608 Alpha Avenue (Cherry Falls)

His navy-blue shirt with his name embroidered in silver thread on the left pocket is wrinkled and stained from the day’s work.

“Hey,” he says, his voice gruff.

“Hi.”

The air crackles between us, drowning out the Shania Twain song about boots playing overhead.

“You’re late,” I say and then clear my throat. “Long day?”

It’s a dumb thing to comment on and an even dumber question. I never ask him things like that. I typically make a crack about him looking grumpy or just slide him a beer.

Why am I a dork now that I’ve slept with him?

“Yeah.” He laces his hands together and sets them on the bar. His knuckles are cracked. One of them is bright red like it’s been bleeding. “Can I get a beer?”

I clear my throat again. “Yeah. Sure.”

My brain scrambles as I reach inside the cooler. A knot burns in the middle of my chest.

“Here you go,” I say, handing him his drink.

He nods as if he was going to say something but thought better of it.

“Grayson,” I say, shifting my weight. “I don’t, um, I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

If this were a normal day, I’d roll my eyes and go on. But it’s not just another day.

Today, I know what it feels like to have his hands on me. I know the taste of his lips and the feel of his tongue in places I can’t name in polite conversation.

I’ve felt the warmth of his gaze when his guard is down and the way my body fills with a happiness when he says something sweet.

I know that side of him today. It makes it hard to walk away with an uncaring shrug.

“Hey, sweetheart. How about that Jack and Coke?” a voice from behind me asks.

My eyes stay glued on Grayson. “Yeah. It’s coming.” I pause, giving him the opportunity to say something.

He doesn’t.

I finish making the drinks and avoid looking back up at him. His gaze is hot and is directed at me, but I’m not going to push. I’ve opened the door. Now he needs to make an effort.

“Here you go,” I say, carrying the drinks to the men who ordered them. “I gave you an extra splash for having to wait.”

“Well, thank ya,” the one with the blond hair says. “You work here a lot?”

Grayson coughs.

“Every day,” I say, ignoring Grayson. “Well, nearly every day.”

“We might have to come back in. This is a nice little town y’all have.”

“Thanks. We’re pretty proud of it.”

He gives me a warm smile. “Want to show me around if I come back?”

“I—”

I’m cut off by the sound of Grayson clearing his throat. Before I can think about it, I look over my shoulder to see him staring at me.

“Can I get another beer?” he asks.

He’s clearly unamused.

Although they shouldn’t—I’m not the kind of girl to make a guy crazy on purpose—my insides cheer.

“Sure.” I motion for the two Jack drinkers that I’ll be back and head down to the cooler. I grab another beer and hand it to Grayson. “Here you go.”

He doesn’t reach for it.

“You sure you needed that?” I ask, motioning to the first bottle I gave him. “That one is still full.”

He blows out a long, heated breath. “Can I talk to you after you get off?”

I try to play it cool despite wanting to demand he talk to me now. “Yeah. Sure. What’s up?”

“I think you know.”

“Do I, though?”

He presses his lips together. “I want to talk about yesterday.”

“Yesterday was full of possible talking points.”

He eyes me carefully. The longer he takes to respond, the more my anxiety rises.

I know, without a doubt, that if he tells me yesterday was a mistake or that it was a one-off, it’s going to hurt. A bunch. Even though I tried to talk sense to myself last night and to discount all the hopeful things Kaylee brought to the table, I already know I bought into it.

I took the bait.

I listened to the hype, and I sided with hope, despite it being illogical and unreasonable.

I didn’t realize that I’d chosen this mental path until this moment in time. But as I stand in front of him and take in the fact that he clearly isn’t on the same wavelength as I am, I know how I really feel.

And I know I’m screwed.

Tears wet the corners of my eyes, and I blink them back.

“I have an eyelash stuck,” I say, pretending to dab my eyes for an offending lash.

Grayson leans forward. “About yesterday—”

“Can we turn the channel?” the guys behind me ask. “We want to see the sports scores for the day.”

“Sure,” I say, giving Grayson a chance to finish.

But he doesn’t. A look of uncertainty fills his eyes, and I already know what he was going to say.

This isn’t the look of someone who wants more.