sigh. “I don’t know how you get up and at it this early.”

“Stamina,” he calls over his shoulder with a wink.

My cheeks flare red, even as I smirk back at him and scoop up his cup to bring it inside. Out front, I stand and confront the mess of the front yard. Right. To work it is.

* * *

I lose track of the hours, elbow-deep in grease as I am. I oiled and cleaned and adjusted the front gate until it shone, until there wasn’t a single speck of rust on the whole thing and it swings open and shut without so much as a squeak or a creak.

Then I weeded the front garden, a little patch of flowers and herbs that Mama used to keep around for cooking. There are still a few surviving ones, so I pick some fresh basil and oregano for dinner tonight. I figure if Grant wants to eat before this party, whatever it is, we can whip up a simple chicken dinner with the oregano, and I’ll make a side salad with the basil and some veggies.

God, listen to me. I’m starting to sound like a country bumpkin. Like a housewife.

Like my mother, part of my brain calls out, and for a second, I pause in my work to wonder if that would really be so bad. Living life her way. Mama was always happy. She didn’t love that I hated this town so much, of course. And while she visited me plenty in NYC, I could tell she didn’t love the city itself. But every time I’d talk to her, she’d be bursting with excitement over something. A new flower that took in the garden, a new dish she figured out how to cook, a new friend she made in town, whatever hapless new neighbor had just moved nearby enough for Mama to latch on and start introducing them to everyone in sight. She was a social butterfly, my Mama, country girl or no.

A life like that might not be so bad, I find myself thinking.

But. I remind myself why that was our life. We didn’t have any choice. Not after my father up and abandoned us both. Ran away, left Mama brokenhearted, a heartbreak she never really recovered from enough to date again. And left me holding the pieces together for years, until she finally healed enough to feel okay. She was happy in her later years, content without a partner, but still…

I shake my head.

Not to mention how I felt… But no.

I don’t go there. Not anymore. Not ever.

I finish weeding just as a clatter inside lets me know Grant is stomping around the house. He sticks his head out the front door long enough to holler, “Lunch is on the table,” then he’s gone again.

I bag up the weeds and dust my knees off, then head inside the house to find fresh sandwiches on the counter and a salad full of veggies he clearly harvested from the farm out back.

“You really need to let me cook sometime,” I call in the general direction of the shower, where I can hear him puttering.

“Dinner tonight then,” he replies. “If you insist.”

“I do,” I answer, grinning.

“Fair enough.” He pops his head out of the bathroom, and I have to suck in a breath at the sight of his shirtless chest. Damn. The perfection of those muscles manages to shock me every damn time. “Make it 7 though, cause the party starts at 8.”

“What kind of party are we talking exactly?” I ask, digging into my sandwich. It’s nothing complex, but it’s delicious nonetheless. Simple, fresh ingredients. Just the way I like it.

“Nothing big. Just a little get-together over at the Johnsons’ farm.”

I mull that over while I chew a big bite of lettuce. By then, Grant is back at the table with me, scooping up his own sandwich and taking a huge bite while he pours a glass of water. He plunks that down in front of me with a significant, pointed look, and my cheeks flush at the memory of yesterday. Sufficiently cowed, I accept the water and take a long gulp.

“You sure you want to be seen with me in public around here?” I ask with a smirk. “I’m not exactly on the county’s most popular list.”

“I went out with you yesterday, didn’t I?” he points out, and I have to give him that one.

“Social event will be different though,” I say. “Yesterday you could write off as a work necessity. This is voluntary.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know.” He locks eyes with me for a long moment, and my heart leaps against my throat. But before I can ask anything else, he finishes the last of his sandwich in one huge bite. “Seven work for dinner?” he asks as he shoves his way out the back door once more.

“See you then,” I confirm as the door swings shut between us. Then I dust off my own hands and get back to work.