Page 85 of Savage Heart

Billie: He’s not Maverick’s number one fan, so that would be concerning

Grady: I don’t think he’s the biggest fan of the Harringtons, period

Me: I’m fine. Mind your business.

I groan. My family is the biggest bunch of busybodies, and they would take the news that Iris was here earlier and run with it. Actually, they wouldn’t even know where to run with it. They wouldn’t be happy about it. The idea is so out there, they wouldn’t believe she was here in the first place.

I can’t believe she was here.

I can’t believe anything that’s happened in the past six hours.

My mind is reeling. It’s one in the morning, but I don’t see sleep coming anytime soon.

Why the fuck did I blow everything by having sex with her? Not that I regret it exactly. I don’t. It was everything I imagined it could be, and more—and God knows I’ve imagined it countless times over the course of my life. But it might’ve wrecked any progress we were potentially making.

As soon as I pulled out of her, she seemed shaken up. She ran out of here like she couldn’t leave fast enough . . . while I was hoping to explore her body all night long.

I can’t believe we went there.

Fuck. That was a terrible idea.

But it felt so goddamn amazing.

I shift my feet to the floor and let my head hang.

Get your head out of the fucking gutter, Harrington.

I’ve lived all these years blaming Iris for something she didn’t do.

What the fuck is wrong with me, and how can I ever make this right?

The next day, I pause just inside the doorway. I haven’t set foot in Prairie Rose Soda Fountain for twelve years, and now I’m going twice in the same week. Everything is exactly the same here, but Iris and I aren’t.

She’s behind the counter, tying her apron. Her hair is slipping loose out of its thick braid, her waves never cooperating fully.

I had my hands in her hair last night, the way I’ve always wanted to.

I shake my head. I can’t think about that right now.

She wasn’t driving.

The words keep circling, relentless. All these years, I sharpened my anger against her, and she let me.

She looks up and sees me.

There’s a flicker of surprise and then something guarded. Careful politeness settles over her face like a shield, and I miss the abandon I saw on her face in my bed last night.

But I deserve a lot worse than her caution.

“Maverick,” she says. “Hi.”

“Hey.” I clear my throat. “Morning.”

“It is,” she says. “You want to sit?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

I slide onto a stool at the counter. Iris grabs a menu and sets it in front of me.