Page 34 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

Regan’s watching me, thoughtful. “Maybe just try to get back to the casual, playful way of things and show her you can do more than just be her boss. Show her how nice it is when you guys are friends. That might change her mind and reveal to her that the progression from friends to lovers is closer than boss to lover.”

I don’t answer, mostly because they’re both right.

“She’s worked here a year,” Cash continues, his voice gentler now. “A year , Lawson. She wouldn’t stick around that long if you were some cold, unbearable bastard. You two make a hell of a team. You trusted her with more than half our strategy this year. You know how rare that is?”

I exhale hard, the weight in my chest pressing deeper because who would I ever trust with half of my strategy and the other shit I've trusted her with? No one. Absolutely no one. Certainly not a stranger.

“You’re right.”

Cash blinks. “Wait. Did you just say that I’m right?”

“It’s the only time you’ll ever hear it.”

He grins like a kid on Christmas morning. “I fell in love with Rae, what can I say? She’s turned me into a man full of wisdom and deep thoughts.”

I roll my eyes hard. “You've never had a deep thought in your life. So, what the hell do I do now?”

Cash shrugs. “Well, you’ve got options. You can go back out there and keep pretending like you're not dying inside every time she opens her mouth. Be the same stoic, capable guy you always are, just enough distance to keep you sane. Or…”

“Or?”

He smiles. “Or you go for broke. Drop the act. Show her who you really are when you’re not busy hiding behind spreadsheets and travel itineraries. That there is more to you than just working all the time.”

I rub a hand over my jawline because is there more to me? I think there is, but maybe I haven’t wanted there to be for so long. Maybe I’ve just thrown myself into work to distract myself from facing reality.

“And what does that get me?”?

“A shot at something real. Be reliable. Be present. You already know everything about her—hell, you’ve been hoarding Dani trivia like you’re prepping for a pop quiz. Her favorite ice cream, favorite color, probably her favorite—shit, I don’t know—sex position?”

My jaw tics. Because yeah. I do know all that.

There was a night, six months ago. Middle of nowhere, West Tennessee. We’d missed a connection and ended up with a long, sleepy layover in a quiet town off I-40.

We sat in those uncomfortable terminal seats, Dani with an airport sized bottle of tequila and me with a bottle of water just watching her.

For some reason, maybe it was the late hour, maybe because we were both exhausted, Dani started playing twenty questions with me and I learned a lot more than I thought I’d ever know about my new employee.

That was the night I realized I’d started to see her as more than just the new hire, but as a friend. As a beautiful woman who I wanted terribly but knew I couldn’t.

And I’ve been trying to ignore that feeling ever since.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice rough. “I know all that and more.”

***

“Craziest place you’ve ever had sex?” Dani asks, tipping her chin toward me like she’s dead serious and not halfway drunk on overpriced airport tequila and lack of sleep.

I squint at her. “I’m not telling you that.”

“Oh, come on,” she leans into the seatback, her knee bumping mine. “We’re off the clock. Lighten up a little, daddy.”

She’s loose in a way I don’t usually get to see—flushed cheeks, brown eyes a little glossier than usual, hair knotted up in a messy bun with a few curls falling around her face.

She’s got on these light gray joggers that cling to her hips and a cropped navy sweatshirt that’s showing off just enough of her mid-drift to mess with my head.

I fold my arms and smirk. “You sure you wanna know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

I exhale through my nose and look straight ahead for a beat, mostly to keep my eyes from sliding back down her curvy body. “Fine. Probably a porta-potty. At a music festival. Austin Texas.”

Her jaw drops. “Shut up.”

“Nope.”

“That’s… no. No way. That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You asked,” I say, laughing.

“Lawson. A porta-potty. What about... diseases?”

“It was right after I landed a pitch with one of the major grocery chains out there, I was probably,” I rub at my jaw, “Twenty-five years old. So well over a decade ago. I got too drunk, wandered into downtown Austin, met a girl wearing beads who flashed me. We started making out and the next thing I know, we’re in a disgusting little blue box in the middle of a field with the band playing outside the door.

She was gripping the edge of the seat, and I was taking her from behind, holding on for dear life and hoping she didn’t fall in the open toilet. ”

Dani winces, one hand pressed to her heart like I just confessed a murder but she’s laughing too. “That’s so foul. I’m never going to be able to look at you the same.”

I chuckle. “Didn’t think you’d be so delicate.”

