Page 21 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

Josie

M y eyes open and instinctively shut, reacting to a surprise spotlight of sun, and I throw my arm over my face to block it out. My head and muscles ache as if I ran a marathon, not—

Okay. Deep breaths. What happened last night?

Dancing. On. A. Bar.

Shiitake. I did that.

Did I make a fool of myself? I vaguely remember feeling invincible for once.

That is until the nausea interrupted what I thought might be an ill-advised kiss (of course, it didn’t seem so ill-advised at the time), and we rushed to the restroom.

Much after that it’s a blur. Empty stomach. Lots of regret. Blackout.

And now I’m here .

I pat the cushy mattress under me. I’m either in the van or a hospital bed, hopefully not a sketchy motel. My hands move to my body, patting my weirdly stiff clothes.

Opening one blurry eye, the familiar textured ceiling, scattered with rainbow flecks from the little beads strung across the window, tells me I’m in the van. I wasn’t sick enough to warrant a hospital stay and somehow made it back to the van.

The waving trees outside means we’re no longer parked in a downtown Nashville lot either.

That’s when I smell the familiar scent of bacon and eggs. If I wasn’t so hungover, I might welcome it. The last thing I want to do is put more food in my stomach and possibly see it again. Last night was memorable enough.

I drag my feet out from under the sheets and hold them up to examine the horror my escapades left on my legs.

There’s . . . nothing. Not a smudge in sight.

My hands fly up next. The skin on my arms feels clean and refreshed, not like I passed out on a sticky restroom floor.

I’m still wearing my jean shorts and cowgirl tee, so at least no one saw me naked while . . .

Did I miss someone giving me a sponge bath? Did Hayes?

A shiver prickles up my back, not entirely from mortification.

That’s there, but also something warm and fuzzy and suspiciously like longing.

Did I miss the one moment I’ve spent months low-key fantasizing about—his hands on me, caring for me, touching me with that maddening gentleness he thinks he hides behind a hardened exterior?

If he did, I’m sorry I missed that. So. Achingly. Sorry.

Sitting up, I spot a water bottle on the floor and two aspirin beside it. Of course, he thought of that.

I chug them down with half the bottle and mentally prep for the walk of shame, something that can no longer be delayed. He'll want to get back on the road, and I've caused him enough trouble already.

The bright morning sun washes over me as I open the van door, but it’s less shocking to the system than the sight of Hayes cooking at the campfire. He’s backlit by the sun and looking like a Hallmark movie.

He rises and reaches out to help me down. “Feeling better?”

“I’m feeling awake, but that’s about it.” I take his hand and step onto the cool grass. “Thank you.”

“Hungry?”

“No. But does smell heavenly.”

He lowers me to the chair beside his. I don’t need assistance, but I also don’t have the heart to tell him. Is it wrong to like how he takes care of me? Jordan has been the only man to show me this level of concern since our father died, and it feels different coming from your sibling.

“You should try eating. I made pancakes—thought they might be easier on your stomach.”

He leans away, fidgets with something beside him, then twists back to me .

Laughing, I accept the plate he passes over. “You didn’t.”

He smiles, a real one that shows his teeth, and there’s no possible preparation for what his authentic joy does to me. I melt instantly.

“Are these red velvet pancakes?”

“Maybe.”

I shake my head and take a bite, dropping it back on the plate when I taste them. “With sprinkles?”

“It’s not cake, but it’s the closest I could get under the circumstances.”

“Hayes.” Tears sting my eyes. It’s ridiculous to cry over pancakes, but it’s not the food.

“What’s wrong?” His caring instinct has him reaching for me, but he thinks better of it and drops his hand to the chair instead.

He’s not getting away with that. Setting the plate in my lap, I take his hand and hold it with both of mine. “You really are the sweetest. I don’t deserve this after all the trouble I caused you.”

He goes still at first, and I wonder if he’s as rattled by my touch as I am with his.

He exhales. “You had a little too much to drink. It happens to everyone.”

“What about my squeaky-clean skin? Did you do that?”

He sits back, removing his hand from my grasp. He doesn’t need to say anything. The truth burns in his eyes.

The scene begins to unfold in my foggy brain. “Let me get this straight . . .” I take a deep breath. “You carried me from the restaurant to the van, drove us here, then washed me.”

A towel and washcloth hang from a nearby line.

“You don’t remember?”

