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“Not stupid at all. I think there’s a reason you guys didn’t get horizontal until now.”

We’ve actually only done things vertically, but God willing and the creek don’t rise, that’s about to change.

I’ve been on the verge of sexual insanity all week. Used my right hand plenty, but that’s only intensified my hunger for Sally. I wanna go slow tomorrow, but I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to hold back.

“And that reason is?” I ask Mollie.

“It’s gonna force each of you to make a decision about your priorities. And maybe that’s a choice you need to make before you can live the life you want. The universe is telling you something here, Wyatt. Listen.”

Shit, am I really gonna cry?

“That’s…a nice thought. Thanks, Mollie.”

Mollie tilts her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. I brought over a bunch of really expensive wine and my mother’s china. You break it, I kill you. Or, really, she will. Got it?”

We both look up at the sound of the front door opening.

“Helloooo!” Patsy calls. “Mollie, I saw your ATV out front. I’ve got our supplies!”

Mollie squeals. “Wyatt, I freaking love that you enlisted Patsy to help. It’s seriously so sweet of you.”

I’m blushing. “Thanks.”

“I can’t wait for Sally to, like, burst into tears when she sees everything you put together for her. She’s gonna die!”

“I hope she doesn’t die.”

“You know the French call orgasmslittle deaths, right?” Mollie loops her arm through mine.

I laugh. “I love you.”

“I love you more. Now let’s get you your girl.”

The next evening, I hold the wheel in a death grip all the way to Sally’s house.

I’m nervous. But it’s more about me not reaching for the Marlboros I have in my glove compartment than anything else.

I’ve never needed stress relief more than I do now, though. I would kill for a cigarette. I haven’t lit up since before I kissed Sally the night of the potluck, but if Sally hates smoking, then I’m done doing it.

Checking my reflection in the rearview mirror one last time, I head to the door even though it’s only four fifty. I delegated most of my tasks at the ranch this afternoon to my brothers so I’d have plenty of time to shower and get ready. Guess I took a littletoomuch time off.

I’m not sorry. Yeah, Duke bothered me a couple of times with phone calls about our pain-in-the-ass farrier. But other than that, things seemed to go just fine.

John B answers the door, because of course he does.

“Evenin’, John.” I hold out my hand. “How’s it going?”

He warily takes my hand and shakes it. I wonder if there’s anything more awkward than shaking hands with the man whose daughter is coming to your house for a sleepover.

He knows what Sally and I are about to do. I know. And, Lord, if it don’t make me feel hot under the collar.

“It’s going all right. Sally’s just getting ready.” He steps aside. “Come in.”

The house is warm. Cozy. Smells good—there’s something in the oven.

“Patsy told me you’re gonna cook,” John says after an awkward stretch of silence.

I dip my head. “Yes, sir, I’m going to attempt it. Not much in the way of restaurants around here, but I still wanted the meal to feel special. Pray for me, would you, that I don’t screw it up too badly or burn down my house?”