Page 38 of Fool Me (Timberline Peak #1)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

HARLOWE

After an afternoon of wedding prep and getting settled, the growing group sits around the patio getting to know each other.

It’s not just Vivienne and her family here.

Tenley arrived, stealing Haze from my arms so she could meet her newest family member.

Xavier’s former teammates from the Denver Bandits are also here, to Xavier’s absolute delight.

Poppy, Hendrix, Cruz, Lilah, Mia, Dean, Dom, and Indie fit right in with the Cardozas.

And with the kids down for the night, the adults are enjoying a late meal around a gas-fire pit, making for a much more chaotic dinner than the peaceful lunch we had earlier.

But I love it.

As predicted, the steaks aren’t the only thing getting grilled this evening. To Atlas’s credit, he’s fielding questions from every direction with ease. And they aren’t just about me and our fake relationship.

Which admittedly was a hot topic initially. The girls gave me a round of high fives when they learned how the whole thing started. Thankfully, the conversation shifted and now Atlas is fielding questions about animals from both sides, while the girls ask me about living in Timberline Peak.

Dom, who I’ve learned is the most outgoing of the Bandits, keeps asking questions about Muley, much to his wife, Indie’s, dismay. The rest of the guys are genuinely nice and seem to just want to get to know both of us.

The long travel day and an over-poured glass of wine have me dead on my feet, and when I find Atlas across the table, I see the same look on his face.

Luca fires questions at him about the fainting goats he wants to get to make micro batches of cheese to sell in the tasting room.

He, like all of Vivi’s brothers, works at the vineyard, but Luca seems to have a new interest in expanding and attracting new markets.

Standing from my chair, I round the fire, which is giving off just enough heat to combat the cool summer breeze.

“If you get fainting goats for your mico-batch cheese, I’m going to start a TikTok for them,” Gio threatens his dad as I steal Atlas’s attention with a hand on his shoulder.

I squeeze the corded muscle for no other reason than the fact that the solid connection to him is grounding. And after feeling like I’ve been floating outside my body for over a week, it’s welcomed.

“I’m ready to call it a night, but I understand if you want to stay down here—bond over baseball and goats for a while yet.”

His palm eclipses the back of my hand, traveling up my arm and over my shoulder until he urges me lower, guiding with the hand that now softly cups the back of my neck.

“If there’s something in this world that outshines you, I haven’t found it yet.” He nips at my ear causing me to suck in a breath through my teeth. “And it’s certainly not baseball or goats.”

My goodbyes to Vivi, her family, and the girls are quick by design. When I return to Atlas’s side, he’s extracting himself from Luca’s last-ditch efforts to hook him into a longer conversation about the ethics of goat yoga.

“I’m afraid my cautionary tale about yoga mats and goat feces will have to wait until tomorrow,” Atlas says when I plant myself against his side.

Luca frowns and then his eyes flick to my palm sliding against Atlas’s big one, reaching out for me. “Sorry, Luc, I’m tired and I need someone to tuck me in.”

“I’ll tuck you in,” one of the twins yells, only for Levi to slap the back of his head.

Atlas’s grip on my hand tightens. Granting him a reassuring squeeze, I wrap my other arm around his forearm.

“Dude, read the room!” Vivi yells at her younger brother before giving Atlas and me an appraising look. We’re acting much more like a couple than two people who are faking it.

“Night, everyone!” I holler over my shoulder as I lead him away from the stone patio.

Slowly, the feelings that were pushed under the surface by the heaviness as of late climb as we take the stairs back to the apartment. By the time we’re pushing through the door and stepping inside, the tension between us is clinging to my body like a second skin.

Atlas grips the back of his neck, scanning the space like he’s looking for an escape route or answers to ease the lingering questions between us.

“Did you want the bathroom first to wash up, or . . .”

“You can have it,” I say.

“Take it,” he says at the same time.

I smile. We’ve never been this awkward together, not even when I ambushed him with our first kiss and the plan to fake date.

“Actually, I have to get some things organized for the wedding tomorrow. You’d be doing me a favor if you went first.”

With a frown the size of Texas, he relents.

It seems to go against his moral fiber, but I really do have things to sort out before the chaos of tomorrow starts.

One by one, I cross things off my mental checklist, pulling my dress from its travel bag and plugging in the steamer I brought.

Then, I do a final read-through of my maid-of-honor speech and make sure my clutch is stocked with wedding day survival essentials.

I’m just finishing when he steps out of the bathroom, a pair of basketball shorts hanging low on his hips.