“No. That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, Josie? You were sick. I didn’t think you’d want to get into bed with gunk on you.” Turning to the fire, he yanks the pan off the rack and drops it to the dirt. “I washed it off in the only way I could think of that, hopefully, wouldn’t make you feel violated when you found out.”

“You could never make me feel that way, Hayes.” I trust him more deeply than I have anyone, other than Jordan. “You’re the most considerate person I’ve ever met.”

His weary eyes drop to his lap. “I don’t know about that.”

“You didn’t have to take care of me last night.

You didn’t have to wash me or do it in the most difficult way out of respect.

You didn’t have to go out of your way to make my favorite cake for breakfast either.

” I hold up the pancake. “But you did it to make me feel special.” Setting the plate aside, I reach for his hand resting on his thigh “You, Hayes Montgomery, are a good man.”

“You just needed someone, and I was there.”

“It’s far more than that, Hayes. You showed up. I know what it’s like when no one does. To be let down by the people who are supposed to care. ”

I feel him watching me, supporting me, but I don't dare look at him.

“I think I’ve been pretending to be fine for too long.

I thought that if I could laugh loud enough or sparkle bright enough, the nagging void inside me would feel less endless.

Sometimes, it works. But I can't find my way out of the darkness, when I can’t be bubbly and perfect all the time, people usually back away.

Like I’ve violated some unspoken rule.” I swallow the nerves trying to steal my courage. “You didn’t do that, and I’m grateful.”

He holds my gaze, reading my soul and secret thoughts like he’s experienced what I have firsthand. He’s not judging me or avoiding my emotions. He’s not afraid of my fragility or how I may need him because of it. He protects that part of me with everything he has.

We sit like that for a few more stuttering heartbeats, hands connected, content and natural. I'm not thinking about anything outside this moment. The world feels distant. Muted. Like it’s giving us time to find ourselves again, maybe even each other.

I close my eyes. Not from feeling overwhelmed, though maybe I am. But more because for the first time in years, I feel safe enough to.

I want to remember this. His hand in mine, the smell of pancakes and firewood, the hush of morning when everything appears new and possible again.

The fire pops, cutting through the contented rhythm we found, and he squeezes my hand .

“Whoever those idiots are, they don’t deserve your tears.”

The wetness on my cheek registers, and I swat it away.

“Eat,” he says, rescuing me again by changing the subject. “We have plans today.”

I take another bite of my delicious red velvet pancake with rainbow sprinkles, seeing my travel companion in a clearer light.

I peek at him while he puts out the fire.

His dark green T-shirt is worn at the edges, like he is this morning.

With his eyes and jaw shadowed, it’s obvious he’s tired, but he remains steady. Always steady.

“You made plans?” I ask, trying not to think about how I may be the reason he didn’t get much sleep last night. "We're not leaving?"

“There’s a concert nearby this afternoon.”

“That sounds fun. Who’s playing?”

“I forgot the name of the country music band. Melody something.”

I sit up so fast the back legs of my chair come off the ground. “Melody James?”

“That sounds right.”

“It’s not a band, Hayes. Melody James is the number one female country artist right now, and one of my favorites. I can’t believe she’s here.”

“Does that mean you want to go?”

“Of course, I do. Think we can get tickets this late?” It would be a shame to be this close and not get to go .

“No ticket needed. It’s a charity concert for wounded veterans. Anyone who donates gets in until they reach capacity, but I hear the field is huge. We’ll get in.”

“This is so exciting, and it’s for veterans. She’s the best.” With the news, my appetite surges and I take another bite of pancake. “Did you know her younger brother is in the Army? He writes all her songs. I think they’re from Virginia, too.”

“When you’re ready, we can head that way and claim the best spot.”

“If I didn’t know better, this might sound like a date.” I shouldn’t be flirting but I struggle to ignore my curiosity on a good day.

He treats me like I’m different. Like he wants more but is holding back. Despite all my claims about loving my single status, I can’t help but want it to be true.

He doesn’t flinch. “We both know Jordan would have my head.”

“He is a little protective, but—”

“A little?”

“Okay. A lot.”

He nods in agreement.

“I won’t tell him about the bar or bathing incidents, if you won’t.”

“There’s no way in hell.”

“Then it’s settled. That secret and our concert date stay here.” I reach out my pinky to seal the deal.

“It’s not a date.”

“Sure, it’s not, Cowboy. ”

With an eye roll, he surrenders and hooks his finger around mine. I’ll take that as a victory.

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