Page 54 of Almost Yours
Her best friend looks up, one brow arched.
“Can I grab my bag from your car?”
Whitley’s eyes widen. “Ohhellyes,” she says, sprinting forward so fast Beau actually flinches. “God, I love being right.”
Violet just rolls her eyes, cheeks pink now.
Whitley digs around in her purse for her keys, finally producing them and unlocking the car. “Take care of her, Wolfe.”
“Always.”
Whitley gives a satisfied nod before turning back to Beau. “Nice meeting you, big guy.”
“Yep.” His expression is impassive, but I don’t miss the way his eyes track her as she walks away.
I steer Violet toward my truck, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back. When we pull up, the porch light’s on, and Bramble’s excited bark echoes from inside. Violet smiles at the sound, and something about the way it tugs at her mouth makes my chest ache in a good way.
I kill the engine and climb out, circling around to open her door before she can reach for it. She steps down when I pull itopen, close enough that I catch a whiff of her perfume—warm and a little sweet, like summer peaches and trouble.
“Ignore the dog hair. Bramble sheds like she’s trying to give life to a second dog.”
The lock clicks and the door barely cracks before Bramble bursts out, tail wagging so hard her whole body moves with it. She barrels into Violet, and instead of stepping back, Violet drops to her knees, laughing as Bramble lavishes her with kisses.
Her laugh…fuck. It slices straight through me. That laugh makes me want to be better, to earn it, to protect it from ever dimming.
“Okay, okay,” she says between giggles. “I’m happy to see you, too.”
I clear my throat, gesturing toward the open door. “Come on in.”
Violet comes to a stand and steps past me, brushing against my chest just enough to steal my breath. Just like that, the house already seems different.
Lighter. Warmer.
She pauses just inside the entry, taking it all in. The low lighting, the scuffed hardwood floors, the well-loved leather couch with Bramble’s blanket permanently draped across the arm. It’s not much, but it’s mine.
“Want something to drink?” I ask, heading toward the kitchen without waiting for an answer. “I’ve got water, soda, maybe a couple beers if the fridge gods are feeling generous.”
“Water’s good,” she says, following behind me. I can feel her eyes on my back, and I’m trying not to make too big a deal of it, but itisa big deal.
She leans against the counter as I hand her a glass.
“This place,” she says softly, cradling the water in both hands, “I love it. Your house. The land. The quiet.”
Her gaze drifts toward the back window. “I’ve always wanted something like this. A house that’s tucked away fromeverything. Room to breathe. Space for animals.” Her smile turns shy, almost hopeful. “Probably a few too many.”
“You want a whole zoo?”
She smiles to herself, eyes distant for a beat. “I wouldn’t say no to a few goats. A big mutt like Bramble. Maybe a horse if I ever figure out how to be that brave.”
I can see her here so clearly—barefoot on the porch, legs tucked under her, coffee mug warming her hands. Some stubborn goat raising hell near the barn. Bramble stretched out, snoring at her feet. Sunlight on her face.
If I’m being honest with myself, I bought this place with her in mind. Not in some grand, premeditated way. During those long nights when the silence echoed too loud and the ache set in, I built a life I didn’t think I’d ever get to share with her but made space for her in it anyway.
Now she’s standing in my kitchen, smiling like she can see it, too.
I clear my throat, forcing the thoughts back. “Come on,” I say, reaching for her hand.
She follows me into the living room and settles in beside me on the couch. Bramble pads over and flops at our feet with a content sigh.
