Chapter Fourteen
He’d texted last night and told me to meet him at seven this morning. My eyes were barely open this early. The sun was barely awake. It felt like neither of us wanted to be here, yet… here we were. Doing our part to give Wyatt what he wanted.
Although I supposed most of the people on this side of the world wanted the sun to rise. It wasn’t only Wyatt.
I yawned as I stumbled my way from the gravel parking lot to where he stood next to a coffee stand. I knew this market well. I had shopped it often, but it looked different this morning. Maybe it was the softer, earlier light than I was used to. Or maybe it was the start of the new season as we rolled closer to summer.
Mostly, I thought it was Wyatt. I had never been here with a man before, let alone a man like Wyatt. Dillon and I often came here Wednesday mornings. And there were a few times during Killian’s reign at Lilou when he’d sent me in his place if Wyatt hadn’t been able to go for him for whatever reason.
I’d brought Molly here twice when she’d wanted to surprise Ezra by cooking for him. Both times had ended in disaster. She’d made me promise to never bring her again, no matter how ambitious Pinterest made her.
Wyatt held out a to-go cup of coffee with that aggravating half smile lifting one side of his mouth and the sun rising behind him. A shiver trickled down my spine and I decided it was worth getting up early this morning to see this—Wyatt like this, gentle, kind… sweet.
I took the coffee from him, our fingers brushing in the exchange, and wondered if I even needed the caffeine anymore. He had managed to completely wake me up by looking irresistible.
We hated each other, I reminded my heart.
No you don’t, my heart whispered back.
I don’t think we ever did, my brain agreed.
“Good morning.” He stepped closer to me and I inhaled the fresh, clean scent of him. His hair had been recently trimmed, the sides freshly shaved.
“You got a haircut,” I pointed out, ignoring the tender way he’d greeted me. Not on purpose. It was like my entire body was rioting with a thousand different emotions and I didn’t know how to process any of them. Instead, I chose to ignore them. It was a totally mature response and I should probably receive some kind of award for how good at adulthood I was.
He ran a hand over the side of his head a little self-consciously. “Oh yeah.”
“When?”
“Huh?”
“When did you have time between last night and this morning?” What I wanted to ask was what barber kept those crazy hours?
It was hard enough finding time to do routine maintenance on my body with the kind of hours I kept. Things like doctors and dentist appointments got pushed off all the time. Especially because I rarely prioritized them over hair and nails. Maybe my mom should have included a good gynecologist in her girl squad lectures.
“Oh, I did it,” he confessed, chuckling self-deprecatingly.
“Are you serious?”
I had the pleasure of seeing his cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Yeah. Why? Does it look bad?”
Leaning around him so I could take in all sides, I shook my head, amazed at this surprising skill. “No, it looks amazing. You did a good job.”
He laughed again. “Uh, thanks.”
“How long have you done it yourself?”
“Since I was a kid,” he answered. “The way I grew up, I didn’t always know if I’d be able to get it cut by someone else. It was easier to do it myself.”
“You grew up with Killian didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Kind of. In the same circles. Foster care. Eventually I was deemed a troubled enough youth to get sent to Jo’s with Killian and Ezra.”
I lifted my eyebrows and drank in all this surprising information. “Jo? As in the Jo? Farm Jo?”
The smile that twisted his lips made my heart leap into a sprint. It was so affectionate, so absolutely adoring. I immediately wanted him to look at me like that. I was jealous for this expression that I had never seen before. Desperate for it.
“Yeah, she took us all in. Tamed us. Taught us to be civil.”
His answer did something to my insides, turned them squishy and soft. “I would have liked to see that.”
“What?”
“You,” I answered, my voice just above a whisper. “Before you were civil.”
His grin curled through me, making my toes flex and belly quiver. He leaned closer, dropping his voice while a wicked sparkle danced in his eyes. “I can demonstrate if you’d like.”
I licked lips that were suddenly dry, but I didn’t know how to reply. “Yes, please,” seemed a little too eager. But “No, thank you,” wasn’t right either.
Changing the subject was my safest bet. “You were wild then?”
