Page 110 of Micah

My crush on the gorgeous, quiet ex-military cowboy has been my one constant since I moved to Dry Creek.

From the very first night he wandered into The Watering Hole, sat at the end of the bar, ordered a burger and one beer, then quietly slipped out without bothering anyone, I'd noticed him.

How could I not?

Most men wanted attention.

Micah avoided it.

Most men talked too much.

Micah barely spoke.

Most men looked at me like they were deciding whether I was attractive enough.

But Micah?

Micah looked at me like I mattered.

Then came the filters for the van.

The kiss.

And I haven't thought straight since.

I turn the shower on.

Hot water pours from the oversized showerhead, filling the room with steam.

The heat loosens muscles I didn't even realize I'd been clenching.

I step beneath the spray and sigh.

“Oh...”

It feels incredible.

I reach for the bottle of body wash sitting neatly on the shelf.

His body wash.

Citrus.

Fresh cedar.

Clean soap.

The scent immediately wraps around me.

Micah.

This is what he smells like.

Every time he leans across the bar.

Every time he walks into the room.

Fresh.