Page 66 of Take Me Home

Alone at last. Hattie leans her elbows on the table, looking at me expectantly.

I kiss her forehead. “Let me clean up the dinner mess, then our date officially begins.”

She jumps up from her chair. “Okay, let me help.”

“You’re my guest. Sit your ass down.” I stand, towering over her.

She’s undeterred by my height and commanding voice, as usual. “Nonsense. The faster we clean up, the sooner our date starts.” Hattie slips past me, collecting the dirty dishes from the table and taking them to the sink.

With a sigh, I cross the room and pull out some containers and ladle the soup into them before sliding the leftovers into the fridge.

When I close the refrigerator door, I find Hattie scrubbing the dirty dishes. I watch her for a second, disappointed in myself for assuming she was a prissy, spoiled princess. Hattie might be classier than folks in Montana, but she’s a hard worker. Always looking for ways she can help and lend a hand. I like that about her. That she can work hard but then let me spoil her.

She’s a princess, but she’s my princess. At least, I’d like her to be.

I dry the dishes and put them away as she washes them, and together we make quick work of cleaning up the kitchen.

We get our boots and coats on, and I lead her outside to my pickup, start the engine up to get it warm. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

She waggles her eyebrows. “So mysterious.”

I gather everything I need from the barn and toss it in the back of the pickup, then drive us out to my favorite spot on my family farm. It’s about a mile away from the house, and with the full moon tonight we can see a perfect outline of the mountains.

I park the pickup, and Hattie glances over at me with a grin. “Stay put. I’ll get you when everything’s ready.”

“Okay.” Her eyes are wide and bright. She doesn’t seem to mind that our date is in the middle of a field.

Unable to resist, I lean over and press my lips to hers before sliding out of the truck and arranging the pillows, sleeping bags, and blankets in the bed of my pickup to make a cozy spot for stargazing. For a final romantic touch, I place the three LED candles I stole from Poppy’s room on top of the cab.

When I open Hattie’s door, she’s still smiling and jumps out of the pickup to scope out what I’ve been working on. She gasps softly when she makes it to the back of the pickup. “This is so romantic.”

I step closer to her. “Sorry it’s nothing fancy⁠—”

Hattie closes the distance and grabs the front of my jacket. “Stop. This is perfect, and so thoughtful. Anyone can pay for a meal or make a reservation. This is way better.”

She releases my jacket, then climbs into the truck bed and makes herself at home. I watch her, unsure why I’m surprised at this point. Hattie never reacts how I expect her to. This right here is my idea of a perfect date, snuggled up together with no one else around…not dressing up and going out. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’d simply rather enjoy the quiet of being in the middle of nowhere, just sitting and enjoying each other.

I never imagined Hattie would be the woman who’d enjoy that, too. I completely misjudged her.

Hattie pats the space beside her, and I don’t waste any time in joining her and pulling her into my arms as we look up at the sky.

“Oh, almost forgot,” I say, reaching into my back pocket and pressing play on a classic country playlist. I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry croons softly through my phone speaker, and I rest it on the sleeping bag.

Hattie sighs contentedly and burrows against me. I cover both of us with a thick blanket.

“I think you’re secretly a romantic under that grumpy exterior, Sunshine.”

I sniff a laugh. “It’ll be our little secret. I have a reputation to uphold.”

She laughs, and I swear the sound fills the concave emptiness inside my chest. I blink, not ready to admit—even to myself—how strong my feelings for this woman have grown in such a short amount of time. It doesn’t make sense. I’m a master at pushing my feelings aside, of denying myself and staying focused on work and my family.

But Hattie stormed in, and I worry that storm caused permanent damage to my formerly secure storm shelter.

Rolling onto my back, I keep one arm around her.

“You know,” she muses, her voice soft. “Montana feels more like home to me than any other place ever has.”

My heart skips a beat at her admission. “Do you think you’ll stay longer?”