"Macey, I just have to know where you got your dress from." Abigail Bateman, a girl I went to high school with approaches me at the bar of The Starlighter. From what I can remember, she wasn't ever a girly girl. She would hang out with the boys and go mudding every weekend or four-wheeling. But now, she's got highlights in her auburn hair with freshly manicured nails. I didn't think it would be possible to find someone else who colored their hair on a routine basis, but here we are.

"Oh, this? I made it like, five years ago." The simple cotton flowy pink sundress isn't even my best work, but Abigail is staring at it like it's fresh off the runway of couture.

She gasps. "Are you kidding? Oh my god, you totally have to make me one! Let me take a picture for the girls." Dragging her phone out of her pocket, she instructs me to back up, so I do as I'm told, posing awkwardly as she snaps a few photos. I don't have the heart to tell her I stopped making clothes a long time ago. I gave up that dream back in New York. I couldn't make a living out there. I failed.

"The girls?" I ask, dodging the question.

She nods enthusiastically. "Yes! So, every Sunday after church, the girls and I get together at that cute little coffee shop on main street and discuss fundraisin' ideas, and Loretta's annual event is coming up. Christy, you know, the girl who runs the hair salon? She suggested we do a fashion show this year at Loretta's instead of an auction! Dresses like this would be perfect."

HA! The thought of Loretta actually approving that made my insides quake from the waves of laughter threatening to escape. She's always been adamant about doing the auction. It's been that way for years.

"Loretta was thrilled with the idea," she gushed. "Said we should talk to you about it."

Of course, she did. I'm two seconds away from an eye roll until the devil herself sweeps out of the kitchen, placing a plate of jalapeno poppers in front of me. There's sweat sliding down her face, but she wipes it away with a rag and lets out a grunt. "What?"

It would be impolite to discuss how irritated I am about this idea when Abigail was so kind about this dress I designed, so instead of lighting into her like I want to do, I send her a tight-lipped smile. "Oh, nothing. We're just talking about this fashion show idea that you approved without a second thought."

Her lips twitch upwards, hiding a smile. "You can make clothes, can't ya? It ain't complicated. It was an easy decision."

"And you just agreed to it that easily when you've been hosting the auction every year for decades?"

Abigail eases her weight from one foot to the other. "If it's too much, then..."

"She'll do it," Loretta answers for me. "She ain't got nothin' better to do."

What the hell is wrong with her? Why is she so persistent about me getting back into design? She cleared out her entire sewing room for me, and for what? She knows I didn't make it in New York. She knows I gave it up a long time ago. Why is she trying to rush me into things I'm not ready for yet?

But this is for charity, and it's not like the townspeople of Darlington are looking for anything extravagant. I'm rusty, but I suppose I could whip up a few dresses for a fashion show. It wouldn't kill me.

Turning to face Abigail, I'm suckered in when she throws me those puppy dog eyes. "Fine," I relent, "but I can't guarantee they'll be any good. I haven't made anything in a long time, so..."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She squeals and swoops me in for a hug. I'm pressed against her large chest, wincing from the overwhelming scent of flowers. "Christy is goin' to love this dress. Will you join us for coffee at noon on Sunday? We can go over all of the plans then."

"Sure," I reply. "Sounds good."

I'm expecting her to leave, but she's lingering, twirling her fingers around in front of her stomach. "Is it true?" She asks. "Are you back with Wyatt?"

"Oh god," I groan. "Is this town really that small?" We slept together two days ago. How could word travel that fast?

Loretta pops the top of a beer and places it in front of the man next to me. "Well, when the other woman finds yer thong on the floor it's kinda hard for that not to get out."

The man eyes me heavily, bringing the bottle to his lips.

"In your dreams," I tell him, directing my attention back to Loretta. "Wyatt and I are not together. At least I don't think. We haven't discussed it yet. And for the record, it would be really nice if you could keep that story to yourself."

She shrugs and runs a hand through her spiky tips of hair. "Might as well accept it. The whole town already knows. Caroline ripped through here madder than a damn tornado after it happened."

"That's what I heard too," Abigail chimed in.

The last thing I need is for this entire town to hate me more than they already do. Things are complicated enough between us right now. We don't even know what we are yet. Now all of Darlington is going to put a title on us before we even have the chance to discuss it.

I spent the past two days laid up in Wyatt's bed underneath the sheets. I explored every inch of his body—his stronger, muscled, new body. The freckles on his face from his time spent in the sun, the new scars he's gained from taking over the farm. I took my time memorizing the new nooks and crannies of Wyatt Gavin Brooks.

