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MAGNOLIA

T he springs are one of my favorite places in the den. Peaceful, private, quiet…and absolutely gorgeous, with a waterfall that tumbles from the stone wall into a large, waist-deep pool. They recently got a fancy new addition, too–actual heaters.

It’s a little slice of peace in a life that feels anything but.

I sink deeper into the water, letting it lap at my shoulders as I tilt my head back and sigh. Across from me, Peaches perches on a smooth rock at the edge of the spring, a romance novel tucked into her hand as she slowly flips through the pages. Her people didn’t teach her how to read–so we’ve been working on it for the past couple years, and she’s finally able to read the novels I love.

Meanwhile, I’m just…thinking.

About a certain someone I can’t seem to get off my mind.

Peaches glances up from her book, catching me mid-thought. She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to figure out what’s going on in my head. “You’re quiet,” she says, a teasing edge to her voice.

“Just thinking,” I reply, swirling a hand through the water.

I can see the knowing smile tugging at her lips, and my heart sinks. “Uh-huh,” she says, dragging the sound out like she already knows exactly what—or who—I’m thinking about.

I huff, sinking a little lower into the water. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replies, but her tone is far from innocent. She flips another page, her eyes skimming the words as if she’s completely engrossed, but I know her better than that.

“Peaches,” I warn.

She finally glances up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s just…you’ve been a little distracted lately. And by ‘lately,’ I mean ever since he showed up.”

I freeze, my fingers stilling against the water as my heart gives an all-too-familiar flutter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere closer to defensive.

Peaches arches a brow, setting her book down beside her on the rock. “Really? You’re just sitting here, staring off into space, not thinking about Colt Morgan? That’s what you want me to believe?”

Heat rushes to my face, and I turn my gaze to the rippling surface of the water. “I’m allowed to think about things,” I mutter.

“Things,” she repeats, her grin widening. “Or people?”

I groan, covering my face with my hands. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because I’m your best friend, and I know you better than anyone else,” she says easily, leaning forward. “And because I’m the only one who’s going to tell you the truth: you’ve got it bad, Maggie.”

“I do not,” I argue, but even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums knowingly. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Funny thing. I was talking to Colt earlier.”

That snaps my attention back to her, my heart skipping a beat. “You were?”

“Yep,” she says, her grin widening. “He was asking about the observatory.”

“The observatory?” I frown. “The one down south?”

Peaches nods, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Yeah. Said he might head out there, see if he can scavenge some parts for that projector of yours. You know, the one he’s apparently working himself to the bone to fix.”

A rush of satisfaction floods through me at that–the idea that he’s working hard on something just for me. I try to keep my face neutral, but I can feel the blush creeping up my neck.

Peaches notices, of course. She always does.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” she says, drawing out the words like she’s savoring them. “Man like him, going to all that trouble for a projector.”

“It’s not just for me,” I mumble, though my voice lacks conviction.

“Sure, sure,” Peaches says, waving a hand dismissively. “Of course it’s for the kids. He’s a real saint, Colt Morgan.”

I snort–but Peaches isn’t done. She tilts her head, her expression softening slightly. “You should go with him.”

“What?” I say, startled.

She shrugs, leaning back again. “Why not? It could be…romantic.”

My cheeks burn. “It’s not like that,” I protest weakly.

Peaches raises an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, Maggie. I know you better than that. You like him.”

“I don’t—” I start, but the words catch in my throat because they’re a lie, and we both know it.

Peaches grins, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “It’s okay to admit it, you know,” she says. “He’s not exactly hard on the eyes.”

I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me, even as I bury my face in my hands. “I hate you,” I mumble, my voice muffled.

“No, you don’t,” she says lightly. “But seriously, Maggie. If you want him, go for it. Life’s too short to sit around waitin’ for someone else to make the first move.”

I groan, sinking deeper into the water until it’s lapping at my chin. “You make it seem so simple.”

