Page 22 of Where We Call Home

Forget the candle.

I ran my hands down the front of my jeans, looking down to check out my outfit. Suddenly, I hated this shirt. The fabric was too tight. I needed to change.

Taking off in a jog towards my bedroom, I mentally flipped through all four shirts I owned and I landed on a standard Black Carhartt tee.

While I was mid change, there was a knock on the door, barely enough for me to hear. Panic took over, and I ran down the hall whilealsotrying to put my shirt on.

Pro tip: don’t do that.

As my head came through the hole, I barely stopped myself in time from running into the wall. I needed to calm down, take a deep breath, and put on my game face. I repeated those steps in real time, shutting my eyes and counting back from ten. When I steadied myself, I approached the door as calm and collected as I could be.

There she stood, her overalls unbuttoned on one side, her tube top hinting at fair and smooth skin beneath. Her pigtails—damn those pigtails—made my heart stutter. She wasn’t even trying, and I was already completely under her spell.

“Hey there, Honey,” I said, plastering on a confident grin while desperately hoping she couldn’t tell I was one step away from falling to my knees.

Seven

Aspen: Do we want to hike Hawke Peak tomorrow? I could die for some fresh air and sunshine

Penny: I have to go to work in the morning. Our weekend kid’s reader called out, so now I’m in panic mode to find a replacement

Aspen: Maybe I can convince Boone to do it

Penny: Boone Cassidy, reading to children? My ovaries wouldn’t be able to take that.

Penny: I can go after

Aspen: DEAAALLL

My knuckles brushed the door lightly, so lightly that if no one answered, I could pretend I’d tried and leave. A perfect excuse to retreat. However, retreating would do nothing except make me angry with myself.

Was I really ready for this?

This wasn’t just any visit. This was the first time Rhodes and I would be alone—no friends to buffer awkward silences, no distractions to hide behind. The thought sent my pulse skittering, my breath hitching in my throat. I had to stop overthinking, but it was too late. My stomach twisted harder, the imaginary indigestion turning into full-blown contemplation for even showing up.

The seconds dragged, stretching out like an eternity. I stood there, frozen, my heart pounding in my ears. Then I heard it, a shuffle of muffled footsteps, the faint clatter of something. He was home. And he was coming to the door.

There was no turning back now.

A waft of air blew the strand of hair falling from my braids and Rhodes appeared in front of me with an easy grin that screamed confidence. His deep voice, smooth as butter, greeted me.

“Hey there, Honey.”

Honey. The nickname rolled off his tongue, sending a tingle straight through me. Butterflies collided with the knots already twisting in my stomach, and even the baby shifted, as if reacting to the deep timbre of Rhodes’ voice.

I couldn’t read him. One moment, he seemed nervous and uncertain around me, and the next, he exuded confidence. It was maddening, trying to figure out if he was just as unsure as I was, or if I was the only one overthinking every little thing.

Biting my lip, I reached up to push my pigtails behind my shoulders, a nervous habit that made me feel both childish and exposed. My fingers brushed the strap of my purse, fiddling with it as I tried to ground myself. “Hi,” I whispered, the word barely audible, my voice trembling.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside and holding the door open for me.

The scent of pasta hit me immediately, rich and tangy, curling around me like a warm invitation. My stomach growled, loud enough to be embarrassing, but I couldn’t even bring myself to care.

I stepped into the living room, glancing around. The space was simple, functional. Dark forest-green walls framed a cozy L-shaped couch and a modern coffee table in front of a TV. A long table sat near the entrance, the room lacked personal touches—no photos, no art.

Following him further inside, I found myself in the kitchen. The dark wood cabinets and matching floors gave the space warmth, while the marble countertops, streaked with gold veins, added a touch of luxury. It wasn’t what I expected for a ranch hand’s home, still, it suited him.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Rhodes said, stirring something on the stove. Then, with a simple, commanding tone, he added, “Here.”

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