Page 15 of Nate Hayes

It was quiet, but full of life. Soft. Safe.

“French country,” Nate muttered under his breath, still staring.

“Excuse me?”

He glanced at me. “Your place. It’s got a French country vibe. Rustic and elegant. Kinda like you.”

My heart did something strange at that.

He stepped onto the porch with me and peeked inside through the screen door.

The furniture was old but polished to a shine. My mama loved the floral-patterned armchair. My dad built the rocking chair by the fireplace the year they got married.

Everything in that house was loved and cared for. Chosen.

Just like I wanted to be.

“I didn’t expect this,” Nate said quietly.

“What? Did you think I lived in a shack with goat hair insulation and a candle-powered fridge?”

He looked at me—really looked. “No. I just didn’t expect to want to stay. It’s so homey.”

That stopped me cold.

But before I could ask what that meant, he added, “You should rest. Lock the door. I’ll swing by in the morning.”

I nodded, then turned the doorknob, already stepping inside when I heard him say my name.

“Willa.”

I turned.

And this time, I saw it.

The heat. Thecare. The want he was finally letting show.

“Yeah?”

He stared at me for a second longer, then gave a soft, crooked smile.

“You still smell like goat milk and vanilla.”

And somehow… it sounded like the most beautiful thing I’d ever been told.

It had beenfour days since Nate and Axel took down Derek.

Four days since the danger passed. Four days since Nate dropped me off, told me I smelled like goat milk and vanilla, and disappeared back into the pines like some kind of broody lumberjack guardian angel.

I hadn’t seen him since.

Not once.

Not even when Idefinitelyloitered near the coffee stand at the edge of the farmers market, hoping for a glimpse of him.

But no, Nate was nowhere around.

So I did what I always did when my nerves were twisted in knots—I worked. And talked. And sold soap like my life depended on it.

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