“Savage.” He ran a hand through his hair again, but this time it wasn’t a nervous gesture, it was confident and casual, and totally Wyatt. “My mom tried. For a long time. She was an addict though. Meth or some shit. Anyway, I didn’t end up in the system until I was fourteen. I was lucky enough to eventually get to Jo. There were some rough years prior. I was back and forth between group homes and my mom for a long time.” He started walking through the vendors, quietly sharing his history with me while we passed peppers in every color and big bouquets of lettuce. The air smelled fresh and herby. I followed alongside him, drinking in every single word with a hunger for him I didn’t know was possible. “When I was sixteen, I got a new caseworker and she permanently removed me from my mom’s home, if you can call it that. Donna took one look at me and sent me to Jo. By that time, she knew my kind. And she knew exactly who could kick my ass into shape.”
“Jo?” I laughed. I knew Jo. Or I’d experienced Jo. It didn’t surprise me at all that she’d been the one able to handle Ezra, Killian, and Wyatt. Even as teenage hellions. She was the scariest woman I’d ever met, and I was convinced her produce was as good as it was because she threatened it into obedience. If I were her produce, I would listen too.
He grunted an agreeable sound. “But it worked. She worked.” He let out a slow breath and launched into an explanation. “My mom didn’t do anything as far as parenting. I basically raised myself. She would have food in the house sometimes, but for the most part I learned how to do what needed to be done on my own. That meant haircuts or showers, homework or sickness. Whatever. By the time I got to Jo, I was wild. I’d never had discipline or an authority figure that I respected. School was something I tolerated because I knew if I didn’t go, they would take me away from my mom. But I was a terrible student. And I was bad. That’s how CPS found me. The principal kept calling my mom and eventually she answered… high. They knew something was up immediately.”
“Oh my God, Wyatt.”
His chin jutted out. “It’s okay. It led me to Jo. And Killian and Ezra. And it gave me this.” He spread his hands wide, gesturing to the nearest produce stand with his coffee cup. “Food.”
His smile had turned gently affectionate again and I realized I had never experienced the two of them together before. I’d seen how she spoiled Killian and treated him like he was God’s gift to the planet. And I’d seen her butt heads with Ezra and put him in his place. I’d also seen her baby the grown man like he was a wounded toddler. But I’d yet to see her around Wyatt. I couldn’t imagine that he would tolerate either parenting style. He didn’t want to be adored. And he definitely didn’t want to be coddled.
A nervous wisp wiggled through my belly, but I didn’t take the time to examine it.
“Do you still see your mom?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “Nah, she passed my senior year of high school.” He kept his head dipped, staring at the ground. “Overdose.”
“Wyatt.”
He shrugged, but his shoulders remained stiff and rigid. “Yeah, it sucks. She always had demons, you know? She could never shake them. Never found a reason to.”
My breath was trapped in my lungs, unable to escape. I stopped walking and grabbed his coffee-free hand, turning him to face me. “You were the reason,” I whispered, my eyes watering with unshed tears. “You were the reason to stop.”
He stared at me, saying nothing for a long time. His eyes flicked back and forth between mine, searching and analyzing, deciding if I was telling the truth. Of course, I was. And he needed to know it. I poured all of myself into that look, into the truth of what I told him.
Yes, he was the reason. He was the only reason she needed.
Finally, he looked away and I gasped for breath, but I didn’t let go of his arm.
“Like I said, I had Jo. And Ezra and Killian helped. Killian has a similar story. It’s nice to know that… you’re not alone. I mean, I don’t have any biological siblings, but I have lots of foster brothers. Not only Killian and Ezra. There were a lot of kids on that farm. We’ve all stayed close over the years.” He smiled again. “You know, surviving Jo bonds you. It might as well be blood we share.”
I smiled with him, finding myself jealous again, but for entirely different reasons this time. I had an idyllic childhood compared to Wyatt. My parents loved each other. They’d never done a drug in their life. I had biological sisters who I adored. But there was something about the way Wyatt talked about his foster brothers that made me envious.
Or maybe it was more like regret. Guilt? His fierce loyalty was so evident. He would do anything for his brothers. For Jo. And I knew Killian and Ezra were the same way.
I didn’t have those same feelings for my parents. I lovingly tolerated them. Their pleas and petitions for me to move home were getting old. And my sisters and I were as quick to fight with each other as we were to stand up for one another.
“Have I freaked you out?”
I turned my head, so he could see the sincerity in my expression. “No, not at all.” My small smile wobbled. “I was feeling guilty for how much I take my own family for granted.”
He winked at me. “I have some of that too.”
A single butterfly flapped dragon-length wings through the pit of my stomach and a shiver rolled down my back. God, if I wasn’t careful, I was going to develop feelings for this man. The real kind. The never-ending kind. “I have two sisters,” I confessed. “Claire is only ten months younger than me. But Cameron is six years younger. She’s the baby.”
