Page 31 of Falling for the Bombshell (Falling for #1)

Snot What You ’ d Expect

The soft morning light slipped through the cracks of the hotel curtains, casting a gold hue over the tangle of sheets and limbs.

Blaine stirred first, brushing a strand of Linnie ’ s hair out of her face and smiling to himself, still in awe that this was real—she was real.

He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, and she blinked her eyes open, stretching with a sleepy hum.

“ Room service?” she asked, voice husky from sleep.

“ Already ordered,” Blaine grinned. “ I got you the pancakes with strawberries. And bacon. Lots of bacon.”

She reached up, tugging him down by the shirt collar to kiss him. “ You ’ re learning.”

The breakfast came with fresh coffee, soft scrambled eggs, and a side of slow, flirty conversation.

They stayed in their robes a little longer than they should have, sipping coffee on the balcony and watching the Boise skyline flicker awake before finally packing their things.

Blaine swore to himself this time—he was staying awake for the whole drive.

Linnie had done too much, and he owed her everything.

They filled up the tank, stocked up on snacks again, and pulled out of the parking lot with her playlist already queued.

By Twin Falls, the road stretched out in peaceful quiet.

The sky was a perfect, pale blue. The windows were cracked just enough for wind to whip through her curls, and Blaine watched her drive, memorizing her smile, the way her fingers tapped on the steering wheel to the beat of a song.

They didn ’ t talk constantly—sometimes just holding hands in silence, sometimes talking about everything. The big stuff. Life stuff.

“ I think… I want to raise my family somewhere like this,” Linnie sa id as they passed miles of green open fields. “ Somewhere with space to run and sky that makes you feel small in the best way.”

Blaine looked over, heart thudding. “ I think I ’ d raise a hundred kids with you if it meant I got to hear that laugh every day.”

She rolled her eyes but blushed. “ Okay, farmer football dad.”

As they drove on, her phone lit up with the next song, and a familiar melody began to fill the space between them— “ Who I

Am with You.” Chris Young ’ s voice was low and warm, like the sunlight sliding through the windshield.

Blaine didn ’ t say anything at first. He just smiled and turned it up a little, thumb still tracing circles over the back of her hand.

Linnie glanced over. “ You picked this?”

He nodded. “ You make me better,” he said simply. “ I ’ ve never felt more like myself than I do with you.”

She squeezed his fingers, eyes misty now. “ Me too,” she whispered.

They kept driving like that, the highway stretched wide ahead, their hands linked, and the lyrics settling into every quiet space between their hearts.

It was one of those moments—simple, still, and impossible to forget.

As they neared Yellowstone, the sunlight turning amber behind the tree line, Linnie pulled out her phone to record them.

Blaine reached for the bag of gummy bears and without hesitation, stuck two up his nose.

“ Watch this.” He tilted his head back, then forward—and one shot out , landing perfectly on Linnie ’ s thigh.

“ OH MY GOD—BLAINE!” she shrieked, swerving slightly as she gagged. “ That ’ s so gross! It ’ s STUCK! It ’ s STICKY!”

“ Are you gonna crash the car over a bear booger?” he laughed so hard he couldn ’ t breathe, tears streaming down his face. She smacked his arm with the back of her hand, wheezing with laughter herself.

“ This is going in the wedding video,” she muttered.

Traffic slowed to a crawl as they hit the main road into Yellowstone. A herd of buffalo was taking its sweet time crossing, blocking both lanes. Linnie sat bolt upright in her seat, arms clenched around the steering wheel like she was in a thriller.

“ Blaine, if a buffalo tramples my Equinox, I ’ m going to scream.”

“ They ’ re majestic,” Blaine whispered in awe.

“ They ’ re massive . That one just looked at me . Did you see that?”

After a very tense (but oddly magical) hour, the road cleared and Blaine finally took the wheel, giving Linnie a break.

She curled up in the passenger seat, drifting in and out of sleep while he drove the rest of the way to Bozeman.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they pulled into his grandparents ’ driveway.