“It’s all yours. Is there anything I can help you with for tomorrow?”

“Nope. All set.”

He tugs on his neck, a bead of water dripping from the curl on his forehead and landing on his pec. He says something else, but I’m so enraptured by that one bead of water that I temporarily lose my ability to focus on anything else.

“What was that?”

“If you’re good, I’ll just get the pull-out couch made up.”

I do what any sane woman would do and let him, damn near sprinting to the bathroom to get away from the weirdness and hoping it blows away with the crosswind currently blowing through the apartment.

Once I’m safely inside the privacy of the bathroom, my hand clamps over my mouth to cover a laugh that I can’t stop because this is so ridiculous .

. . so trivial in the grand scheme of things, but it’s also painfully normal, and that sends joy skittering through me.

Atlas, being a mess over us, is the light at the end of my tunnel.

He’s the light in everything. Since the moment I met him, I’ve let him help me in ways I’ve never relied on anyone else.

That fact sinks in deeper as I wash my hair and replay the last month in my mind.

How easily we connected that first night.

The care he took to verify our pizza was made separately so I wouldn’t be exposed to cross contamination.

Then on our date ordering something I could eat at the steakhouse, just in case.

Every moment since, from the way he opened up to me on our hike after his emergency surgery to later, when he took care of me like I was the most important thing in the world.

He’s made me feel cherished and wanted each step of the way.

There’s nothing more real than that.

And that realization has me slipping into the tank and boxers I brought to wear to bed before I’m dry. I step out of the steam to find a perplexed-looking Atlas running a hand over his jaw as he stares down at the couch.

“Did the couch outsmart you, Doc?”

His head lifts and his expression shifts from blank to tempestuous. “Not exactly.”

Curiosity gets the best of me and I join him at the front of the couch. Where I expect to find a pull-out bed, I find nothing but some dust bunnies the twins missed and the sad-looking metal frame that’s missing a mattress.

“Well, considering the twins were the last to use this space, I’m not surprised to find something amiss. Even so, I have questions.”

“So, I guess I’m not sleeping there.”

I laugh and his brows pull together.

“Looks like we’re having a slumber party.” He’s adorably confounded by this turn of events, so I add, “It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

The goosebumps on my arm from the cool breeze on my damp skin melt under the heated look he gives me as he drags his eyes over my body. “This is different—you know it, and I know it.”

The rough scrape of his voice is nearly my undoing. “Or is it exactly what it was always meant to be? I think that mattress being missing is divine intervention.”

“What are you saying?”

“To be very clear, even if that mattress hadn’t Houdini-ed, I wouldn’t want you to sleep on it. You belong in the bed, with me.” I make myself comfy on the edge of the bed, using the towel still clutched in my hand to soak up the water from the ends of my hair.

A breeze sweeps through the room making me shiver and Atlas’s jaw nearly comes unhinged. When I lift my arms to dry my roots, the drag of my light blue cotton top over my nipples registers. I bite my lip and glance down, already knowing what I’ll find.

Give me a trophy as the only participant in the Serra Brilhante first ever wet T-shirt contest because I’m the clear winner.

“Oops,” I mumble, not really sorry at all, because the starved look on Atlas’s face is bringing back a memory. One where he had me pinned to the couch and looked at me like I was the most enticing thing he’d ever seen.

He looks that way now, his eyes pinning me to the bed, making my body flush with heat from his intense gaze.

We’re both frozen in a stare off, each of us getting our fill. The desire to have him nearer is just as strong as the pull to drink him in. Atlas shirtless is a sight to behold. Last time, I wasn’t in the presence of mind to notice anything. He was simply a source of comfort.

Tonight, I’m committing every ridge and valley of his honed body to memory. I’d spent most of the summer looking at him as my partner in this ruse, but I’m sick of seeing him for anything less than the man he is—than what he could be, to me.

His hand flexes and releases at his side, making the veins on his forearms strain with each contraction. He shifts on his feet but doesn’t move from the spot, like he’s waiting for a formal invite.

Tossing the towel toward the empty hamper in the corner, I scoot up the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping my legs beneath the crisp sheets.

Still, Atlas stands there, stoic and unmoving, like the statues at the Parthenon—just as devastatingly handsome as I imagine the Gods to be.

“Come to bed.” My palm brushes a circle on the empty spot beside me.

In a moment of hesitation, his hand comes to the back of his neck, giving me a glimpse of that tattoo on his ribs. I still can’t make out what it is, and that’s a damn shame.

“You’re giving me a complex, Doc.”