“Your parents needed a break after… Claire?”
“Yeah, the whole Irish twin thing wasn’t fun for my mom. It was me though. I know this will be hard to believe, but I was a difficult child.” I was still a difficult child. He nudged me with his elbow and we both laughed.
We aimlessly wove our way around vendors, inhaling the fresh market scent and enjoying the cool breeze dancing over our skin. It was a perfect morning. And it took a lot for me to say that.
“Are you and her close?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Mostly, yeah.”
He laughed. “Mostly? What does that mean?”
I glared at the sky for a second, hating myself for admitting this to someone. Especially Wyatt. “She’s the perfect one, you know? The straight A student, the prom queen, the perfect angel. And I’m… not those things.”
“You’re the evil twin?”
The mischievous tone to his voice softened the truth. “Yes, exactly.”
“What does your sister do?”
“She’s a teacher,” I sighed. “A kindergarten teacher.”
He laughed again. “Gross.”
I shot him an appreciative smile. “Thank you!” Wyatt put his hand on the small of my back to lead me around a corner and kept it there. The warmth of his hand sunk into my skin and spread through my body, wrapping around my bones, infusing my blood, sinking into deep, secret metaphysical places of me.
God, I was in trouble with this man. Clearing my throat, I added more to my case against Claire. “But it gets worse. She also lives five minutes away from my parents. She stayed home while I fled to the big, bad city. Something my parents have never forgiven me for.”
“What?!” he exclaimed, his voice sliding over the word until it reached a high pitch.
I smiled. “It’s their life goal to get me to move back home. And until I do, Claire will remain the golden child.”
“Where’s home?”
“Hamilton. It’s about two hours west. Past Greensboro.”
“Small town?” he asked, clearly having never heard of it before.
“Very,” I confirmed. “About a thousand people. My parents were born, raised, and plan to die there. They’d like Claire, Cameron and I to do the same. But that town is toxic. I… I can’t do it.” I fixed my attention on my shoes, but the ground blurred in front of me, obscured by my watery vision. “Plus,” I added brightly. “They have like one greasy diner and a Pizza Hut—not a lot of career opportunities for a classically trained chef.”
“You wouldn’t leave Durham, would you?”
“Oh, no. Never. I was kidding.”
A thoughtful silence stretched between us, but it didn’t bother me. It wasn’t awkward. It was weirdly comfortable.
Finally, Wyatt said, “Your parents give you a hard time about that?”
“Every single day. All they want is for me to move home, marry my high school sweetheart, and give them thirteen grandchildren. No big deal.”
His laugh was a low rumble. “No big deal. Is that what Claire’s doing?”
Shaking my head, I felt a twinge of pity for my sister and her tragic dating life. She had the absolute worst taste in men. “No, she’s still single. But for some reason my parents are less worried about her. Maybe because she’s a whole ten months younger than me. Or maybe because the dating pool in Hamilton is shallow? I have no idea. But for some reason they’re convinced I’m going to turn into an old maid and die alone.” I laughed, but it lacked the humor I’d hoped to use to soften the truth. “Although, going by current standards, they might be right about that. They know I keep insane hours. And that I haven’t been on a serious date in like two years.” I paused, giving them the benefit of the doubt and letting my affection for them override my sarcasm. “I think they’re just worried about how hard I work.”
“They don’t get it then,” Wyatt said softly… thoughtfully. “How important this is for us.”
I inhaled a deep, even breath, appreciating his support in a way I didn’t realize I needed until he’d given it to me. “I didn’t even notice at first, you know? I just wanted it so bad… wanted to make it, wanted to make a name for myself, wanted to move forward in my career. It’s like, I’m waking up to how completely enslaved I am to this thing.”
“It feels good though, doesn’t it?”
A smile stretched across my face. “Yes. In the best way.”
He grinned back. “We’re an industry of masochists.”
We stopped under the shade behind a stand, the cool air pulling goose bumps from my arms. Or maybe it was the hot look in Wyatt’s dark eyes. It was hard to say. “Sadistic, right?”
Leaning forward, he tried to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. It didn’t stay. It was still too short. “At least we have each other.”
“At least,” I whispered.
Our bodies moved together at the same time, our mouths crashing together in a gasp of breath and touch of lips and taste of tongue. He didn’t waste time pushing me gently back against the stand wall, his hands holding on to my waist, tugging our bodies together in a collision of heat and need.