“I’m not delicate,” she says, glaring. “But that’s an assault on the senses. And probably a health hazard. Did she wash her hands afterwards? Did you kiss her? Oh gross.”

“I can't remember any of those details, it wasn't that memorable for me. What about you?”

She rolls her eyes, cheeks going pink in that way they do when she’s flustered but trying not to be. “In the sand at the beach.”

I raise a brow. “That’s it? That’s not crazy.”

“It is for me,” she insists. “I don’t screw people in bathrooms. I’m not trying to get syphilis.

Besides, I was on vacation with friends, we met this group of guys, snuck off at midnight and bam, it happened.

The water was freezing and there were people like, twenty feet away when we screwed on the shore. That counts.”

“Yes, but doesn’t beat my story.”

“Gross. No, you and the girl you hooked up with won.”

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“Well, I’m guessing the girl at least got to come.”

“I always make sure they come,” I say, voice dipping low before I can stop myself.

Her eyes flick to mine, wide and blinking fast. Then her cheeks deepen to full red, and she clears her throat. “Okay. Well. That was… informative.”

She takes a long sip from her little bottle of tequila like she’s trying to erase the moment. And then, casually, like it’s no big deal, she says, “That, and… from behind is my favorite position.”

I arch a brow. “That so?”

She grins, a little wicked, a little daring. “Mm. Feels like the guy can get deeper. And if he’s playing with my clit, I always come.”

Shit.

I hum low in my throat because it’s that or groan, and right as I’m about to say something I’ll regret, she pivots the conversation like nothing happened.

Like she didn’t just light my entire body on fire in the middle of an airport terminal and give me a mental visual I’ll be jerking off to as soon as we land tonight.

***

“Earth to Lawson?” Cash snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You there or imagining Dani naked?”

I blink hard, like I’m surfacing from somewhere deep. “You’re right.”

He pauses. “Whoa. Two times in one night. Are you okay? Is this some kind of emotional emergency?”

I ignore the sarcasm. “I know everything about her. And I’m not talking about the obvious stuff—her favorite ice cream, favorite color, favorite… yeah. I’m talking about the important shit.”

Cash’s brows lift, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I know what matters to her. Making people proud. Proving herself. Doing meaningful work. Being seen. She’s a middle child of two hardworking immigrants and she was ignored by her parents for most of her childhood but has always wanted to make them proud.

I know what drives her and what keeps her up at night.

I’ve watched her carry herself like she’s got something to prove every damn day for the past year, and I know she does it because she’s scared if she slows down, she’ll be replaced, forgotten, or disappoint someone.

I get it. I get her . I see the way her mind works, and half the time, I know what she’s going to say before she says it, but I let her say it anyways because I know it’s important for her to get it out.

And now… now I know what she’s afraid of. ”

Cash stares at me, unblinking.

“She’s afraid of falling for someone she works for again.

Because the last time that happened, it almost killed her.

Not metaphorically. Literally. She’s protecting not just her heart, but her health because she thinks all I can think about is work.

She said as much but more than that, she's scared that I won’t be different from her ex, but I think she knows that I'm different already.”

“Damn,” Cash murmurs, voice quieter now. “That’s… a lot. But also, maybe the most emotionally intelligent thing you’ve ever said. So… you’re in love with her.”

I don’t answer. I didn’t mean to say all that out loud. But yeah. I think maybe I’ve been falling for a while now. And this thing that’s between us doesn’t feel temporary. Doesn’t feel casual. It feels like a progression. Like something inevitable.

And I need to prove it to her.

I need to show her that the same guy who gets shit done for the Marshall businesses is the same guy who can show up for her consistently.

Who can curl up with her at the end of the workday and hold her, laugh about the funniest places we’ve had sex and her favorite position without getting jealous and bringing up pitch decks and marketing plans.

Day in, day out. No matter what. Starting tonight.

“This is…” Regan’s voice startles me, her eyes glossy.

“That was so beautiful, Lawson. Oh no,” She wipes at her eyes.

“Don’t cry. Ugh, I’m pregnant and hormonal and you’ve never talked about a woman like that before.

Ever. Even Beckham’s mom who we all love.

Dani is… she’s incredible. She’s top tier.

I hope she sees how good you are. How good you two could be together. ”

I exhale slowly, clapping Cash on the shoulder in thanks, then wrapping Regan in a hug before stepping back.

“Thanks, you two.”

And then I turn before either of them can stop me. I’m heading back down the hallway, back to the dining room, back to her. Back to Dani.