Page 25 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve got a few errands in town, and I heard you need to pick up some things too. So, you’re with me. Simple.”

Mrs. Mae beams at me like a proud mom, finally being the half-decent person she has been nagging me to be all these weeks.

“Oh, that would be lovely, wouldn’t it, dear?” she says to Maeve.

Maeve gives a sheepish smile and agrees.

“Good. I’ll see you out front in forty-five minutes.”

“Sounds good, Mr Carter. Thank you,” she says softly. Not sounding like the Maeve I have come to know. Maybe she’s fighting her own mind like I am, wondering how the hell we’re going to survive another truck ride alone together. Because the last one went so well. And that had been before last night.

I should be thinking nothing of it. Just a run into town. A favour for my son.

But deep down, there’s a flicker of anticipation and excitement. Whether I get quiet Maeve or the smart-mouthed angel I’ve become obsessed with, it’s going to be a hell of a journey.

Chapter Nine

Maeve

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I am about to embark on the most awkward errand run in history. With my very grumpy boss.

The boss who had not only heard but saw me please myself while moaning his name.

How. Fucking. Mortifying.

Why the hell didn’t I shut the door?

I should’ve been more careful, but no. Clearly, my vagina decided to hypnotise me into being a stupid, reckless eejit.

All morning, I’ve done my absolute best to avoid him. Even skipping my favourite time of the day: reading on the porch’s swing chair as the sun rises. I just grabbed my coffee like a woman on a mission and retreated to the safety of my room until work demanded otherwise. I had also made the very poor decision of missing breakfast. Which is exactly why I was stuffing my face with sandwiches when Wade showed up and completely ruined my appetite, replacing hunger with that familiar gut-churning anxiety.

My phone pings with a message from Colt.

Colt: Have fun in town. I promise he isn’t all that bad.

Maeve: Says the boy who hardly talks to him.

Colt: Yeah, well, I have my reasons… but I am sure you’ll work that Londoner charm on him. It worked on me.

My thumb hovers over the message before settling on a laughing reaction. I never quite know what to say when Colt’s tone begins tiptoeing the line between playful banter and subtle flirting.

It’s probably nothing. He’s a cheeky lad; it’s just a part of his charm.

Colt’s been firmly slotted into the good friend category in my head, and that’s exactly where he’s staying. It’s been nice having a solid friendship during one of my trips. It’s something steady. Something that feels like normal life.

Past trips were nothing but quick hellos, quicker goodbyes. No roots, no ties. Just me drifting. But here? Here I’m part of a team. One that works together and looks out for each other. It feels… safe. Solid. A foundation that my childhood never allowed me to have.

I’m not sure what that means for me yet. If I let myself think about it too much, there’s this quiet, stupid fear that starts creeping in.

One about finally finding somewhere that feels like I belong —and then still having to leave it.

I can’t afford to fuck it up by tangling myself up with cowboys.

A reminder my vagina really needs, preferably before it drags me into any more situations like last night's clusterfuck.