Page 9 of Truly (Peachwood Falls #2)

L aina

Shoes. I still don’t have shoes .

I pad down the stairs in one of Kennedy’s outfits.

The shorts are a bit tight in the ass, and they’re a little shorter than I’d choose for everyday wear, and the shirt definitely makes my boobs look a cup bigger.

No complaints there . I’m still without shoes, underwear, and a bra.

One way or the other, I will have to resolve this today.

The house is bright as I round the corner to the kitchen. The coffee pot is half full, and I quickly pour myself a big mug. After a tremendous night’s sleep and a scalding hot shower, I finally feel refreshed and ready to take on the day.

Mostly . I’ve avoided the television for the two percent part of me that’s not quite ready to see all the shitty tabloid headlines. It’s always a good time to see your name smeared across magazines and online articles using evidence from confidential sources to back their theories.

I can only begin to wonder what confidential sources shared about me yesterday.

I imagine it’s the wildest of the wild, yet I bet I’ll still be surprised.

They never cease to amaze me with their storytelling abilities.

But the thing is … I grin. I don’t care .

I don’t want to feed the flames or engage with the stories, but I don’t feel a burgeoning responsibility to get ahead of it.

“This feels amazing ,” I say, bouncing with energy. “This feels like … me .”

I can breathe this morning. There isn’t a pebble between my breasts waiting for an opportunity to turn into a stone. My stomach isn’t churning, and the acid pit that usually resides there has drained. I’m not waiting for another shoe to drop.

Is this what it feels like to be alive?

I take a sip of my coffee and revel in the morning sun. It never occurred to me how much I worried about publicity and fretted over my public persona because of Tom .

Before our relationship, I didn’t worry too much about the media. Stories came out and were fabricated to fit a narrative, but they never really mattered. Chatter would come and go—usually about an untrue budding relationship—but my fans never took any of it seriously. And none of it bothered me.

Until I started dating him.

Tom’s obsession with his reputation was off the charts.

I had to watch what I said in interviews and be careful being photographed in public.

He hired his publicist to work with me to master handling questions involving him—and painting him in a good light.

They were masterful in their setup, presenting their arguments as good for our relationship .

As good for me . They sold it so well. But our tandem effort undoubtedly made his stock go up while, in retrospect, it took away my personality and the quirks that make me relatable.

My concern for Tom’s reputation stifled mine. It’s a pattern I increasingly recognize as I think about it. Tom’s wins for the sake of my losses .

I gaze out the kitchen window. The barn doors are open, and Luke’s truck is backed up to the front of it. It’s still so early—for me, anyway—and the man is already working hard.

“Why is that so sexy?” I ask before taking another sip of my coffee.

There’s something hot about a man working with his hands. Those types of men are strong and capable and can manhandle you in all the right ways. I take another drink, and Luke emerges from the barn and throws something into the back of his truck. He disappears back inside the barn.

I wonder what manhandling capabilities he has these days .

Heat ripples through my body. The urge to be close to Luke burns through me like a hot match.

My first instinct is to fight it—to turn away and distract myself elsewhere. But then I remember I’m no longer attached to Tom. And I never felt this around him .

I recall how exciting it was early in our relationship to be with the Hollywood heartthrob.

He was so handsome and could be utterly charming.

As time wore on, that side of him became less visible privately until the end, when it was mostly nonexistent.

Even at the peak of attraction, I never looked at him and felt like this .

“I forgot what this even felt like,” I say, opening the door and stepping out onto the porch.

Birds sing from the trees overhead, and their melodies float through the breeze like a cheerful soundtrack from nature.

I walk along the driveway, through the cool, damp lawn, and to the barn.

Luke comes into view as I grow close. He stops, shoving his hands in his front pockets, and leans against his truck.

My God .

A baseball hat sits backward on his head. It’s blue, bringing out the blue in his flannel. The denim encasing his muscular thighs is dark. And his boots? Damn.

“Morning,” he says, smiling. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a log.”

He laughs. “I heard you snoring from the couch.”

“ You did not .” I jab him with my elbow and try not to recoil from the contact. “Did you really sleep on the couch?”

“Yeah. You didn’t find me in bed with you, did you?”

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. No, I didn’t . I thought maybe he got up before I did even though it didn’t appear anyone had slept beside me. If he didn’t … why ?

“You should’ve woken me up and made me go to the couch,” I say.

“If you stay much longer, I might do that. My back hurts like hell today.”

I frown.

“I’m kidding,” he says, grinning. “My back does hurt, but I don’t know if I could make you sleep on the couch. It feels rude.”

“It would be rude.”

He shakes his head.

“You know what else is rude?” I tease.

“What’s that?”

“I woke up, and there was no breakfast ready.”

He snorts and heads back into the barn. “This isn’t a bed-and-breakfast, Pumpkin.”

My cheeks already ache from smiling. “What are we doing today?”

“I’m going to Cotton’s to shoe a couple of horses.”

“On a Sunday?”

“ Yes, on a Sunday ,” he says, mocking me. “Horses don’t give a damn what day it is.”

“Oh. You’re just going to leave me here?”

He throws a bag over his shoulders and heads back to the truck. “Are you going to get all nervous about being in my house alone now ? It’s a little late for that.”

“Very funny.” I follow him through the barn. “How long will it take?”