Peaches grins like she’s just been awarded a prize, tucking her legs up under her as she balances on the rock. “Love is simple,” she says breezily. “And on that note…I’ve been hearin’ some things. Have you…you know…?”

I blink at her, confused. “Have I what?”

“Kissed him.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, but there’s a teasing light in her eyes that makes me want to slide under the water and stay there.

“What? No!” My voice cracks slightly, and Peaches’ grin grows impossibly wider.

“No?” she repeats, drawing the word out in disbelief. “Maggie, come on. He walked you home. He’s fixin’ that old hunk of junk projector for you. He looks at you like you hung the moon. And you haven’t even kissed him?”

I glare at her, though it’s hard to muster much heat when my face feels like it’s about to catch fire. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, it’s exactly like that,” Peaches says, waving a hand as if to dismiss my weak argument. “You’re telling me, after all that, he didn’t even try?”

I bite my lip, the memory of Colt leaning in so close the other night flashing in my mind. The way his voice dipped, the heat of his gaze, how I thought—just for a second—that he might actually do it.

“He told me he wanted to,” I say, my voice a whisper–as if my mom will hear. “But my mom was looking out the window so he stopped.”

Peaches stares at me for a moment, then bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, Maggie, that’s—” She gasps for breath, clutching her sides. “That’s so tragic. He probably thought he was about to get murdered by Sarita Jones.”

I roll my eyes, though I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” she says, still giggling. “But seriously, Maggie. You’ve got to fix this. You can’t just let an almost-kiss hang in the air forever. It’s unbearable.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do about it?” I ask, arching a brow at her.

Peaches tilts her head, her grin turning mischievous again. “I already told you. Go with him to the observatory. You’ll be alone, no nosy moms around to ruin the moment.”

I snort, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” she counters. “You like him. He likes you. And the observatory? It’s practically begging for some romantic tension.”

I don’t respond, but the idea lodges itself in my mind, impossible to ignore. Peaches notices the shift.

“Just think about it, okay?” she says gently. “You deserve to have something good, Maggie. Don’t let it slip away because you’re scared.”

* * *

Peaches’ words linger in my mind long after we leave the springs. They stick to me like the droplets of water clinging to my skin, impossible to shake off. By the time I’ve dried off and changed into fresh clothes, the weight of her advice has settled deep into my chest, making it hard to think about anything else.

You deserve to have something good.

Her voice echoes in my mind as I finger comb my damp curls and pull them over one shoulder, droplets of water trickling down my neck and chest. I tell myself that this isn’t about Colt, not really. It’s about the kids, about the projector, about taking a rare opportunity to do something meaningful.

That’s the story I keep rehearsing in my head as I lace up my boots and shrug on my sundress. But deep down, I know the truth.

It is about him.

Because I want him…more than I’ve ever wanted anything else.

The workshop is quiet when I approach, the faint hum of machinery and the scent of oil and metal greeting me as I push the door open. Colt is hunched over the workbench, his broad shoulders tense as he tinkers with something. The light from the overhead lamp casts warm shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint scruff darkening his cheeks. In the t-shirt he’s wearing, I can see the red and black tattoos painted across his arms, a tear in the shirt showing that they stretch onto his back as well.

My stomach flips.

The door creaks as it swings shut behind me, and Colt glances up. For a moment, he just stares, his gaze sweeping over me like he’s taking in every detail. His eyes linger on the damp braid draped over my shoulder, on the droplets of water still clinging to my skin. I watch his throat bob as he swallows, looking at me without even a lick of shame.

I think this must be what it feels like when someone undresses you with their eyes.

It’s nearly as satisfying as when I imagined him touching me the other night.

"You look..." His voice is low, rough. His eyes drag slowly back up to meet mine, and when he clears his throat, it’s strained. "Clean."

Heat blooms in my cheeks, spreading down my neck, and I have to resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest. It’s like those words alone are pulling me closer–and it occurs to me, not for the first time, that going on any trip alone with him would probably be a terrible idea. “The springs,” I say.

