Page 6

Willa

N ate stood in front of me, his jaw tight, hands steady. But I could see it in his eyes—he hated telling me this. Hated that it came to this.

“Derek’s gone,” he said. “He pulled a weapon. We didn’t have a choice.”

Gone.

The word felt surreal.

No trial. No lingering court dates. No chance he could slip through a loophole again. Just… gone .

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding for the two years I escaped him.

Years. I wanted to jump for joy, does that make me a bad person? I didn’t give a damn.

I looked down at Pancake, who was chewing on a belt he found somewhere, like he had control of anything in the house. I bent down, scooped him into my arms—he gave a disgruntled bleat—and turned toward the door.

“Well,” I said, blinking fast and trying not to cry in front of two emotionally complex Navy SEALs, “thanks for the save. Again.”

“Willa—” Nate started.

“I should really get home to my goats,” I added. “They don’t sleep well without their bedtime song.”

“Wait—what?” Nate said.

“Long story.”

I stepped outside, walking fast. I needed air. I needed something normal.

I was halfway down the steps when I heard him behind me.

“ Willa, stop. ”

I paused.

“Get in the truck. I’m driving you home.”

“It’s not that far.”

“It’s dark. You’re rattled. And your goat’s got one good headbutt left in him. Just let me drive you.”

I hesitated.

Then nodded.

The drive to Honeywood was quiet. I lived over the hill if you walked, but if you drove, we had to take the road around.

Unless you had a four-wheeler, you could get there quickly.

I was used to walking all over this mountain.

Pancake snored softly in my lap while Nate watched the road as if he expected another threat to pop out of the trees.

But when we turned down my lane and the lights of my house came into view, he slowed.

I saw his eyebrows lift. “Wait a second. This is your place?”

“Yep.”

“You’re on the grid?”

“Technically. Got solar panels on the barn roof. Starlink for the internet. Rain barrels. Compost. I’m on the grid, but not unplugged. My goat business is highly profitable online. I have to have Internet as much as I ship around the country.

He parked beside my garden fence and got out, eyes scanning the space.

The porch lights glowed warm over a swing I’d built with my dad. The house itself was simple and strong, with whitewashed siding and sky-blue shutters. A big bay window looked into the kitchen, where a pot of lemon balm still sat on the windowsill.

It was quiet, but full of life. Soft. Safe.

“French country,” Nate muttered under his breath, still staring.

“Excuse me?”

He glanced at me. “Your place. It’s got a French country vibe. Rustic and elegant. Kinda like you.”

My heart did something strange at that.

He stepped onto the porch with me and peeked inside through the screen door.

The furniture was old but polished to a shine. My mama loved the floral-patterned armchair. My dad built the rocking chair by the fireplace the year they got married.

Everything in that house was loved and cared for. Chosen.

Just like I wanted to be.

“I didn’t expect this,” Nate said quietly.

“What? Did you think I lived in a shack with goat hair insulation and a candle-powered fridge?”

He looked at me—really looked. “No. I just didn’t expect to want to stay. It’s so homey.”

That stopped me cold.

But before I could ask what that meant, he added, “You should rest. Lock the door. I’ll swing by in the morning.”

I nodded, then turned the doorknob, already stepping inside when I heard him say my name.

“Willa.”

I turned.

And this time, I saw it.

The heat. The care . The want he was finally letting show.

“Yeah?”

He stared at me for a second longer, then gave a soft, crooked smile.

“You still smell like goat milk and vanilla.”

And somehow… it sounded like the most beautiful thing I’d ever been told.

It had been four days since Nate and Axel took down Derek.

Four days since the danger passed. Four days since Nate dropped me off, told me I smelled like goat milk and vanilla, and disappeared back into the pines like some kind of broody lumberjack guardian angel.

I hadn’t seen him since.

Not once.

Not even when I definitely loitered near the coffee stand at the edge of the farmers market, hoping for a glimpse of him.

But no, Nate was nowhere around.

So I did what I always did when my nerves were twisted in knots—I worked. And talked. And sold soap like my life depended on it.

“Jasmine Sunrise is flying off the shelves today,” I told Mrs. Dinwiddie as she sniffed one bar like it held the meaning of life.

“Because it smells like hope and clean laundry,” she declared, dropping it into her basket. “Now when are we going to meet that handsome SEAL who’s been sniffing around you?”

I forced a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play coy, Willa Mae. This town hasn’t seen that much action since the square dance scandal of ’03.”

I was just about to change the subject when the crowd near the main path shifted.

And I felt him before I saw him.

That ridiculous walk—long strides, lazy confidence. Gray t-shirt, sunglasses hooked in the collar, and a smile that made my brain glitch, and my thighs twitch.

Nate.

He spotted me and didn’t slow down.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t wave.

Just walked.

Straight through the crowd, eyes fixed on mine, as if I were the only person in the whole damn county.

My heart tried to escape through my throat.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—

And then he kissed me.

Right there. In front of everyone.

One arm wrapped around my waist, the other lifting my face as his mouth claimed mine like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.

It was warm, solid, and honest, and my knees were officially at ease. My panties were getting wet. Damn, he was so frigging hot.

The box of soap I’d been holding slipped from my hands and crashed onto his foot.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even notice .

He pulled back slowly, like he was giving me time to catch up.

Which I couldn’t. At all.

“I—what—Nate—why—?”

He grinned. “Because four days is too damn long.”

People clapped.

Someone whistled.

Pancake headbutted the corner of the booth.

I blinked up at him, my face burning. “You kissed me in front of everyone, ” I whispered.

He stepped closer, his voice low. “Good. That way, no one’s confused about where I stand.”

“And your foot—my soap—”

He looked down at the box. “Looks like I’m taking home the Wild Honey Oatmeal special.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning in again and kissing me. “I like you a lot.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“I like you a lot, too. But you can’t kiss me anytime you want.”

He kissed me again and turned around. I watched as he walked away.