Page 62 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)

That day at freshman orientation, I vividly remember the nerves shooting through me. How it felt to be in a bigger city, away from home for the first time, tasting independence. But I had Tia. A friendly face, my mystery girl at the end of the trust fall.

Love of my fucking life.

“Keep going, Lo,” Tia urges gently, and I nod, swallowing the knot tightening in my throat.

This isn’t just a photo album—it’s a scrapbook of us. Every page, every memory, every laugh and inside joke immortalized in print.

There’s us in the architecture building, pretending to sleep on our textbooks during finals week.

Tia on my back at a tailgate, face paint smeared across our cheeks and throwing up the Hook ’em Horns.

Our college graduation—caps, gowns, and our arms wrapped around each other like we were already celebrating something more than just degrees.

I flip another page and burst into laughter.

Late-night honky-tonks. Her on my shoulders at a music festival.

Her on the back of my bike. Our first day at Corrigan Residential.

Chinese takeout. The failed pasta night.

Summer days at the lake. Bonfires at Donovan’s.

Chaos at Siren’s Flask. Wine tastings. Diner breakfasts. Road trips. Torren’s dock.

Everything. Every good memory in my life, she’s right there with me.

“T, this is unreal,” I say in awe, each picture triggering another scene playing in my head like it happened yesterday.

“You like?” she asks, hope shining in her eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding?” I shake my head, smiling. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. I love it, baby. Seriously. Thank you.”

Flipping to the last page, my breath catches.

Vegas.

Slot machines. Blurry bathroom mirror selfies in matching hotel robes. Us kissing, smiling into each other’s mouths. Tangled in bedsheets, bare beneath them.

“It was real then,” I murmur, eyes still fixed on the image. My heart pounds with the weight of it. The most magical and painful weekend.

Tia’s gaze softens. She nods. “It was.”

“And it’s real now, T.”

She nods again. “It is.”

“Thank you. Thank you for this,” I whisper, lifting the book into the frame.

“That?” She points at the scrapbook. “That will always be who we are. Best friends over everything. I’m sorry I ever doubted us. I won’t make that mistake again, Lo.”

I smile, because this time … I know she means it.

“Your turn,” I tell her, nerves fluttering in my stomach. The gift I got her doesn’t come close to the one she just gave me. Mine feels like chopped liver next to her masterpiece.

I tried my best to wrap it nicely. Watched a damn tutorial and everything. Took me way longer than it should have because my thumbs are apparently too fat for gift wrapping. For a guy who designs homes, I’m shit at creases and tape.

She lifts the black velvet box into view. Easing the lid off, a small gasp escapes her throat.

“Logan,” she whispers, carefully pulling out the gold, dainty watch. “Oh my God, it’s so beautiful.”

“Turn it over.”

Her eyes flicker with anticipation as she turns the gold watch in her hands. Another soft gasp.

Her fingers trail delicately over the engraving as tears fall freely from her eyes. I ache to be there, to catch every one of them.

“Our time, ” she whispers.

She looks up at me, choking on a quiet sob as she wipes her cheeks.

I clear my throat, stifling my own emotions.

“Our time, baby. This is it.”

“Yeah?” she breathes, clasping the gold watch around her wrist.

Perfection.

“Hold tight. I’m coming back to you. You still trust me?”

She nods, her smile gleaming.

“Yes. Always, yes.”

Her fingers trace the watch once more, admiring how it shimmers under the soft light of her bedroom.

“I don’t ever want to take it off,” she whispers, holding her wrist up to the screen like it’s a promise. “It’s perfect.”

I lean closer to my phone, eyes locked on her.

“So are you.”

Tia bites her lip, her cheeks flushing that familiar shade of pink—the one that always tells me something wicked is brewing behind that angelic smile.

“Well,” she says with a teasing sigh, dragging the word out, “since you’ve officially earned part one of your gift, I think you’ve earned part two.”

I lift a brow, my pulse quickening.

Her smile curves into something deliciously dangerous. She scoots further up on the bed, just far enough from the camera for me to see the full picture. Her thumbs hook into the waistband of her jeans.

My breath catches.

“I promised you a matching set, didn’t I?”

My mouth goes dry. “You did.”

She tugs down her jeans slowly, the new gold watch glinting delicately on her wrist, to reveal the rest of that cranberry lace set. The barely-there panties leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. It runs wild with images and memories of my hands all over that body.

I tense, fists clenching at the sight of her sprawled out like sin personified, all soft curves and salacious intent. I drag a hand down my face, fighting for composure.

“T, baby, you’re not playing fair.”

“Who said I was playing?” she murmurs, seductively spreading her legs, her movements fluid and confident, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“I want you to remember this.” Her voice a breathy command that grips around my manhood like she fucking owns me. “Because when you get back to me, Logan, there won’t be any screens between us.”

She closes her legs, and before I can protest she crawls toward the camera, putting me in a trance that has me hanging onto every movement, every breath, every teasing smirk she throws my way.

When Tia gets close enough, the screen fills with just her face—soft, glowing, completely in control. She blows me a kiss with a wink.

“Merry Christmas, Lo.”

My goddamn minx. Always a tease.

“Merry Christmas, baby.”