I fall into bed at three am Friday morning. I smell like alcohol and smoke, but I’m too damn tired to shower. This week passed in a blur, and thanks to Sierra, it was a beautiful fucking blur.

I stayed at her house the rest of Sunday after church until she had to go to her parents’ for dinner. Monday, she came over after work and stayed the night. The next day, I brought lunch to her at work and stayed for the remainder of her break before I had to come back here and work at the bar. She had me over Wednesday night and since she didn’t have to be at work until the afternoon Thursday, we spend the morning in bed together, reading, fucking, and cuddling.

It’s the last thing I’d thought I’d do. Lying in bed with my arm tucked under Sierra, holding a book with my other free hand, having to put it down every time I needed to turn a page because I didn’t want to disturb Sierra. It sounds so lame to say we spent the morning in bed together reading, but when Sierra got to a sex scene in her book, she read part of it out loud to me, turning us both on enough to recreate the scene ourselves.

Being close to someone like that isn’t something I do often. Or ever. Things are different with Sierra and all that bullshit about finding that one person out of millions who you’re meant to be with doesn’t sound so shitty anymore.

The more time I spend with Sierra, the easier she is to read. She’s scared. Keeps her heart guarded. Sometimes, when she gets too close or acts too comfortable, it’s like she catches herself and pulls back.

With Sierra on my mind, I pass out and dream of her, waking four hours later with enough energy to get up and shower. Regretting going another day without grocery shopping, I grumble when I look inside my fridge for something to eat. Settling for stale cereal with the rest of the milk, I drag a chair over to the large window and eat while watching the river.

I move to the couch, flipping through channels when Sierra calls. My heart skips a beat when I see her familiar number on my screen.

“Hey, babe,” I answer.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” she asks.

“No, I was up already.”

“Oh good. I was planning on leaving a message for you to listen to when you got up. Why are you up so early? You worked late last night.”

“Couldn’t sleep. I’ll go back to sleep later, though. Are you on your way to work?”

“Yeah. And that shipment of books I ordered Monday is supposed to come in. I’m pretty excited about it.”

I can tell she’s smiling as she talks. It’s fucking adorable.

“While I have you on the phone, I might as well ask you if you’d be interesting in going to a bonfire tonight at Rob’s house.”

“Do you want to go?” I ask her.

“Kind of,” she says after a moment’s hesitation. “I haven’t been to anything like that in a long time.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. There’s probably nothing else to do around this town anyway, right?” I joke.

“Well, there is me.”

Fuck. Me. “You’re so fucking hot, Sierra. And I will do you. I’m going to fuck you senseless until you’re coming so hard you’re screaming my name.”

“Oh…oh my,” she breathes. “Today’s going to go by slow now that I know what’s waiting for me.”

I chuckle, imagining her pretty face and missing the feel of her body against mine. “How long do you get for lunch today?”

“I’m the only one there today, so I don’t really get an official break, but I can sneak into the backroom whenever I want.”

“You’re the only one there?” I echo, not liking the idea of Sierra being at the store alone. It’s not the first time she’s worked alone, yet for some reason, a bad feeling starts to rise inside me.

Is it because I’m starting to care—really fucking care—about her?

“Yeah. Friday mornings are always pretty slow. Janet comes in at two. I usually stay for a while to make sure she’s good and then I can leave around three-ish. If it weren’t for the new books coming in, today would seriously drag. Is it weird to say I miss you? I saw you yesterday.”

I blink, forcing away thoughts of all the bad things that could happen to Sierra as she steps into the backroom of the shop, innocently dashing away to get a book. I know because I’ve done quite a few bad things.

“It’s not weird.” My voice comes out flat. I get up and go to the window, blinking as the sun shines off the water and into my eyes. “Because I miss you too. I feel like I’m addicted to you.”

“Are you worried you’ll overdose?”

“That would be the best way to go. I’ll see you tonight, Sierra.”

“Bye, Chase.”

* * *

“I miss that sound,” Josh says, looking at the river below the large living room window. It’s a little after noon, and he just came over with pizza and beer, having been kicked out of the house by Melissa, who’s in some crazy nesting phase right now and wants to reorganize everything.

“It’s relaxing. I’ve grown accustomed to it at night.”

“I didn’t sleep for a whole fucking week after I moved out of here.” Josh turns away from the window and sits on the couch, taking another slice of pizza. “It was too quiet at the new place Melissa and I bought.”

“I do like it at night. Though I sleep just fine at Sierra’s.”

Josh grins. “You two have been spending a lot of time together.”

“I suppose.”

“Really? ‘I suppose’ is all you’re going to fucking say to that?”

I bring my beer to my lips. “What do you want to know?”

“Is shit serious?” he asks casually.

“It hasn’t been very long,” I reply, knowing Josh is hoping I’ll say yes because he thinks if I do, Sierra and I will be married with babies not long from now. He wants me to stay, and I believe that he genuinely wants me to be happy. Besides Sierra, he’s the only person who hopes for happiness for me.

It’s fucking weird.

