Page 46 of Score to Settle (Oakwood Ranch #1)
“I used to come here a lot when I wanted to think about my dad,” Jake says quietly. “Being here, looking up at that big open sky—it made me feel closer to him somehow.”
Emotion swells in my chest at the vulnerability in his voice, the poignant memory he’s sharing with me.
Jake turns to me, eyes glinting in the light from the lantern.
I smile back at him. “And to think, I thought this was all about getting me into bed one last time before I leave,” I tease.
Jake laughs, a deep rumble. “That too,” he admits with a roguish grin.
He sets down his glass and takes mine, placing it beside the ice bucket.
Then he leans in, one hand coming up to cup my face, a thumb stroking my cheekbone.
“But mostly, I just wanted to be alone with you on your last night here.”
My breath catches at his words, at the undisguised longing in his gaze.
Jake’s eyes drop to my parted lips. Slowly, deliberately, he lowers his head until his mouth hovers a mere whisper from mine. “Harper,” he murmurs, my name a gravelly caress. “I’m going to miss you so damn much.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
“Does it have to be three nights?”
I laugh. “It’s Christmas, remember? Chase is home. You’ll forget about me. Besides, we’re spending all day Saturday together and Saturday night at Mia’s apartment.” Then it’s the penultimate game and the end of the assignment , I add to myself, feeling the disappointment knot in my chest.
I think Jake might kiss me, but instead he hands me my glass and taps his chest and I snuggle against him.
“When the assignment ends…” Jake says like he’s reading my mind. He trails a hand down my back as I stop breathing, waiting to hear what he’s going to say. “I wondered if I could take you out on a date.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “That depends. What kind of date?” Like there’s a chance in hell I’ll be turning him down.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I’m thinking… the kind of date that involves a bookstore and a really good burger and ends with a very big bath with candles and champagne.”
“Hard to say no to that.” I grin. And even though it isn’t all the answers to what will happen next, it’s something.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while. I enjoy the sharp fizz of champagne on my tongue as I lean against Jake’s body and watch a plane tracking across the night sky.
“What are you thinking about?” Jake asks.
I smile. “I’m thinking about how I thought you didn’t like me, and then you do something like this.”
“When did you think that?” He huffs a laugh like it’s the most ridiculous thing.
“After the kiss in the hotel room, you pulled away. You said we shouldn’t.”
He gives a half smile. “Because you wanted to keep things professional. I knew you’d put all your walls up and go into journalist mode.
If promising not to kiss you was the only way to spend time with the amazing woman I was getting to know, then I was going to make it.
” He drops a kiss to the top of my head, his hand moving through my hair.
“Why did you become a journalist?” Jake asks.
I take a sip of champagne before I reply. “Because it’s what my dad did and I’ve always loved writing.”
“But you prefer writing your novel?”
“Yes, but it’s not that simple. Only the best can earn a living writing novels. I don’t know if I’ll even write another one.”
“How do you become the best at writing novels?” he asks.
“By writing novels, I guess,” I reply. “Except harder. It’s like me throwing a ball around for a few weeks and then trying out to join the Stormhawks.”
“True,” he says. “But do you know something? I was terrible at football when I was younger.”
I shove his arm. “You were not.”
He makes a face.
“Really? I’m adding that to the feature.”
He chuckles. “Go ahead. It’s true. Every practice Mama took us to was the same.
I could throw the ball, but I couldn’t catch the damn thing.
I kept trying to quit because I knew I was terrible, but Mama wouldn’t let me.
She said, ‘You love football, right?’ and I did.
And so she said, ‘We don’t give up on what we love. ’
“I kept going back to practice. Week after week. Month after month. Dylan would spend hours in the evening with me, just throwing the ball back and forth. Eventually, I got good at it. Then I kept practicing and practicing and then I got really good at it. What I’m saying is, I wasn’t born a great football player.
I wasn’t destined to play in the NFL. I worked at it.
I worked real hard and I still do, because it’s what I love.
So if writing novels is what you love, you need to keep working at it, right? ”
I stare at the night sky and let Jake’s words settle into me.
Less than six months ago, I was packing my bags from a New York apartment I couldn’t afford and coming back to Denver half destroyed.
For a long time, the thought of doing anything more than sleeping on Mia’s couch, hitting the gym, and then showing up at a job I didn’t feel I deserved seemed impossible.
I started my novel as a way to escape, knowing even as the pages filled that I was too scared of what people would think to ever try to publish it.
I know I’m stronger now. Part of that is Mia’s unwavering support.
She’s the one person in my life who gets me, who has always had my back, no matter what.
And now there’s Jake too. He believes in me when I barely believe in myself.
Am I prepared to put myself and my writing out into the world and see what happens?
I draw in a long breath, uncertain but excited too, for a future doing what I love. A future with Jake in it.