Page 49 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

STORMY

T he wheels hit the tarmac with a low thud that travels through the floor and into my chest. I grip the armrest out of habit more than fear. There’s nothing scary about landing in Texas. Not now. Not anymore.

Outside the window, the horizon stretches in a dusky blur.

The last strips of sunset have already faded.

From the plane, I watched the sky shifting from bruised orange to indigo to darkness.

The airport is small—just a single lane of runway, tucked behind a chain-link fence and a row of mesquite trees.

This part of the country is wide-open spaces and silence. My favorite.

Colt glances at me and smirks as the jet slows to a crawl.

We deboard and descend the stairs into a thick heat that wraps around my skin. It smells like dirt, cows, and sunbaked gravel. I let it fill my lungs.

The SUV I arranged waits off to the side. He opens the door for me, and I slide in.

The cab smells like leather and spearmint gum.

The driver doesn’t say anything as we take off toward Valentine.

We don’t talk much, both spent from rocking each other’s world on the flight home.

His thigh presses against mine, and his hand rests warm on my leg, thumb tracing lazy circles just above my knee.

The hum of the road is the only sound between us. And it’s enough.

“By the way, I called my friend about London while I was in the city.”

His brows pinch together. “Really?”

“He’s going to make it to one of her shows. The rest is up to her.”

His mouth curves, but it’s his eyes that catch me off guard. That pride, the kind only family brings out. I don’t think he knows how easy it is to love him when he looks like that.

The rest of the drive slips by quietly.

We take the back roads; the driver swears they’re faster. I rest my hand on his, and neither of us says anything until the turnoff to the house comes into view.

The gravel crunches under the tires as the SUV rolls to a stop. We get out, and Colt grabs our bags. Soon, we’re left standing in front of the half-finished house beside a Camaro I destroyed with my bare hands.

“I missed this place,” I tell him.

“We’re back,” Colt says, but it’s quiet, like he’s talking to himself more than me.

We pause at the top of the porch without meaning to. Just … stop. Standing side by side, our hands still joined.

The sky above is dark now, but the stars are out—clearer here than they ever are over Manhattan. I tilt my head and look up. For a second, I let myself just breathe it in.

This place. This life. This version of me.

Colt speaks beside me. “You ready to go in?”

“Yeah,” I say, the smile already blooming. “Home sweet home.”

When I cross that threshold, everything inside me exhales.

The door clicks shut, and I stand inside the entryway, taking it all in. I can’t help but smile.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“A little. Not for anything big.”

“Grilled cheese work?”

I smile. “Perfect.”

He grabs my hand and leads me to the kitchen. I sit at the table, watching him work around the kitchen. He opens the fridge, reaches for butter, and flips the burner on without checking the dial.

“The only thing that would make this better is if you were shirtless,” I tell him.

As if I snapped my fingers, he peels his shirt from his body. “For your watching pleasure.”

I lean my elbows on the table, chin resting in my palm, watching the muscles in his back shift as he grabs a skillet. “You gonna make me a sandwich and give me a show?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Multitasking, darlin’. It’s one of my many cowboy skills.”

“Oh, yeah?” I smirk. “What else you got in your bag of tricks?”

He turns just enough to flash me a look over his bare shoulder. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

A minute later, the smell shifts—less buttered toast, more singed edges.

“Colt …” I warn.

“Shit.” He flips the sandwich too late and winces. “Still edible.”

“Let me guess. Another one of your cowboy skills?”

“Making things work, even when they’re a little burned? Absolutely.”

We eat in the kitchen for a bit, then relocate to the living room, plates still in hand. The two of us sit cross-legged on the couch, plates balanced in our laps, the sandwich cut diagonally, how I like. I take a bite, still warm in the center, and nod with approval.

“Best grilled cheese of my life,” I say.

“You’re biased.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

The bread is buttery. The cheese is hot enough to sting my tongue. Our knees bump, paper towels under our plates, no background music, no phones. I’m not watching the clock.

When we’re done, he looks toward the porch and then back at me. “You want to sit outside for a bit?”

“Yeah. That would be nice.”

We step out onto the porch and into the deep hush of a Texas night. The swing creaks as we sit, and I pull my knees up beside me, one leg tucked under the other. The breeze is warm, but it carries the edge of fall. Fireflies blink in the field beyond the fence line.

Colt settles in beside me, his fingers brushing my shoulder.

We let the swing rock beneath us in an easy rhythm.

The moon hangs low, casting a pale light over the yard. Somewhere out in the dark, a cricket chirps. A truck roars in the distance.

This is peace.

He presses a kiss to the top of my head.

Something in the way he touches me makes me feel safe and cared for.

I lead him inside and straight to the bedroom. He steps forward; his hands settle lightly on my hips. Mine slides up his chest, and his breath catches under my palms.

“I want you. Now and forever.”

His eyes soften. “Good.”

I rise onto my toes and kiss him. He kisses me back like we’ve been holding our breath since New York and we’re finally letting go.

Clothes come off piece by piece in a feverish blur. Every look he gives me says, I see you, I want you, I love you, and I’m always here.

He lays me down gently, his body covering mine. His mouth trails over my collarbone, my shoulder, the inside of my wrist.

There are no words between us as he enters me. Just the quiet sound of breath, the creak of the bed frame, the weight of everything I’ve carried finally slipping away.

I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer. We move together, like we’re trying to carve out a space that only belongs to us.

When I come undone, it’s with a whimper.

He follows moments later, burying himself deep with a low groan that sounds like relief.

Afterward, he doesn’t pull away. He stays wrapped around me, our legs tangled, my head tucked beneath his chin.

“Welcome home,” he whispers into my hair. “This is where you belong.”

And when I look into his bright blue eyes, I believe it.