Page 50 of Whiskey Proposal

It was just an orgasm. No big deal.

His mouth was on your tit. Nothing awkward about that.

He made you come in less than a minute. Maybe a little impressive.

Growling under my breath, I open the door and sweep into the hallway.

My heart crams itself in my throat. He’s in charcoal-gray slacks, brown loafers, and a white dress shirt. A tie hangs around his neck waiting to be knotted because, of course he doesn’t need special tricks to tie one. When Brooks went to prom, we had to watch an online tutorial, knot it, and then put it over his head to tighten it. Dad was too busy ranting about how dressing up for no damn reason was a waste of money.

His hair is slicked back and it shines, but not from product. If Lane uses any, it’s expertly applied. He’s just showered. A whisper of a memory runs through my head. What he does in showers is none of my business.

Did he think of me?

“Is it Dress for the Job You Want Day?” Defaulting to sarcasm is my comfort zone. And also what gets me into trouble.

My snark backfires when he gives me the same hot look as the last time I saw him. I’m transported back to the shop, watching him taste me, his coveralls knotted over his still obvious erection. My pulse hikes up.

“I have a meeting in Omaha, and then I’ll be in Denver for a few more days.” He checks his watch, the same fancy wooden one from when I first met him. “I’ll probably be gone all week.”

The back of my throat burns. He’s leaving?

Isn’t that what I want?

What I definitely don’t want is to look forlorn after I’ve been avoiding him since riding his hand like I was waiting for the eight-second buzzer.

“Okay?” I ask flippantly, but inside, I’m spiraling.

He’s leaving me. Is it because I walked away from him? Because I didn’t finish stripping down and let him take me right in an old truck that should be nothing but a memory?

He waits like I’m supposed to say something, then nods. “All right. I’ve gotta get to the airport.”

“Huckleberry Springs has an airport?”

“For a private plane, yes.”

I sputter out a laugh. No wonder he’s taking off. I’m dressed for work in jeans and a navy-blue Ariat T-shirt. I only have socks on my feet. He’s gotta go to Omaha and then the Denver site. He’s important and he’s needed. He’s wanted.

He tips his head, his expression impassive. “Goodbye, Emerson.”

Oof, not even an Em. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Why is this bothering me? “See ya.”

I turn and head straight for the office. I’ll get breakfast later. When he’s gone. So I don’t have to watch him walk out.

I park in front of the bakery. I need to get out of the house, and as much as I love my brother and Hillary, I can’t go there and pretend that I’m fine. After what Lane and I did, and the way he just went on a work trip like it meant nothing? I’m still spinning, and I’m a hypocrite. I ghosted him—twice! Once in his own house. Yet I’m upset? I need to be somewhere I don’t have to explain myself, not even to myself.

Unfortunately, in a town like Huckleberry Springs, at ten in the morning, that’s the café or the bakery. The other restaurants aren’t open yet.

I’m in a corner booth of Dee’s Sweets with a muffin. Blueberry cobbler this time. The girl at the counter isn’t familiar, and I haven’t seen either Palmer sister. Or a Foster sister.

What’s it like being married into the Foster family?

A soft snort escapes. I am married into that family.

I don’t like this adrift feeling. Not at all. Not when I’ve been on my own for ten years and haven’t had to rely on anyone.

I’m glowering out the window at all the people blissfully going about their day when a quiet voice bursts through my daze. “Hey, Emerson.”

Elodie stands by my booth with a small smile. She’s wearing sweats that are cuffed at the ankle, but instead of a baggy shirt this time, she’s got on a crop top that hits just above her waistband.