“A few hours, probably. We have one horse out there with founder. I gotta meet with the vet and see what he recommends shoe-wise.”

“Sounds complicated.”

Luke leans against the truck and crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you going to do today?”

I take a sip of my coffee to avoid a quick response.

I had planned on spending the day with him, but I’m not certain what I thought we would do—nothing and everything, maybe. The news that he won’t be here startles me a bit, and it throws me off my game.

“Well, Stephanie leaves Indiana this afternoon, so I might try to figure out how to get my stuff from her without tipping anyone off,” I say finally.

“If she wants to leave it at The Wet Whistle, I can swing by after I leave Cotton’s.”

“Okay.”

“Or you could set up a rendezvous with Gavin.” Luke laughs. “He could meet her at the coffee shop in Brickfield so she doesn’t have to come all the way to Peachwood Falls.Believe it or not, Gavin can be pretty slick.”

I laugh, too. “Well, he did put a sticky note on the phone box with his number on it.”

“Really?”

The question’s simple, but the tone doesn’t sound so easy.

“Now I have his phone number, not yours,” I say. “I guess if something happens, Gavin will have to be my hero.”

“You don’t remember my number?”

My cheeks flush, matching the color of Kennedy’s shirt I’m wearing. I don’t have to answer him. He knows I do.

“Do you need anything from town?” he asks, moving to the driver’s door.

I stare at him, curious. He’s really just going to go to work and leave me here ?

It’s not that I expect him to stop his life for me, the disruption he didn’t necessarily want. But I thought, or maybe just hoped, he would want to catch up a little. And maybe he’d want to stick around to ensure no one inadvertently shows up.

But I guess not.

Maybe I’m wrong about all of this. Maybe he’s just too nice to make me leave. What if he doesn’t want me to stay? I cringe. Of course, he probably doesn’t want you to stay. He has his own life going, and I just plopped in the middle of it.

I take a shaky breath. “No, I don’t need anything from town. Thank you, though.” My throat is dry, making the words hard to get out. “By the way, when I talk to Stephanie, I’m going to have her make some calls for me so I can get out of your hair.”

Luke squares his shoulders to mine. A flicker of irritation and impatience shines in his eyes.

“Where the hell are you going to go?” he asks, his brows pulled together.

“I’ll pick a house and make sure security is there, and it’ll be fine.”

“Will it, though?”

“Sure,” I say, hoping he believes my nonchalant tone. “I can’t just stay here indefinitely. Like you said yesterday, I’ll cramp your style.”

“Like you said yesterday, I don’t have a style.”

“I woke up this morning and felt guilty for imposing on you like this. I?—”

“ Laina .” He steps to me, cutting the distance between us in half. “Stop talking.”

Nerves flutter in the pit of my stomach. I’m torn between falling into his arms and stepping back so I don’t do something ridiculous like fall into his arms .

My lips part as I drag in quick breaths. Goose bumps prickle my skin. Luke stands in front of me, peering down at my face.

“Stay here,” he says.

What ?

He looks over my head, running a hand down his jaw.

“Nothing will happen to you here. I can guarantee that.” His gaze drops to mine again.

“Even if someone discovered you were here, I don’t have a neighbor that’s gonna allow anyone to trespass on their property, and I’ll be damned if they get on mine.

You can walk around outside. Nap. I mean, think of all the drawers you haven’t gone through yet. ”

A smile pulls my mouth higher.

“Stay here a few days,” he says. “See what happens. I’d really like you to stick around.”

“Really?”

He leans forward, his eyes twinkling. “ Yes, really .”

“Okay,” I say, trying not to squeal. “But if it goes too long, I’ll pay you rent.”

“Oh, you’re going to pay.”

“Excuse me?”

He moseys back to his truck and opens his door. His swagger tells me he’s about to screw with me. It’s the smirk that guarantees it.

Luke grips the top of the truck with one hand and leans against it. “In exchange for your room and board, you’ll help me in the barn.”

I blink once. Then twice.

“I’ll give you today off since yesterday was a shit show,” he says. “But starting tomorrow, your little ass will be out here with me.”

My laughter is more disbelief than humor. “Um, hey, Luke. Did you know I’m a singer—a very popular one, at that. A rich one at that .”

He chuckles. “I don’t give a shit.”

“I have money. Lots of it. I’ll pay you. In dollars, even.”

“I’ll see you out here bright and early.”

Is he joking ? My hand goes to my hip. “You can’t ask me to stay and then demand I work. That’s illegal, I’m pretty sure.”

“While you’re going through my stuff today, try to find a pair of sweatpants or something that’ll fit you. Kennedy’s shorts won’t cut it out here.”

“Luke, I am not working in the barn .”

He winks and climbs into the truck. “You should find yourself a hat, too.”

“Luke …”

The engine roars to life, and he closes his door.

“I hate you,” I shout, hoping he can hear me through the glass.

He rolls the windows down and smiles. “Now you get the couch, too.”

“Luke!”

But my yelling is pointless because he’s already pulling away, his laughter barely heard over the exhaust.

I’d love to kick the gravel like I see angry people do in movies. It looks so spectacular when they do it. Me? Not so much. Especially without shoes .

And I’m not really angry. I’m not even a little mad. It’s hard to be in a bad mood when Luke is so playful.

I look over my shoulder. Unless he really thinks I’m going to work in that barn. Ick.