His lips quirk in a faint smile, and his eyes find a drop of water trailing down from my collarbone, vanishing beneath the edge of my shirt. His gaze darkens slightly, and when he finally forces himself to look back at the workbench, it’s like he’s dragging his attention away against his will. “They’re beautiful–the springs, I mean.”

The way he says it makes my breath catch, his tone heavy with meaning that has nothing to do with the springs. My skin prickles with awareness, the scent of him—chocolate, coffee, delicious desire—thickening the air. It mixes with the faint floral sweetness of my own, amplified by the heat still lingering from the water, and I know he notices it. His fingers tighten briefly around the tool he’s holding, fingers flexing.

“They are,” I manage, though the words come out shakier than I’d like. I swallow hard, the room suddenly feeling too small, too warm. “I heard you’re planning to head to the observatory.”

Colt glances at me again, his brow lifting slightly. “Word travels fast around here.”

I shrug, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Peaches mentioned it. Said you’re looking for parts for the projector.”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening up and wiping his hands on a rag. “Figured it’s worth checking out. Could find something useful.”

I take another step closer, my fingers brushing against the edge of the workbench. “Mind if I come with you?”

Colt leans against the workbench, crossing his arms over his chest as he considers me. The motion pulls his shirt tight across his shoulders, and I try not to let my eyes linger. “You sure about that?” he asks, his voice low. “It’s not exactly a quick trip. Could be a long day.”

“I’m sure,” I say. “I can handle it. I’m tougher than I look.”

His gaze stays on me, heavy and searching, like he’s weighing more than just my words. After a moment, he lets out a soft huff, almost a laugh, and his lips twitch into a faint smile. “You look just fine to me,” he says.

My heart stutters, my pulse quickening as his eyes hold mine. “Good,” I manage. “Then it’s settled.”

He watches me for another beat. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I guess it is.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly, and I feel like I’ve won some small victory—though I’m not entirely sure what the prize is. His gaze flicks back to the workbench, and he turns away.

“What time are you planning to leave?” I ask, trying to sound casual even as my heart continues to race.

“Early,” he says, his voice still low. “Before the sun’s up. Long drive, and I’d rather avoid running into any trouble on the road.”

“Right,” I say, nodding. “Makes sense.”

He glances over his shoulder at me, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Think you can handle an early start, Magnolia? Or are you more of a sleep-in kind of girl?”

The question is light, teasing, but it lands like a spark on dry kindling. I can’t help it—I smile back, tilting my head just slightly. “You seem awfully interested in my sleeping habits, Colt.”

That catches him off guard. His smirk falters for half a second before it returns. “Just trying to figure out if you’ll keep up. Wouldn’t want you dragging behind.”

“Dragging behind?” I echo, arching a brow. I step closer, fingers brushing the edge of the workbench. “You don’t think I can keep up?”

He turns to face me fully, leaning against the bench with his arms crossed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I think you’re a lot of things, Magnolia,” he says, his voice dipping lower. “But I don’t know if an early riser is one of them.”

I pretend to consider this, letting my gaze flick down to the wrench in his hand before meeting his eyes again. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” I say.

His brow lifts slightly, like he’s trying to figure out what game I’m playing. “Wait and see, huh?”

“Unless you’re scared I’ll leave you in the dust,” I add, the words slipping out before I can think better of them. My heart is pounding now, but I refuse to let it show.

Colt blinks, clearly taken aback. He studies me for a moment before the corner of his mouth curves into a smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

I shrug, keeping my expression as neutral as I can manage. “Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he sets the wrench down on the workbench. “Alright, Magnolia,” he says, his voice low and warm. “You’ve got my attention.”

The words send a thrill through me, but I keep my cool, giving him a small, challenging smile. “Good,” I say, turning toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Bright and early,” he replies. He’s watching me, his arms still crossed, a look in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.

“Don’t be late,” I say, and then I’m out the door before he can respond, my cheeks burning and my pulse racing.