Page 42 of Sugar Coated Secrets

With the tip of my boot, I shove off the deck, sending me and the porch swing in motion. The rocking is soothing, like a baby in a cradle.

This back deck meets all my needs. A lake view through scattered red, green, and orange trees. The morning sun casting peach and gold across the sky and sparkling in the water. A crisp breeze, carrying the scents of pine, dried leaves, and all that is nature.

The swing is more of a daybed, covered in pillows. I found blankets in a chest nearby, the only items not weatherproof. It’s cozy, perfect, except for the fact that I can’t keep thinking about Easton and if he’s ever had sex on this swing.

Knowing the truth could ruin this special outdoor escape for me because I want it to be virgin territory. And I want him to have sex with me on it. But that’s crazy thinking, and I shouldn’t go there.

I touch my mouth, recalling the moment he kissed me, the softness of his lips, the way he took control and swirled his tongue to a sensually choreographed dance. A dance that could lure any woman from her senses and into his bed. Not that he has to lure anyone. They come willingly.

I really wish he wouldn’t have kissed me, though. Because now I know how good it feels to be in his arms and to be desired by him. I know how skilled he is and can’t stop fantasizing about those kisses on other parts of my body. It would be a moment in heaven and nothing more.

Easton isn’t capable of more. I’m not angry that he kissed me. It was an accident brought on by excitement. I’m smart enough to know the moment caught him off guard as much as his kiss took me by surprise.

My label idea and sketch for his bourbon was one of those stars-aligned occurrences that happened at the right time in the right way, and all was one with the universe.

That rarely occurs and has only happened once before. The night after I left here when I first met Easton. I’d thought about what I wanted on the entire drive back to Atlanta. I manifested, wished it, used it to distract me from other worse visualizations—like my tire blowing and forcing me to take a deserted exit, where a serial killer lives in a cabin in the woods and attacks me while I’m searching for a cell signal and help.

Instead, I kept those nightmares at bay by picturing my future, the man I’m meant to marry, the wedding, and even the house we’d live in back in Honeycomb or even Oakville, where Everleigh lives. She and I would have families and raise our babies together to be best friends, just like we are. I focused on making this happen so badly I stopped breathing and grew lightheaded from lack of oxygen. Not wise for a single woman driving through rural Georgia.

When I reached Atlanta, the traffic pulled me from my manifesting until I arrived home, safely parked in the garage to my complex. I’d just entered my condo, and only had time to text my mom thanks for feeding Detective Pickles and for watering my plants, when a text from my ex brightened my phone. His number was the same from high school.

Dash: Hey beautiful. It’s been a minute. I’m living in Atlanta now. New to the city. I’d love to see you and catch up. Let me know when you’re free.

He was my first of many things. My first serious relationship, first sexual experience, first homecoming and prom date, first boyfriend I imagined marrying, and my first real heartbreak. We separated because we went to different colleges in different states. It was the right thing to do, but that didn’t make it easy. For him to contact me, after I’d visualized my little heart out for nearly two hours had to mean something. Right?

I texted him back, playing it cool, and agreed to meet him that Friday. We were sitting on my couch after joining his friends at a sports bar for drinks, darts, and pool. Dash was always the life of the party. It was as if no time had passed between us.

“I’ve thought about you over the years.” He rested his hand behind me on the back of the couch.

“You have?”

“Yeah. You were my longest relationship. My best relationship.”

“But you’ve had serious relationships since me?” I sipped the organic coffee I’d made us.

“I have, but none were for as long or as special.” He scooted closer and covered my hand with his. “This might sound crazy, but I always knew we’d end up together.”

“End up?” He didn’t mean what I thought he meant.

“Yes. End up together. Married with a couple of kids down the road.”

“Are you drunk?” I sat my coffee on the table and felt his forehead for a fever, because that made sense.

He laughed, his dimples appearing on both cheeks. His baby blues shone brightly on a face I knew so well, matured only a little and for the better. “Sadie. You must remember. We used to talk about getting married all the time.”

“I remember.” My cheeks heated at those and other intimate memories of us.

He brushed the backs of his fingers over my warmed cheeks. “Some things are meant to be. You and I make the best team. We always have.”

I believed him, too. It was all I knew. But I have never, in all my life, out of all the guys I dated, including Dash, experienced a kiss as explosive as Easton’s. It was cataclysmic in the best way. Bigger than stars aligning. A stellar collision that started at my lips and ended in my panties—and it was just a kiss.

I have to stop thinking about it.

I grab my phone and resume my search for a sexy shirtless male. Thirty minutes later of stock photo scrolling and I’ve yet to find a man who’s even remotely sexy enough. On Pinterest, I’ve found plenty of celebrities and models, but those pictures aren’t legally available to use on a romance cover.

Ugh. I drop my head on a pillow, close my eyes, and give the swing another push.

“No murder marathon today?” A deep, scratchy voice reaches my ears.

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