His mouth moved over mine, hungry and inviting, encouraging me to move back, taste back… seduce back. I tilted my head, so he could delve his tongue deeper into my mouth, pulling a sound from the back of my throat that was almost guttural.
God, how could he taste so good? Like mouthwash and a hint of coffee. And Wyatt—a taste I was getting too quickly addicted to.
His fingers moved over my bare skin thanks to my crop top shirt, but he wanted more than the slim strip of skin I offered freely. He wanted everything. And as his hands slid upwards, over my ribs, against the edge of my bra, I made another one of those sounds, inviting him to explore and discover and keep doing what he was doing.
He trailed kisses over my jawline, nibbling on my earlobe, driving me absolutely wild with searing anticipation.
“Wyatt,” I gasped as he kissed down my throat, spending significant time along my collarbone and the place just below my ear.
“Kaya,” he rumbled, teasing me.
The tiniest slice of sanity returned. “What are we doing?”
He lifted his head, his eyes pitch-black with lust, a smile playing on his full lips. “I’m worried that it’s not obvious to you…”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I mean with…” I wiggled a finger back and forth, “us.”
The look in his eyes faded, turning careful and guarded. “Is there an us?”
Slapping his shoulder, I let him know that I was frustrated with him. “Wyatt, you tell me!”
He pulled me against him again and I had to work to swallow. His body was so hard, so completely unyielding. Every single part of him. He was temptation and sanctuary all at once. He was irresistible and addicting and looking at me like I was the same thing for him.
“Kaya, I like you,” he said in a voice that was as rich and decadent as chocolate ganache, just like his eyes. “And I think you like me.”
“Irrelevant,” I growled. “That doesn’t explain what we’re doing. Secretly making out? Wandering around markets baring our souls to each other? What is happening between us?”
His smile returned, and it was enough to send my heart into overdrive. “I’d hardly call having a normal conversation baring our souls. And, I’m happy to make out with you in public places if you’re tired of the secrecy.” I opened my mouth to call him an idiot, but he cut me off. “My point is that I think we both like each other and that maybe we should see where this goes. Maybe there’s enough between us that we should explore it.” His fingertips glided over my ribcage, finding their way to my back where he splayed his huge hand over my spine. “Explore each other.”
Sex, my brain told me immediately. He wanted sex.
And okay, fine. Maybe I did too.
“This is a bad idea,” I whispered, too far gone with desire to put any real conviction behind the truth.
He shrugged. “I like bad ideas.”
Holding his gaze, I said, “We have that in common.”
His head dipped, readying to kiss me again when a voice called out from several feet away. “Wyatt Shaw, what are you doing to that poor girl this early in the morning?”
Instead of his lips, his forehead dropped to mine and his eyes slammed shut. I watched with no small amount of fascination as his entire face turned red.
“Hey, Jo,” he called back.
Aw crap.
Finally, he pulled away, exposing me to the most terrifying woman in all of creation. “Kaya, is that you?”
“H-hi,” I croaked. “Hi, Jo.”
She shook her head, apparently disappointed in both of us. I felt thirteen again, when I’d been caught making out with Danny Brayburn in the fellowship hall of our church by Mrs. Minch, the seventy-year-old organ player.
Jo snorted. “Did you only come out here to make a spectacle of yourselves? Or are you going to buy some produce?”
“That one,” Wyatt said, clearing his throat and fidgeting. “The, uh, second one. I’d planned on saving the spectacle for after.”
It was my turn to turn the color of a ripe strawberry. Jo let out a shocked cackle. “Then let’s get this over with so you can get back to it.”
Jo turned and marched off to her stand while I tried to catch the shriveling pieces of my dignity. Wyatt turned back and grinned at me. “You heard her, let’s get this over with so we can get back to it.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me after him. “Not happening,” I hissed at his back. “That was the last time.”
“You keep saying that,” he said without looking at me. “You’re like the boy who cried wolf. I don’t believe you anymore.”
We came to a stop in front of some of the lushest produce I’d ever seen. Shiny, oddly shaped heirloom tomatoes and long, bumpy cucumbers. Perfectly round radishes. Juicy strawberries. Jars of orange marmalade and raspberry preserves. We were standing in front of a carefully guarded gold mine. My spirits instantly lifted.
“You’re going to be disappointed then,” I told Wyatt as my fingers itched to grab for the beauties laid out in front of me.
He leaned in, his breath a whispery tickle over the shell of my ear. “Your denial is cute. But we both know you’ve got it bad for me, Swift. So, so bad.”