Page 35 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

“I love it,” Kent Marshall grins from the head of the table, holding up a white T-shirt with a photo of Colt and Molly’s baby boy printed front and center.

His chubby cheeks practically bulge off the fabric, and in bold navy lettering across the top, it reads: Grampy Marshall .

“Now pass my grandson over here so I can give him a big smooch.”

Laughter circles the table as Molly leans over to hand little Colt Jr. into Kent’s waiting arms. The baby squeals happily as Kent peppers kisses all over his face and snuggles him close, breathing him in like he’s the best thing he’s smelled all year.

Colt sits with one tattooed arm stretched across the back of Molly’s chair, his thumb grazing her shoulder absentmindedly. She turns into the touch with a smile that could break the hardest cynic.

There’s something magnetic about watching them together, this quiet, unshakeable love that they’ve built.

It’s in the small things that I've noticed over the past year of living here. They were best friends long before they were anything else. Their story’s always felt like the kind you only see in movies, complicated and tender and not without a little fire.

Molly became Colt’s parole officer after he got out of prison for assault, something that changed him permanently.

They tried to keep their distance. Tried to do the “right” thing.

But love like that doesn’t just go away because it’s inconvenient.

And what they have now is healing. It’s a home. It's building a new family.

I shift in my seat, trying not to be obvious as I sneak a glance across the table at Lawson.

His baseball cap is pulled low over his face, shading his eyes.

He’s nursing what might be his third or fourth glass of whiskey and cutting into a steak with robotic movements before plopping his fork between his lips.

When I first walked in tonight, his jaw was set tight, his shoulders locked up like he was expecting a punch.

But over the past hour, I’ve watched him slowly uncoil.

Joking with Rae about how the state fair turned out, something that she as the town's mayor plans each year, teasing Cash about his obsession with the chicken showcase he’s organizing for the kids in town, something Lawson pretends to find ridiculous but always shows up for anyway.

It's a chance to teach kids about the birds, their habits and the important work the farm handles here in Whitewood Creek while also giving them some hands on time with the little dinosaurs.

“Can you draw up a marketing plan that we can blast on social media and around town?” Cash asks, nudging Lawson.

“Hardly seems like a good use of my time,” Lawson deadpans, not missing a beat.

“Use the new guy,” Cash fires back. “I’m sure he can spare a few hours.”

“I can talk to Luca about it,” I offer before I can stop myself, trying to smooth the moment over.

Lawson’s eyes flick to mine. Briefly. Like a blink. And then they’re back on Cash. “Let’s not talk about work right now.”

The words land sharp. Like a line drawn in the sand. I know what he’s doing. Trying to set boundaries. Trying to do exactly what I told him we couldn't do. But still, normally, this conversation wouldn’t be a whole thing. It’s never been a thing.

We work together, all of us. We’re a team, we're bound to discuss our jobs when we get together outside of hours. But now, because of him, because of what I said after one steamy day together, he's trying to set clear boundaries and I’m to blame for it.

Cash nods, letting the topic drop, and Lawson pushes away from the table before disappearing into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returns with something wrapped in foil and sets it in front of Kent.

“Here you go, Dad. This is from Dani and me. Happy birthday”

My eyebrows lift. I hadn’t seen what he bought but I’ve been curious. Kent leans forward and unwraps the foil. His eyes light up with joy.

“Suck-up,” Cash mutters under his breath as Kent reveals a blueberry pie.

“It’s from the state fair,” Lawson explains, rubbing the back of his neck. “Got it fresh yesterday. Last one they had since dad couldn’t get down there this year.”

Kent chuckles and claps a hand over his heart. “You know I can’t resist those.”

Lawson just smiles, that shy little tilt of his mouth that he probably doesn’t even realize guts me every time. That’s the part no one sees but his family, not the stern boss, not the steady second to the oldest, but the quiet way he remembers things about people that matter to them.

“Thanks, son,” Kent says warmly. “And thank you, Dani. So glad you could make it here tonight.”

I smile. "Wouldn't miss it."

