Page 17 of If Only In Our Dreams

“Fun names,” I said as chipper as I could even though I felt like I was cracking right down the middle.

“Barb’s short for Barbara,” Trent added.

“Obviously,” I nodded seriously. He snorted.

“Tucker’s named Tucker on account of his missing leg. You know. ’Cause it looks like he tucked it in.”

“Dark, I like it,” I laughed, cheeks heating when I realized Ben was still watching me. Maybe I’d offended him with my “naughty” comment? I hoped not.

“You can blame Bubs for that one,” Trent added and my heart warmed. Ilovedthat fucking kid. “Said Tucker should own what made him different. Wear it like a badge of pride.”

“Smart kid.”

“The smartest.”

I liked Trent Montgomery.

I decided that immediately.

For the next forty-five minutes, because damn—Belleville was in the middle of fucking nowhere—I grilled Trent as sneakily as I could. Figured out how he and Miles had met. Figured out all the lost little details I’d missed when I’d been too blinded by exhaustion to be able to process the texts Miles was sending me.

After a solid eight hours of rest I felt like a fucking machine.

My brain was sharper than it’d been in months.

I learned that Miles and Trent had moved—which I’d already known, but it was nice to confirm—because they wanted to be closer to Gram and Miles’s work. Learned about the tree farm the Montgomery’s ran, and spent a solid five minutes fantasizing about Ben hacking trees down—forearms rippling.

Hadn’t seen his forearms yet.

But…looking at him, I sure fucking bet they rippled.

By the time we arrived in Belleville I’d almost forgotten I’d been sad about Miles not showing up.

Almost.

The town looked the same as the last time I’d visited. All picturesque mountain beauty. Picket fences. Old, homey lookingbuildings lining Main Street. There was a pride display in a bookshop across from a bakery that had a line out the door, and some sort of sale going on.

Pumpkin bread?

Maybe.

At least, when I squinted, I thought that was what the paint on the window said.

An old man stood on a ladder outside the hardware store, hanging up Christmas lights despite the fact it was only a few days past Halloween.

Shit, had he no shame?

“Damn, y’all work quick over here, don’t you?” I asked, my North Carolina accent sliding in thicker than before. I’d been training it out of my voice for years—but sometimes when I was relaxed it slipped right back in, smooth as butter.

“Work quick?” Trent echoed, confused.

“He’s talking about the Christmas decorations,” Ben hummed, sexy ass mind-reader—because of course, he’d seen exactly what I had. What ababe.

“Exactly, Benjamin.” I joked with a hum, pointing at the man on the ladder as we pulled to a stop at the light. “You skip right over Thanksgiving.” Ben did not react to me fake full-naming him. Which I thought either meant Benjamin wasactuallyhis name or he hadn’t noticed.

I’d have to up my game.

“Everyone knows Thanksgiving is just “First Christmas,” Trent shrugged. Ben nodded along, which surprised me, and also made me snicker. I sobered, however, eyes widening curiously as Trent pointed toward one of the buildings across the street from the hardware store. It was two down from the bookstore and had a big sign that read Montgomery Family Practice in the most practical-looking font I’d ever seen.

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