Page 2 of Headed for Home

Our reunion was bound to happen eventually. It’s just probability. There’s a few thousand people in this community but it’s still small compared to most. Thanks to the very active rumor mill, it’s common knowledge that the former professional baseball player resides in Knox Creek. Drake Granger is a name frequently spouted around town, especially by beautiful bombshells in their early twenties with the freedom to dream big. Me on the other hand? I didn’t dare to hope that our paths would cross again. Yet here we are.

“Cassidy Brooks,” Drake breathes. His expression sobers suddenly. “Is it still Brooks?”

Whatever he says doesn’t register. I’m too busy sipping on the erotic elixir of his voice. The gravelly tone is a promise to provide endless pleasure. A whimper trickles from my parted lips. I blame the lingering effects of the scene I was reading. Or maybe it’s his eyes.

Their bottomless shade is the type of blue I could swim in until I forgot my own name Staring feels mandatory—and is most likely encouraged—which leads me to his full lips surrounded by dark stubble. I lower my gaze to his sculptedmuscles barely concealed by a t-shirt, and immediately regret it. Now my fingers practically beg to stroke over those defined edges. And don’t even get me started on the colorful tattoos that decorate both of his arms.

Drake looks like he just stepped off the set of a photo shoot advertising seduction while I’m not certain I combed my hair this morning. The wild mane could stop traffic. It’s not like I anticipated him literally bumping into me. I inhale deeply, which is another mistake. He smells like the sex I’ve always dreamed of having.

Holy horse shit, hornball. Get ahold of yourself. He’s just a guy.

My reaction is purely based on the fact that I spend most of my days surrounded by farm animals and children. Not to mention the few men I interact with regularly are more weathered than an antique saddle. It’s humbling to admit I haven’t kept the company of an attractive male since… I can’t even remember when I stopped counting.

Drake clears his throat to knock me from that lost cause. An awkward minute has undoubtedly ticked by while I shamefully ogled him. Based on the curve of his smirk, he doesn’t seem to mind the attention.

It’s only then I recall he had said something that resembled a question. Maybe. One fact sticks out in the lustful fog my brain has become.

“You remember me?”

The notion is more presumptuous than I’d ever give myself credit for. I haven’t seen Drake since we were teenagers. Not only that but he went on to become a famous athlete who’s undoubtedly met more people than I can count.

His gaze heats on mine. “As if I’d ever forget my first kiss.”

I feel my eyes bulge. “We were just kids.”

“Doesn’t make it any less meaningful.” Drake’s blatant interest roves over me. “So?”

“Buttons,” I reply automatically.

“What?” His laugh is rich and bolder than the coffee aroma wafting around the cafe.

My cheeks get warm while fellow Bean Me Up patrons send us curious glances. “It’s just this silly retort my grandma used to toss out whenever someone used ‘so’ as a full sentence.” I chew on my bottom lip at his look of confusion. “Because you sew buttons on stuff…”

“Ah.” He nods.

My face flames hotter. “Told you it was silly.”

“I like it.” Drake’s shrug is carefree. “But what I’d like more is to know if your last name is still Brooks.”

“Is that your not-so-subtle way of asking if I’m married?”

“Can you blame me? You look…” His throat works hard to finish the statement. “Better than faded memories.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

His eyes remain glued on my curvy waist. “Definitely. Why didn’t we ever date?”

I squint at him. “Probably because you transferred to Edina before ninth grade.”

“Great decision for baseball,” he muses. “Not so great for us.”

“As if you have any regrets.”

He’s quiet for a pregnant pause. “Would you believe me if I said I think about you often?”

Flutters erupt in my stomach, but I can’t allow myself to get swept away in a long-lost fantasy. “Probably not.”

“It’s true, Cassidy…”

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