Page 13 of Wanting His Girl

"Baby, you've got me feeling things I didn't know were still in me. I want this—you and me, whatever this is—to be real."

"Me too, Jake. So much," she whispers, her eyes shining with unshed tears that reflect her sincerity.

I pull her closer, until there's no space left between us, until I can feel the steady beat of her heart against mine. As our breaths mingle, a sense of rightness settles deep within my bones.

It takes a moment—hell, maybe more than a moment—before I can move.

But when I do, it's with a tenderness that belies my rugged exterior. I push myself up and pad to the bathroom to grab a washcloth.

Running it under warm water, I wring out the excess and return to Melanie. She watches me with those big, trusting eyes that see more of me than anyone ever has.

I clean her up first, gentle touches wiping away the evidence of our passion. Then it's my turn, and I take care of myself quickly.

"Better?" I ask, tossing the cloth into the hamper and sliding back under the sheets with her.

"Much," she murmurs, her smile sleepy but satisfied.

I pull her close, her head resting on my chest. This is where she belongs, right here with me. And as we drift on the edges of sleep, I know one thing for certain—I'm a goner for this woman. Melanie Watts has become my heart's true north, and I'm not letting go.

Chapter Six

MELANIE

One Week Later

I'm practically vibrating with nerves as I step into the grand hall of the Cooper Hills Fine Art Museum, my proposal clutched like a lifeline in my hands.

I've rehearsed this pitch to my bedroom walls more times than I can count. But now that I’m facing the prospect of sharing my vision with someone else, I can feel the words bubbling up inside me, eager and chaotic.

Drawing in a deep breath, I push open the heavy oak door leading into my boss's office.

Mr. Calloway is sitting at a mahogany desk in front of a large window, revealing a breathtaking mountain view. A sense of anticipation prickles along my skin, mingling with a touch of unease.

"Good morning, Mr. Calloway," I greet him brightly, striving to infuse my voice with an assurance that belies my nerves. I smooth my skirt, trying to embody the poise that these ancient sculptures wear so effortlessly.

He looks up from his desk, rimless glasses perched low on his nose.

"Good Morning, Ms. Watts," he replies as he gestures for me to take a seat. "I skimmed over your proposal, but I would like to hear more. Tell me more about your idea."

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment to center myself. This is it, the chance I've been waiting for.

"Imagine this space," I begin, gesturing expansively, "transformed into a tapestry of local talent, a community art event that celebrates the vibrant culture of Cooper Hills."

As I speak, I infuse every word with the hope brimming in my chest.

I paint him a picture of families strolling through the museum, children marveling at canvases bursting with color, sculptors molding dreams from clay, and photographers capturing the soul of our town.

"Art is the pulse of society, Mr. Calloway," I finish, my heart thumping audibly in the quiet office. "And this event could be the jolt that brings it to life for everyone to feel."

I look at him expectantly, silently pleading with him to catch a glimpse of the world as I see it: boundless and bright, a canvas waiting for us to leave our mark.

But instead, there just a long silence, the kind that makes your skin crawl with anxiety. I clutch the edges of my proposal, the paper crinkling slightly under the pressure.

My heart drops as Mr. Calloway leans back in his leather chair, his fingers steepled beneath a sharp, scrutinizing gaze.

"Melanie," he says finally, his voice cool and detached, "while your enthusiasm is commendable, I'm afraid we can't proceed with this idea."

I blink, feeling the sting of rejection before I even understand the reasoning. "I... I don't understand. The community would love it."

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