Jameson spent the next few days seeking financial options for the farm, optimizing the books he’d finally finished entering into an actual accounting program, and going through the reports analyzing the places where they were especially vulnerable or actually bleeding money, as well as where they were solid and in the black.
He spent his nights in Luna’s bed. He was pretty sure what they’d been doing to each other wasn’t just sex, and knew Luna felt it too. Something had been established between them now. There was no going back—though he had no idea what that even meant for going forward.
This was why he loved math. Everything had its place, and numbers balanced. Always. He appreciated the order and efficiency and logic. His nights with Luna had none of that, and he’d loved every single second anyway. At first he’d told himself the chaos was rubbing off on him and he’d lost perspective. But the joke was on him, because he’d fallen for the farm, the people in it, and their incredible leader, Luna Wright.
He stood in her kitchen making them a late dinner because she was working even later than he had. She’d put Willow in charge again because, as she’d explained it, she didn’t want her to feel defeated or to give up on a bad note, and then had spent the day in meetings at town hall, still working on getting the permits they needed for their event.
He had Sprout tucked against his chest with one arm, the other hand stirring his spaghetti sauce when someone knocked on the door.
Since he could practically reach the front door from the kitchen—or anywhere in the tiny cabin for that matter—he opened up with Sprout still in his arms.
“Hello,” Stella said brightly, brushing a kiss to his cheek and then Sprout’s before pushing past him. “Are you cooking for us? Smells amazing.”
“Us?”
Chef and Milo entered behind Stella. Chef gave him a half hug and a wink, and Milo handed over not one but two pitchers of . . . “piña coladas,” he said. “Sorry ahead of time for the incoming circus.”
Stella laughed. “It’s poker night. Of course it’s a circus. Luna forgot to mention she’s hosting tonight?”
“Yes, but she’s been swamped.”
“Too swamped,” Stella said. “And of course you’ll join us.” She gave him a sassy smile. “Last time was beginner’s luck, is all.”
An emotion filled his chest, and it took a moment to label it. He felt accepted, a new and alien feeling that he had to admit he liked.
What killed him was that Silas had had access to all of this, these wonderful experiences and people, including his own granddaughter, and he’d chosen to hold himself apart. Jameson couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to do that. And yet . . . he’d been that person too, before Apple Ridge Farm. He knew he could either stick to his pattern of being disassociated emotionally, or he could step into the ring.
“You’re feeding us, you’ve got to play,” Stella said.
Everyone looked at him expectantly, and he realized they actually wanted him to join them. “Deal me in.”
There was a cheer and he found himself smiling. “What are we playing with today, pretzels? Peanuts?”
“Oh honey.” Stella patted his cheek and took Sprout to cuddle him into her. “It’s Dollar Night.” She took Jameson’s hand, turned it over, and looked at his palm. “Huh.” She bent over it to take a closer look and Sprout took the opportunity to lick his fingers.
“You’re at a crossroads.”
“Me or Sprout?”
Lifting her head, Stella didn’t smile. Instead, she eyed him intensely for a beat. “You can take the turn. It might be a little scary and uncomfortable, but you’ll be happy. Or you can keep going on your current path and miss out.”
Since that felt far too close to his truth, he tried to joke it away. “Are you telling me to bet big tonight?”
She didn’t smile, instead remaining uncharacteristically serious. “I’m telling you to go all in.”
The door opened and Luna stepped inside, and everyone turned to her hopefully.
Her face was carefully blank, and the air suddenly filled with tension and anxiety. “Oh, Jameson, I’m so sorry. I forgot about poker night.”
“Forget that,” Chef said. “Tell us what happened today.”
Luna carefully set her bag on the small wooden bench at the front door, then slipped out of her coat and hung it on a hook before turning to them all. “The mayor said she can’t give us a permit on such short notice for a fair or festival.”
Everyone stared at her with varying degrees of sadness and worry.
“But . . . if we call it a Founders Day and agree to do it annually, and give a small portion of the proceeds to the local Boys and Girls Club, she’s willing to pull strings. She also said she’ll work on getting us a permit for future quarterly events, like we wanted to do. Now deal me in.” She sat at the table.
Everyone continued to stare at her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Did you not hear me?” She beamed. “We’re good to go.”
Everyone sagged in relief, then cheered and began talking at the same time. Jameson sat next to Luna and smiled. “You’re amazing. You made it happen.”
“Of course she did,” Chef said. “She’s Luna.”
She looked around. “Where’s Willow?”
“She had another long day, honey,” Stella said. “And she got nauseous again. I think it’s her anxiety. She threw up on her brand-new baby tulips. She went home to get some rest.”
Luna opened her mouth, then closed it, like maybe she was holding something back. She looked at Jameson. “I hope it was the loafers.”
“Nope,” he said.
“There’s always next time.” Luna turned to the rest of the table. “How did she do today with the actual managing?” she finally asked.
The entire table groaned.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “It can’t be that bad. The place is still standing.”
Chef coughed into his hand and said “barely” at the same time.
“She tried her hardest,” Stella said diplomatically. “Oh, and regarding Founders Day, I’ve already designed the flyers and created the landing page for Milo to put up on our website.”
