Chapter 3

• Three years gone. Felt longer. Felt shorter. Felt like he’d just blinked and she was twelve again, yelling at him to shut the damn gate so the dogs didn’t run off.
• Beau Walker was under the hood of Cade’s busted F-150 when he heard it — that old Ford truck she refused to kill off, rattling over gravel, coughing like it needed mercy and new spark plugs. He’d know that sound anywhere. Hell, he’d know it if he was blind and half dead.
• He wiped grease off his hands and leaned back against the fender, heart ticking harder than he’d admit. It was just Bug. Always Bug.
• Except the tires crunched closer, then that door swung open — that old driver door squeal that made Cade cuss every winter — and the first thing Beau saw were legs. Bare, tan, long. Hips hugged by tiny frayed denim shorts that should’ve been illegal. And boots, scuffed but pretty, hugging up her calves.
• He felt it first — that knot in his chest, like a kick from a workhorse. The rest hit him in pieces. The sun hit her hair, tumbling down her back in soft waves that used to be knotted in a bun with pencil stubs stuck through it. Now it shone. Styled, glossy, half up with a twist that made him wanna wrap it in his fist for reasons he shouldn’t think.
• Her old glasses? Gone. Eyes wide and clear, brown like river mud after a hard rain. Big enough to make a man lose his damn footing. Her mouth? Glossy. Smirking. A mouth that should never say the shit he knew it could.
• She slammed the door with her hip — same old hip check. Some things didn’t change. She turned, spotted him by the truck, and that grin split her lips slow and warm.
• “Hey there, cowboy.”
• Beau didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t. He looked at her the way a man looks at trouble coming down the ridge — beautiful and terrible and sure to wreck him.
• She swaggered — no other word for it — right up that drive. Boots crunching, hips swinging. She smelled sweet before she even hit the shade. Sugar cookies, vanilla, something warm that made his stomach twist.
• When she got close enough, he saw it — the glint of a tiny hoop at her cartilage, the edge of ink peeking where her top tied loose at the shoulder. The curve of a sparrow’s wing under her neck, just shy of her collarbone. And damn, those shorts. He knew girls in town wore less — hell, he’d had plenty of them half-naked in the back of his truck. But none of them ever looked like her.
• She stopped right in front of him, thumb hooked in a belt loop, head tipped just enough to catch that old country tease. “You gonna stand there starin’ or you gonna help me unload, Beau Walker?”
• He cleared his throat, forced a chuckle that came out too rough. “What’s all this? You movin’ back for good?”
• She lifted her chin, proud as ever. “Got my degree. Didn’t turn soft. Didn’t turn city. Gonna open a bakery in town — already talked to Miss June about renting that old shop front next to the feed store.”
• He blinked. “A bakery.”
• She leaned closer, voice dipping low — sweet as the sugar she smelled like. “Yeah, cowboy. I bake now. Sweets, pies, bread… cookies.”
• Her eyes cut to his lips when she said cookies. He caught it. Felt it land low in his gut.
• A whoop came from the porch — Beck, shirtless and barefoot, looking like he’d just crawled outta someone’s bed. “Look at our little bug,” he hollered, grin splitting his jaw. “Ain’t no one gonna know what hit ‘em.”
• Cade stepped out behind him, arms crossed, eyes sharp but soft at the edges when he looked at her. “You bring all your damn city boys too?”
• She flipped Beck off without missing a beat. “Keep talkin’, Beck, I’ll bake you a laxative pie, I swear to Christ.”
• Cade barked a laugh. “Lord, I missed that mouth.”
• Beau watched it all like he was stuck in molasses. He should’ve been grinning. Should’ve been teasing. But all he could think about was how her shorts rode up when she shifted her weight. How that sparrow wing curved under her collarbone, dipping into a place he shouldn’t be thinkin’ about. How she smelled like something that’d ruin him.
• She turned back to him, eyes sharp now — catching him staring where he shouldn’t. She stepped closer. He could see the tiny freckle near her jaw, the one that used to get hidden behind her glasses. She smelled like cookies and heat.
• “Y’alright there, Beau?” she asked, voice soft, teasing, deadly. “You look like you seen a ghost.”
• He dragged his eyes up slow, found hers waiting. He didn’t grin. Didn’t smirk.
• “Just lookin’ at you, Bug.”
• She laughed — bright and wicked. “Ain’t Bug no more.”
• She spun on her heel, boots scuffing gravel as she popped the tailgate. The bed was packed with boxes, flour sacks, a giant stand mixer she’d clearly stolen from a church kitchen. She bent at the waist to yank a box forward, shorts climbing higher. Beau swore under his breath. Cade barked an order at Beck. Beck catcalled her just to be an ass. She flipped him off again, cussing so filthy it made Cade laugh harder.
• Beau didn’t laugh. He just watched. Hands flexing. Mind spinning.
• She wasn’t Bug no more.
• And that, he knew down to his dusty boots, was gonna be the end of him.