Then Lawson reaches under the table again and pushes a cardboard box across the table to Kent. “We saved these from our last trip to New Jersey for work. Figured you might still have a soft spot for Jersey Shore saltwater taffy.”

“Do I ever. Wow.” Kent opens the box and his grin doubles. “You managed to leave some of the orange ones, too. Thanks, kids.”

My stomach flutters when Lawson glances at me, mischief tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I'm surprised," I start. "Didn’t think you could make it back from that trip without eating all the taffy yourself. Where'd you hide that box?”

He shrugs. “You’d be surprised by how much self-control I have.”

My cheeks flush, heat rushing to my neck.

I glance around the table, grateful that Rae and Cash have already started explaining their gift—a framed photo collage of Kent with all the grandkids and an empty spot for Regan and Haye’s baby.

But I’m not listening. I’m still looking at Lawson.

Or more accurately, remembering the feel of his mouth on me.

The way his mustache grazed lower when he kissed a path down my—

I snap myself out of it, dragging my eyes away, my pulse still hammering in my throat.

He’s not even looking at me anymore. But that doesn’t stop me from watching the way his hand curls loosely around his glass, or how the light catches the silver in his beard, or how damn easy it is to imagine what it would be like if we weren’t in a room full of people.

If I could just reach across the table and touch him.

God help me.

He might have self-control, but it feels like I have none. Like whatever scraps I had left flew out the window the second I saw him tonight and knew in my heart he was different.

Am I really that pathetic? That after twenty-four hours apart, I'm back to feeling like a puddle of want and need?

I hear Regan laugh, followed by Hayes’s low, steady chuckle from the other end of the table.

They’re reacting to a photo that Cash had printed.

It’s Kent holding a handful of baby chicks during this past spring, one nestled on his shoulder like a parrot, another perched on his bald head.

And beside it, a snapshot from their third wedding to each other, all of the Marshall family beaming in cowboy boots.

The table erupts with laughter, but I push back from my chair and slip away quietly to the bathroom.

The room is dim and still, a moment of quiet in the middle of the chaos.

I shut the door and lean against it for a beat before moving to the sink.

My fingers twist the faucet until cool water runs steady, and I splash some onto my wrists, then my face.

It shocks me just enough to remind me to breathe, but it doesn’t chase away the sudden swell of panic that’s crawling beneath my skin.

No. No. No. Why am I panicking?

This isn’t work. It’s just a casual family dinner. A nice one that I wasn’t even sure I should come to.

Oh, right, I'm panicking because Lawson’s sitting across from me smelling like cedar wood and bourbon, looking at me like I still mean something to him. And suddenly, I’m remembering how easy it was to fall for him. How much I might still want to.

But the thought of wanting anything with my boss makes my chest tighten because the last time I mixed work and feelings I ended up in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask strapped to my face and a cardiologist asking how long I’d been under that much pressure and how I would change my life.

I exhale slowly. Try to breathe through it. My heart’s still thudding hard beneath my ribs, stubborn and out of rhythm when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey, Dani,” Lawson’s voice is calm, and my pulse instantly starts to slow. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

I close my eyes for a second, then open them again. “Um… yeah. I’m good.”

I unlock the door and pull it open to find him standing there, leaning one shoulder against the frame casually. His baseball cap is tipped back a little now, and his palm is stretched out toward me.

“You want a piece?” he asks. “I swiped it from my dad when he was distracted by Cash’s slideshow.”

In his hand is a crinkled piece of saltwater taffy. My chest loosens just a bit more as I realize he brought this for me. This is the Lawson who I've enjoyed working for. Quietly attentive, smart and thoughtful.

I laugh lightly. “You’re such a thief.”

“Only when the prize is worth it.”

I take the candy and unwrap the frosted cellophane slowly, the orange flavor hitting my nose before I even pop it in my mouth. He watches me the whole time, not tasting any for himself just yet.

“God,” I murmur, biting down. “You forget how good these are until you go without them for a while. But they feel like they’re yanking out a filling.”

Lawson grins and unwraps his own, green-striped and mint flavored. “Yeah, like a treat and a dental emergency rolled into one.”