“I knew I wanted to marry Melissa on our third date.” He puts his fist to his chest. “You just feel it, in here.” He shrugs. “At the very least, you’re having fun with her, I’m sure.”

I nod, letting his words sink in. I do just feel it when it comes to Sierra. Not about marriage or babies or anything like that, but feeling like I’m home. “She is fun.”

“You two met before,” Josh tells me. “The first time you came to Summer Hill. She was only like a year or two old then. I graduated with her brother, and we used to hang out before he moved away. We were at the house and Mrs. Belmont came to pick Scott up. Sierra was with her. I remember because Scott and I caught snakes to scare his sister with. We were expecting Sam and not Sierra.”

“I don’t remember that at all. It’s kinda fucking with my head, trying to think back. I try not to remember too much from my childhood.”

Josh frowns. “I’m sorry I didn’t say more to Dad about it.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”

The rumbling sound of a truck drowns out the gentle babbling of the river. I get up to see what’s going on in the parking lot.

“Are you expecting a UPS shipment today?” I ask Josh.

“Nope. It must be for you.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t order anything.”

Knowing the delivery guy is going to be confused to have been taken to a bar, we go downstairs and outside, meeting him in the parking lot.

“Chase Henson?” he asks.

“That’s me,” I say, looking at the small box in his hands. I have to sign for it, and as soon as I see the shipping label, I realize it’s my phone, sent back from the Apple store with a new screen. There was a time I didn’t think I could live without this thing, now I’m not even excited to get it back. Just how disconnected I was from my previous life didn’t hit me until right now, as I feel the light weight of the box in my hands.

I haven’t talked to anyone I used to in weeks. I haven’t thought about working a job in even longer. And it’s really fucking nice. Maybe I won’t turn this phone back on. Maybe I should keep it in this box and forget that part of me completely.

Start over fresh in Summer Hill.

With Sierra.

“I bet you’re happy to get that back,” Josh says as we walk back up the stairs to the apartment. “You can let your friends know you’re still alive.”

“Hah, yeah.” There’s only one person I trust enough to consider a friend, and not talking to him for days or even weeks at a time is nothing out of the ordinary. Not talking to him might be a good thing. We tend to get into trouble when we’re together.

Josh and I go back upstairs and watch a couple of episodes of Breaking Bad—Josh was appalled when I said I hadn’t seen it. After he leaves, I do the shit I’ve been putting off: grocery shopping and straightening up the apartment. I get done a little before Sierra calls, saying she’s going to go home to take care of her cats and get changed, then she’ll be over.

I shower and throw fresh sheets on the bed, then end up watching another episode of Breaking Bad. I turn the TV off and stand, looking at the brown box on the counter. As much as I want to forget about the past, I know I should at least turn on the damn phone and get my mom’s number off it. It might be sad I don’t know her number off the top of my head. It’s changed multiple times over the years, and we rarely talk. There’s no point in memorizing it. Still, she’s my mother and though she resents the hell out of me, I need to know if something happens.

The phone is completely dead of course and will take a few minutes before it even turns on. I plug it in and forget about it as soon as Sierra knocks on the door. She’s wearing a coral-colored dress that shows off her perfect tits and hugs her tight around the waist before flaring out, giving the whole thing a contradicting sexy-yet-innocent look that instantly turns me on.

“I brought you a home-cooked dinner,” she says, holding up a wicker basket. The moment she’s inside and the door closes, I grab her and kiss her hard. Still holding the basket in one hand, she curls her other around me, fingers going to my hair.

“It smells amazing,” I tell her, lips brushing against hers. “You made it?”

“I wish. My parents’ personal chef did. I stopped by on my way out and was able to get us something to eat. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” I put my mouth on Sierra’s neck, teeth grazing her flesh. She groans and tips her head back, wanting more. I move away, take her hand, and lead her to the table. I’ve come to realize that getting Sierra hot and bothered and then not immediately having sex leads to her desperately fucking me as hard as she can. Walking away from her is a challenge for me, that’s for sure, but the way she’ll be looking at me in an hour will make this worth it.

“I was super paranoid about this. One of the side dishes had shellfish in it. So I used a new spoon for everything in case it got cross-contaminated and got food from the opposite side of the dishes. I don’t want to kill you. Not yet at least.”

I smile at Sierra. “That probably won’t affect me. I have to actually eat it to have a bad reaction.”

She slowly shakes her head, eyes trained on me. “I’m not willing to risk it. I like you, Chase Henson. I want to keep you around a bit longer.”

It dawns on me as she begins to unpack dinner that she’s probably hypersensitive to losing anyone she cares about. I take her hand before she grabs a biscuit.

“Thanks, though. For making sure.”

“Of course, Chase.”

Our eyes meet and my heart does that stupid skip-a-beat thing again. So much emotion is conveyed in under a second it throws me for a loop. She wants her happy ending as much as I want to give it to her.

Not the mystery woman.

Her.

And I want to be a part of it.

Leave it to Sierra to make me have a moment right here and right now, in the most mundane setting.

I get us plates and silverware and go back to the table.