"What goes on between Wyatt and me is none of this town's business. Don't you have something better to do, Loretta? Like, I don't know, run a restaurant?"

She frowns, the lines beside her mouth deepening. "Keep talkin' like that and I'll make ya put on a damn apron and help me run orders."

Taking a swig of beer, I give her a smug grin. "It's my night off I'm afraid, and now I've been drinking. Bummer."

Abigail covers her mouth as she tries not to laugh while Loretta mutters a string of cuss words and disappears behind the kitchen door again. "This place is really coming together," she says, glancing up at the high wooden beams. Construction has been moving along smoothly, and, according to Wyatt, the renovations should be done within a month's time. Although the dining room isn't open yet, Loretta was able to open the indoor bar just in time for the chilly fall nights.

"If it makes you feel any better, I won't tell anyone about the thong story."

My cheeks are definitely on fire. "Thanks," I mutter. "That means a lot."

"So...Sunday?"

"Sunday," I confirm with a smile. "I'll be there."

Giving me a wave, she grips her designer bag and heads for the door, her curvy hips swaying side to side. This is the first time someone here has remotely looked similar to me, and holy hell I'm excited. Abigail and I might actually become friends!

The front door opens again and Wyatt walks in, dipping his head from being so goddamn tall. I didn't know he had planned on coming here tonight, but, then again, this is the only restaurant in town. This morning when I woke up he wasn't in bed beside me. Running a farm means waking up bright and early, so I had slipped out to see if I was needed at the bar. Surprisingly, I had the night off.

"Look at how gorgeous you are." He grins and picks me up from the barstool as if I'm a feather and wraps my legs around his waist. Dirt is still on his face with sweat marks on the white t-shirt he's wearing. He must have just gotten done with work for the day. "Couldn't stop thinkin' about you today. I was itchin' to get back to the house."

"Sorry I left. I wanted to make sure I wasn't needed here, and Loretta wasn't answering her phone." Running my hands through that dirty-blonde hair of his, I tug slightly on the ends, causing his head to tilt slightly to the side, exposing his neck to me. It's only then that I realize every single pair of eyes in here is locked on us, and I begin to feel scrutinized.

Wyatt notices too, clearing his throat and setting me on my feet. "Word got out I take it?"

I nod. "Loretta said Caroline came in here on a rampage spewing at the mouth right after she caught us. We're going to be getting the evil eye from everyone for the next few weeks until something else dramatic happens. Sorry."

Tilting my chin up with his hand, he strums a thumb against my cheek. "Stop saying you're sorry like what happened between us was a mistake. I don't regret it, Mace, and I don't give a damn what this town thinks. They can judge us all they want."

"You say that now, but it's going to get old real quick. I still can't go anywhere on main street without getting an eye roll. Just the other day I was buying groceries and Pat, the old woman who cashiers on the weekends, scoffed while proceeding to put cans on top of my bread."

"I don't care," he repeats, dipping his head to catch my gaze. "There's nothin' in this entire world that'll make me change my mind about us. Not even mean ol' Pat."

"Really?"

"Really." He moves closer to my face, his lips hovering right above mine. "I was disappointed as all hell that you weren't waitin' for me back at the house."

"It seems like you survived, though," I point out.

"Barely. It's goin' on..." He glances at his watch and sighs dramatically. "Ten hours since the last time my head was between those thighs of yours."

"Wyatt!" I shriek, glancing nervously at the bar crowd. The music is loud enough to where it probably drowns out our conversation, but I don't want to take any chances.

"I wanna go home, take a shower, then bury myself inside of you all night long, Macey Taylor. And in the mornin', I plan on wakin' you up with my tongue."

Oh, god. I suck in a sharp breath when he nuzzles his mouth against my ear, nipping the lobe gently. He could ask me for a million dollars and I'd sell my soul to give him it. I'd do anything for this man from his dirty words. We can't seem to get enough of each other, but I can't say I blame us. Wyatt hasn't done anything sexual since we did eight years ago.

Eight. Years.

I don't care how friendly he got with his hand. Nothing compares to the feeling of him being inside of me. Which is why all I can do is nod my head despite every warning bell going off inside. What Wyatt and I have is special. So special. I don't want to rush into things and fuck everything up again for us. We need to take this slow. Staying there three nights in a row isn't doing that.

"Get a room," the dirty old man beside us says.

Wyatt winks and grabs my hand. "I plan on it, Davies. Right now, actually. Have a nice night."