Dirty Little Secret

“You always get a cinnamon-sugar pretzel.”

“And?”

“So, let’s get one for you to munch on while we shop.”

I can’t explain it, but even with the way he hurt me, my heart still squeezes in my chest with every thoughtful gesture on his part. He said he’d show me how he felt, and as much as I’d like to keep icing him out, his actions definitely back his words.

“Thank you, Samson.”

“For what?”

“For everything.” I shrug, smiling up at him. “For being you.”

He skims his knuckles over my cheek. “Thank you.”

“What?”

He dips down, bringing his lips to my ear. “All the best parts of me are because of you.”

I stand, gaping in his wake, as he strides up to the counter, ordering a pretzel for me and a slushie for him. How does he always know the right things to say?

For the rest of the day, it’s as though Samson never left. We shop and grab lunch at one of our favorite places, talking about everything and nothing all at once—just like we used to do.

By the time he drops me back off at my car, I feel lighter than I have in months.

Chapter Sixteen

Stella

After a long week, all I can think about is getting to my parents’ house and getting my hands dirty—okay, and maybe seeing a certain blond-haired god of a man at dinner tonight.

A sense of contentment washes over me the second my house comes into view. Especially when I see my dad working in the yard.

He pauses his raking when I shut my car door. “You’re here early, Stelli Bear. Did you come to help me rake?”

I glance at the piles of leaves dotting the lawn. “I can if you want,” I say, even though I’d much rather tend to my garden.

He smiles and the corner of his eyes crinkle. “Go tend to your garden, Stelli. Mom’s making lasagna tonight.”

“My favorite!”

“We missed you last week.”

“Sorry, Dad—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

I smile, grateful for his understanding.

“Now come hug your dad.”

Without another word, I bolt toward him, wrapping my arms around his middle.

“I’m proud of you, Stelli.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re growing up,” he says, like that’s an actual reason to be proud and not just the natural progression of time.

“Okay, Dad.” I drop my arms back to my sides and step back. “Enough with the mush.”

He smiles down at me. “Go dig in the dirt before I drag out the extra rake.”

I press a kiss to his cheek and take off for the backyard.

I stay tucked away in my seven-by-seven plot, weeding and fertilizing, and deadheading my blooms until Mom sticks her head out the back door and hollers my name.

She waits at the door while I put my things away in the shed. “Missed you.”

“You too, Mom.”

Mom purses her lips, like she wants to say more. Instead, she sends me upstairs to shower and get ready for dinner.

I come back down thirty minutes later, dressed in a pair of leggings and a cozy sweater with my hair in two french braids—comfy but still cute in case Samson comes.

“Smells good, Mom,” I say as I enter the kitchen.

“Thanks, Stella.” She pats my cheek, right as her timer sounds. “Grab the bread?” she calls out to no one in particular.

“Got it.” Orion swoops in, transferring the bread from the oven to the counter in one smooth move.

I lift the lid off one of the pots on the stove. “Did you make green beans too?”

Mom clucks her tongue. “You know I did. Now get away from the food until it’s time to eat.”

“How much longer?” I whine. After living off of cafeteria food, I’m more than ready for some of my mom’s homemade deliciousness.

“We’re just waiting on Samson.” Butterflies erupt in my belly at the mere mention of his name.

We’ve texted a few times over the last week; nothing important or life-altering, just small talk but… progress is progress, right?

“Set the table while we wait?” Dad asks, stepping up behind my mom. I look away as he leans in to kiss her. They have the kind of love everyone should strive for. The kind of love I thought Samson and I were on our way to.

As if summoned from thought alone, Samson strolls in through the back door without knocking. The sight of him in a pair of light-wash jeans and a slightly darker denim button-down has my mouth watering. He looks rugged and sexy and like everything I’ve ever wanted all served up in one hunky package.

“Need help?” he asks, his eyes locked onto mine.

“I’ve got it.”

He smirks. “I meant with the drool.”

“Jackass!”

“Language!” Mom calls from the kitchen, and my cheeks burn hot.

“C’mon.” Samson steps closer. “Pass me some of those plates.”

“Or you could go grab the silverware and napkins.”

“You got it, Luna.” He walks past me, all swagger, and I swear to God, just the scent of his cologne makes me weak in the knees.