Luna’s jaw dropped. “What? When?”
“I had it ready to go, because I had no doubt we’d need it.” Stella turned her phone toward Luna and showed her the design. “I’ll call it Founders Day and have them printed tomorrow and hung up all around town right after.”
“Send me the design,” Milo said. “I’ll take out ads on the Sunrise Cove Facebook page and local papers and sites like the town’s webpage.”
“And I’ve got a menu planned,” Chef said. “People are going to go nuts.”
Jameson, who hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Luna, smiled when she looked his way. “Not bad, partner.”
She put her mouth to his ear. “Last night you used the words ‘mind-blowing.’”
He felt a grin split his face. “And I can’t wait to come up with new adjectives tonight.”
“As long as it’s better than ‘not bad, partner.’”
Lightning quick, his teeth sank gently into her earlobe, smiling when she shivered. “I think I can manage that.”
Jameson slid out of Luna’s bed at dawn, then looked back at her sprawled on her belly, sleeping like the dead, hair in her face, breathing slowly and deeply. It gave him a Neanderthal thrill to see her so completely sated. A thrill that was weighted with something else.
Regret.
Guilt.
He’d made a promise to Silas, but lately that promise had felt like an albatross around his neck. And the more time he spent with Luna, the heavier that promise felt.
Fact was, it’d become a burden. It no longer felt right to carry it, and if he was being honest with himself, it hadn’t for a while. He wished he’d been smart enough to figure this out before he’d slept with her, because he’d sealed his own fate by waiting. Now when she found out, and she would because he was going to tell her himself, she’d kick him the hell out of her life.
And she’d be right to do so.
His heart gave a little jump at that, but it wasn’t productive to worry about it now. Instead, he gave in to his need to watch her sleep for another moment, imagining waking her up by running his hands down her spine to her perfect ass, lifting her hips from the bed and—
She sighed and turned her head away from him. Knowing he needed to go before he gave in to urges he didn’t have the luxury of satiating, he quietly made his way out of the bedroom, planning on making her breakfast. Halfway there, he stopped short at the large lump on the couch, which should’ve been empty since he was no longer occupying the spot.
The tall lump moved and then sat up. It was Chef, who pointed at Jameson. “I know what you did last night. Or should I say who . . .”
It wasn’t often that Jameson found himself speechless, but he was now. They hadn’t tried to keep this to themselves, but they hadn’t taken out an ad either. “Uh—”
“Sorry about the company.” Chef yawned. “The piña coladas really got to me, so when Milo told me he was taking an Uber to spend today with his mom, I stayed, which, FYI, I’ve done a million times. Luna’s never minded before, but then again . . .” He chortled. “She’s never had an overnight guest here before either.”
Jameson thought of the things he and Luna had done to each other in the night, heart-pounding, incredibly erotic things, and tried to remember how loud things had gotten.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t hear a peep from you,” Chef said, reading his mind. “But either you kept forgetting your own name, or Luna really, really likes saying it.”
Shit.
A large throw on the chair in the corner began moving too, and Stella emerged. Her hair looked like the top of an ostrich’s head and her makeup had shifted from her eyes to the rest of her face. “Sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all. “I wasn’t sure I could get home either.”
“It’s like twenty-five feet from here,” Chef said.
“Okay, I didn’t want to miss anything.” She smiled at Jameson. “I see you picked a road and figured it all out.”
Chef divided a gaze between them. “What did he figure out?”
“That he and Luna speak different languages. Her love language is actual words, which, no offense, isn’t your strong suit, Jameson. That’s not the real problem though. The problem is that your love language is actions. Actions are all that matter because you can’t always believe words. How am I doing so far?”
Shockingly accurate.
Chef took one look at Jameson’s face and grinned, then rolled off the couch. “Fascinating, but I like living—something that if she finds us talking about her would definitely be over for me.” He stopped and turned back. “Oh, and some advice? Don’t let her get away with not sharing. She held back big-time with me, and I’d bet my last dollar she’s doing the same with you. She’s afraid to open up and not be accepted as is.”
“You giving him relationship advice is like the blind leading the blind,” Stella said. “But in this circumstance, I agree with you.”
Chef nodded. “And now I really gotta go.” He made it to the door before Luna’s bedroom door opened. Jameson turned just as she came straight for him, wearing his T-shirt and possibly nothing else. Ignoring both Chef and Stella, she slipped beneath Jameson’s arm and snuggled in, making herself comfortable. She then offered him an adorably sexy smile before turning her eyes to Chef.
The guy lifted his hands. “I saw nothing, I heard nothing, I speak of nothing.”
“I heard plenty,” Stella said. “But my lips are sealed too.” She blew Luna a kiss and met Chef at the door.
“Hey,” Luna said.
They both turned back.
“I don’t care who knows,” she said softly, and looked up at Jameson with an open expression that should’ve terrified him but didn’t because he suspected he was looking at her in the exact same way. He gave her a “good morning” squeeze, bringing her in even closer.
Chef smiled. “Happy looks good on you, babe.” He nodded to Jameson and then he was gone, pulling Stella along with him.