The porch light was on, and the smell of something hearty and homecooked met them at the door. Inside, his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and even a couple of cousins were gathered around the long dining table. Hugs, stories, and plenty of teasing followed.

“ Look at this city girl drivin ’ through Yellowstone like it ’ s nothing,” Blaine ’ s Uncle Jace said, nudging her.

“ She faced down a buffalo,” Blaine added, wrapping his arm around her with pride. “ She ’ s tougher than me.”

They stayed late, not wanting to risk the final stretch of the drive in the dark.

His grandmother offered up the same two guest rooms as always— separate, of course—and with shared sleepy smiles, Blaine walked Linnie to her room like they were back in high school.

She kissed him goodnight on the cheek, warm and slow, and whispered, “ Thanks for everything today.” He didn ’ t sleep much.

Not because the bed was uncomfortable, but because his heart was so full it kept him awake.

The morning in Bozeman broke with that kind of soft, golden light that made everything feel slower and sweeter.

The scent of fresh cinnamon rolls drifted through the house, pulling Blaine out of his sleep before his alarm even buzzed.

He stretched, sat up, and blinked at the ceiling for a moment—then grinned.

She ’ s here . Even if she was in the other room, Linnie was here, waking up just down the hall, under his grandparents ’ roof.Something about that made it all feel real in a way nothing else had.

He threw on a hoodie and padded barefoot to the kitchen where his grandma was already stacking pancakes like a pro.

“ Mornin ’ , sweetheart,” she said with a wink. “ Your girl ’ s already helping your aunt cut fruit. She ’ s a keeper.”

“ Don ’ t I know it,” Blaine said, rubbing the back of his neck with a bashful smile.

Linnie was in the kitchen, laughing with his aunt, hair still a little mussed from sleep, wearing one of Blaine ’ s old T-shirts and a pair of leggings. She turned when she heard him and lit up, that soft smile she saved just for him.

“ Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

“ Morning, boogie,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss her cheek, the moment warm and easy.

The day was spent wrapped in love—the kind that ’ s built into porches and weathered wood and homemade jam.

Blaine ’ s grandpa took them around the property on the old four-wheeler, telling stories from when Blaine was a kid.

They fed the chickens, helped with the garden, and spent most of the afternoon on the porch with iced tea, watching the clouds roll over the mountains.

His younger cousins swarmed Linnie instantly, showing her their treehouse, asking a million questions about dance, her pink pom poms, and whether she could do a backflip (she could, and she did —right there in the yard, barefoot, to thunderous applause).

Even his uncle Terry came out of his shell to show her his old car collection, talking Linnie ’ s ear off about horsepower and classic vinyl interiors.

She listened to every word with wide eyes and genuine awe, and Blaine couldn ’ t stop watching her.

She fit. Like she ’ d always belonged here.

That evening, they all sat down to one of those classic family dinners—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans from the garden, the whole nine yards. Laughter echoed through the kitchen and spilled into the yard.

Later, after the sun dipped low and painted the fields in gold and lavender, Linnie curled up on the porch swing with a blanket and her head on Blaine ’ s shoulder.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the hum of cicadas and soft laughter lulling her.

They ’ d just come from inside, where the cousins had all crowded around a laptop for what Blaine dramatically announced as “ a historic cinematic debut.”

“ What is it?” one of the younger ones asked, halfway through a third cinnamon roll.

Linnie tried to grab the laptop back. “ It ’ s nothing. Seriously. Do not let him—”

Blaine grinned like a kid on Christmas. “ Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Booger Boogie: A Road Trip Tragedy.”

And with that, he hit play.

The living room erupted. Screams. Wheezes. Choking on lemonade. Blaine ’ s gummy bear trick—complete with Linnie ’ s horrified reaction—played on loop as someone shouted “ REWIND IT!” and another begged, “ Please, please send that to me. I need that forever.”

Linnie had her face buried in Blaine ’ s shoulder, groaning. “ I cannot believe I said, ‘ It ’ s STUCK! ’ Why did I say that?”

