Page 26 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

I taste him, the sweetness of the coffee and something unmistakably him. A low sound escapes from the back of his throat, and I feel it vibrate against my skin. I shift closer until my fingers find the edge of his shirt and grip the fabric like I might float away if I don’t hold on to something.

When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless, not only from the kiss, but from everything behind it.

He rests his forehead against mine, his thumb still brushing lightly at the base of my neck.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

A smile ghosts across his lips as he kisses me again, quick and soft this time, like a punctuation mark at the end of a sentence that already said everything. The edges of my old life fade. This version of me—the one in cutoff shorts, having cowboy coffee dates—might be the one I want to keep.

We finish our drinks and toss the empty cups in the trash bin. He grabs my hand as we return to the truck, stealing glances. Being with him is uncomplicated, and I appreciate that more than he’ll ever know. He expects nothing, and that makes me want to give him everything.

The sun casts long golden streaks across the road as we drive home.

It beats down so brutally that it makes the air above the highway shimmer.

I rest my head back, eyes half lidded, my stomach full, and my heart doing this weird fluttering thing I don’t know how to control.

Outside the window, the trees blur past in soft green streaks, and the sky stretches wide and open above us.

“You free tomorrow?” he asks casually as he turns down the long gravel road.

The house sits at the back of the property, half painted.

“Hmm,” I say playfully. “Let me check my schedule. Seems I’m free.”

“Perfect,” he says, flashing a grin. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“No,” I say, giving a brief pause, followed by a short laugh. “I’d love to.”

“Great. I have the perfect place.”

I shift in my seat, and the butterflies in my chest turn into something a little more dangerous, like a swarm of bees.

“What should I wear?”

He grins. “Whatever you’d like.”

My pulse races.

His smile tugs a little deeper. “Why are you nervous?”

“Well,” I reply, stretching my legs out in front of me, knowing I can’t deny it because he sees straight through me, “I’m waiting for the bottom to fall out of this.”

“That’s not happening, Stormy. Unless you decide I’m too young and there’s no space for you and me in your life.” He parks in front of the house, but doesn’t immediately kill the engine.

“I’m giving us a chance,” I admit for the first time, and it doesn’t scare me.

Colt doesn’t answer right away. He stares at me, and a pull starts low in my stomach. The way his eyes soften, how his fingers tighten slightly around the steering wheel, like he’s remembering this very moment.

He shifts in his seat, turns toward me, and kills the engine.

“I’m glad,” he says. “Because I’ve already made up my mind about you.”

My breath catches.

He leans in, elbows resting casually on the middle console, but his eyes never leave mine. “I knew the second you walked into my sister’s house, looking like trouble, wrapped in heartbreak, that you were fixin’ to be mine.”

I laugh, stunned and a little breathless. “You really said that to yourself?”

“Swear on my boots.”

I shake my head, grinning now despite the hum running beneath my skin. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

He tilts his head, that cocky little smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “No, darlin’, maybe I don’t. But I still want in.”

That swarm in my chest settles into something steadier.

I reach for the door handle and glance back at him one more time. “Come on, cowboy. We have a house to finish and a dog to adopt.”

He’s already getting out of the truck with a grin that says I’m his.

And maybe, just maybe, I am.

Colt walks beside me, his hands relaxed at his sides as we take the porch steps. He unlocks the door and stops in the entryway, kicking off his boots. “You seriously up for working on the house today?”

I arch an eyebrow as I step inside behind him. “Can I use power tools this time?”

“You get a paintbrush, a roll of tape, and a motivational speech,” he says.

I laugh, already heading toward the front room, where the supplies are stored. “Great. But I get to control the music today.”

“That’s fair,” he says, trailing after me. “As long as it’s not depressing.”

“Oh, so no sad love songs?”

“Exactly. No heartbreak on a loop.”

I shoot him a glance over my shoulder, but I’m still smiling as I walk into the huge room to grab brushes, paint trays, tape, and caulk.

The air in the house still smells faintly of wood and joint compound, but it’s cooler in here now; the air conditioner is keeping up enough to make it bearable.

It doesn’t stop him from turning on every box fan he has available.

“Ready?” he asks. “I think we can finish the rest of the baseboards throughout the house by dark since everything is already cut.”

“Let’s do it,” I tell him.

We share a high five, then fall into a rhythm almost immediately.

The sounds of light footsteps, the tearing of tape, and the sliding of boards against the floor fill the quiet without overwhelming it.

In the background, ’90s rock plays, and Colt sings along with some of the songs.

There’s no pressure, no awkwardness in the space between us, only the comfort of shared tasks and building something better together.

At one point, I glance over and catch him watching me, and we exchange smiles.

Hours pass, and he finishes hanging the baseboards in other rooms as I wrap up painting the hallway. It already seems like a completely different house. I’m amazed by how much we’ve accomplished together in such a short amount of time.

The two of us move into the kitchen to clean the paintbrushes and rollers when Colt leans his hip against the counter and glances over at me.

His shirt is speckled with paint, and there’s a smudge near his jaw that he hasn’t noticed yet.

The light coming through the kitchen window catches in his dark hair, and for a moment, I allow myself to admire him.

He clears his throat like he’s been debating whether to say something.

“Kinsley texted me,” he says. “She and Summer were wondering if you’d want to hang out with them tomorrow. Said they’d love to help you get ready for your date, but only if you’re up for it.”

The offer takes me off guard, not because I’m surprised they’d be kind, but because it seems normal. Like something women in small towns do for each other when someone’s got a big night. It’s not something I’m accustomed to.

“You want me to hang out with your older sister and her bestie alone?” I ask, drying my hands for too long to give myself something to do.

He shrugs, but I can see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Only if you want to. There’s no pressure. They’re fun, and you might enjoy hanging out with someone other than me.”

I nod slowly, my chest tightening around something soft. “Okay. Sure. I’d love to.”

His grin spreads wider. “They’ll be happy. Said they loved chatting with you at the rodeo. Be careful though. If they fall in love with you, they’ll never let you leave town.”

“I like them a lot. I don’t have many friends back in New York,” I tell him.

“You already have more than enough here.”