“I grew up thinking these were a family recipe,” she tells me, breaking apart a biscuit and putting it on her plate. “And then when I was like sixteen I found out it was from the can. Talk about an existential crisis.”

“Your whole life was a lie,” I laugh.

“Yes! I mean, I knew my mom didn’t cook worth a shit, but I honestly thought my grandma made the best biscuits in the history of biscuits every holiday. Then I found out the truth.” She breaks off a small piece and eats it while getting more food out. “And to this day, I can’t open a can of biscuits without wincing and feeling shame.”

“I’ve made canned biscuits maybe three times in my life and all three times I had to close my eyes and look away,” I admit.

“It’s awful! Couldn’t they come up with a better way to do that by now?”

“You’d think so.”

Sierra shakes her head, smiling, and serves dinner for us both.

“What was it like growing up with a personal chef?” I ask, picking up my fork.

She shrugs. “It all seemed normal to me for years, until I started going to friends’ houses and hearing how they’d help their moms cook dinner or make cookies together. It made me kind of sad to realize that I was missing out on so much with my own mother. Which I know…poor pitiful me and my personal chef.”

“No, no, I get you. My own mother wasn’t involved in the least, so I understand that feeling of letdown when you see other people. Like how the fuck did they get things so…so…right?”

It’s not the first time words escaped me, the truth seeping out, desperate to finally be set free. It won’t be the last time. And for the life of me, I cannot figure out why the fuck Sierra makes me so unhinged.

“I don’t want to sound pretentious by saying that upholding the perfect family image was damaging or anything, but sometimes I’d see my friends and wish I had what they had. Because all the glitz and glamour comes with a cost. I still rarely see my father.”

“So I take it you don’t want to go into the family business, right?” I ask slowly, recalling her voicemail about getting into grad school. I don’t know what her focus was, but I doubt it was agriculture.

“Not in the same way my dad runs things. The plan was for the three of us—my brother, sister, and I—to take equal parts. Scott wants nothing to do with farming, obviously, and Sam can’t wait to take over.” Sierra lets out a breath and spreads butter on her biscuit. “But the Belmonts have been farmers for years, and I like that family history. I’m a part owner of the farm whether I like it or not, and there’s no way I’d sell my share. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a farmer, like my dad. My sister wanted to be a farmer’s wife. That’s the Belmont way, after all.”

“That doesn’t suit you. At all. You’re not the kind of woman who can sit idly by and be a trophy wife.”

Sierra raises her head, looking into my eyes. “What kind of woman am I?”

“That’s a loaded question,” I say with a chuckle. “You are smart and kind. You won’t sit around taking orders from someone, and you won’t let anyone use your gender as a handicap and play that role of ‘farmer’s wife.’ You want to make the world a better place, even though the last year or so hasn’t been kind to you. You believe people are inherently good, and for some unknown reason, you make people like me see it too.”

Sierra’s eyes gloss over, and for a beat, she stares at me. Then she blinks and looks away. “Sounds about right.”

“I wanted to be an Avenger when I was a kid,” I tell her, digging into my food. “At least you had more ambition than me.”

“Aspiring to be a superhero is pretty ambitious.”

“Ambitious but not realistic.”

Sierra’s fork goes limp in her hand, resting against her plate. “What did you do? Before you came here, I mean.”

I lean back in my chair. “A lot of things. I never found anything that stuck.” It’s a half-truth, but I still feel like shit for saying it. Though I did do a lot of things, like I said, none are things I’m proud of. All are far from anything I’d share with Sierra. I don’t want her to look at me differently than she is now.

“I bartended a bit before I came here,” I say, which is true. To an extent again. Fuck. I mentally sigh. “At a bar on the shore in New Jersey.”

She scoops up rice with her fork and snickers. “You lived on the Jersey Shore?”

“It’s not as bad as the show makes it.”

“So you’re not D.T.F. tonight?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I should be glad I have no idea what you’re talking about, right?”

Sierra laughs. “Yes, and I am too. Is that where you’re from originally? You don’t have a Jersey accent, but you do sound northern.”

“And you sound southern. Though not as much as other people in this town.”

She nods. “It’s because my mom doesn’t have an accent.”

“Oh, right. You said she’s from the east coast.”

“Yeah. Though she’s picked up on the Mississippi accent more and more over time. Stay here long enough and you’ll pick it up too.”

“Maybe mine will rub off on you.”

“Lisa and I used to pretend we were from New York and see if we could get people to believe us.”

“Did it work?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all. But we were usually drinking when we’d play that game.”

“I was born and raised in Indiana,” I tell her. “Northern Indiana, close to Lake Michigan, to be exact, and not all that far from Chicago, actually.”

“Does it get cold there in the winter?”

“Very. With lots of snow since we’re by the lake.”

“I like snow. It’s so pretty.”

“Has it ever snowed here?”

“A few times,” she says. “It’s never much though. I went to Park City, Utah a few years back for a New Year’s ski trip and party. It was breathtaking.”

“You’ll have to see the piers in Lake Michigan in the winter then. The ice build-up is insane.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’ll take you someday.”

Sierra smiles. “I’m going to hold you to it.”