“ Because it was stuck,” Blaine whispered through his laughter. “ It was a sticky bear booger. You said it best.”

His grandma was laughing so hard she had to sit down. “ I haven ’ t laughed like that in years.”

“ You two are ridiculous,” his aunt said, wiping her eyes. “ But it ’ s obvious—you ’ re made for each other.”

And Linnie —blushing, giggling, mortified but glowing—couldn ’ t even argue with that .

Back outside, on the porch swing, wrapped in the golden quiet, Blaine looked down at her again, arms around her like she was the most fragile, precious thing in the world. The light caught in her curls. Her breathing was slow and steady.

“ I love you,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

“ God, I love you.” And she didn ’ t need to say anything back.

Not yet. The way she leaned into him, the way she trusted him enough to sleep here, with his whole family laughing inside and the stars just starting to prick the sky above—that was enough.

It was everything.

They hit the road just after breakfast, saying goodbye to his grandparents with lingering hugs and a paper bag full of extra cinnamon rolls for the ride.

Blaine tossed their bags in the back of Linnie ’ s freshly-washed Equinox, holding the door open for her like he always did, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before he jogged around to the driver ’ s side.

He insisted on driving this time—“You ’ ve done enough marathon trips for both of us,” he ’ d said with that signature Blaine smirk that melted her every time.

The roads were quiet, the air soft and warm, and the miles passed beneath them like waves.

Somewhere between Livingston and Big Timber, Blaine turned down the volume on the playlist that had been gently filling the space between them.

His fingers were laced with hers on the center console, thumb tracing idle, thoughtful circles.

“ I ’ ve been thinkin ’ ,” he said, eyes on the horizon. “ Like, really thinkin ’ . Ever since Boise. Even before, really.”

Linnie looked over at him, brow lifted just slightly. “ About what?”

He hesitated for half a second, which was rare for Blaine. But then he glanced at her with those tunning hazel blue eyes with green and golden hues — the kind that catch the light just right and leave

Blaine breathless

“ You and me,” he said. “ I mean, we ’ re already us. You know? And these last few weeks… bein ’ with you like this, waking up next to you, drivin ’ across the state, eatin ’ gas station snacks, meeting my crazy family… It ’ s not just fun. It feels right.”

Linnie ’ s heart stuttered. She squeezed his hand, silent but open.

“ I know I ’ m not headin ’ to college like I thought I would. And I know this year ’ s been nothin ’ like I planned,” he continued. “ But maybe that ’ s the point. Maybe the best things happen when everything goes sideways.”

He looked over again, this time with more weight in his gaze.

“ I wanna take the next step with you. I don ’ t mean just road trips and late-night calls anymore. I mean… I wanna come home to you.

Every night. I want that to be our normal.”

She blinked, heart suddenly racing faster than any long drive or big game. “ Are you saying…?”

“ I ’ m saying maybe we try livin ’ together,” he said, gentle but sure.

“ Not somethin ’ huge or fancy. Just us. A place we make ours. You, me, your coffee mug collection, my dirty laundry, some dumb keychain on the wall.”

Linnie stared at him for a beat before slowly smiling, that spark lighting behind her eyes like sunrise.

“ Blaine,” she said, voice quiet but steady. “ I ’ d love that.”

His breath whooshed out like he hadn ’ t realized he ’ d been holding it. Relief and joy and something deeper—something real—settled between them.

She reached over and ran her hand along his jaw. “ We ’ d have to find a place close to the Plex. And I need a decent kitchen. You know I like to cook.”

“ I ’ ll get you the biggest spice rack in Billings,” he promised with a grin.

They laughed, and the road stretched out ahead of them, golden and wide open. Behind them were the fields and front porches of family. Ahead of them—home. A new kind. One they ’ d build, step by step, together.

“ You sure you ’ re ready to deal with my hair shed all over the bathroom?” she teased.

“ I already do,” he shot back with a wink. “ Now it ’ ll just be our bathroom.”

And with that, they drove on, hearts lighter, hands still linked, and the future just beginning to take shape beneath the Montana sky.