by Tawna Fenske
Bree laughs. “Hey, you!” She kneels down and doles out belly rubs as Virginia telegraphs the message that this is her best day ever. “I’m glad to see you, too.”
The sight of my dog and my girlfriend—holy shit, my girlfriend—slathering love on each other leaves me all warm and fuzzy, and I wonder what it would be like to do this every day. To come home to Bree and Virginia and hell, maybe a couple kids. I know this is all still new, but I can picture it like a television sitcom that’s playing on repeat in my brain.
Bree stands up and I help her to her feet. “I’m going in to start the pork loin, but you’re welcome to hang out with the dog,” I say. “There’s a Frisbee on the porch.”
Virginia pants with approval, tail beating a rhythm on my shoe.
“Nah, I’ll help with dinner.” Bree falls into step beside me as Virginia trots between us, barking her enthusiasm.
I’m relieved when I unlock the front door and remember that I had the good sense to tidy up before I left town. Kim and Meredith took turns caring for my dog, and they’ve set my mail on the counter. Someone—Kim, probably—stuck a bunch of daisies in a vase on the table, and the smell of cinnamon suggests one of them baked cookies or burned a candle.
“I like your place,” Bree says as she steps over the threshold. “It’s really homey.”
I hang my keys on the hook by the door as Virginia settles with a groan on her bed by the fireplace. “I didn’t give you a proper tour before, did I?”
Bree’s cheeks redden, and she glances away. “I guess my last visit was a little messed up, huh?”
“Come on.” I catch her hand so she can’t start down that path and pull her in for a quick kiss. “Let’s do a fresh-start tour.”
Bree smiles. “Deal.”
I lead her around the cabin, pointing out the bathroom off the kitchen and the guest suite where Meredith stays each time she dumps a live-in boyfriend.
“This master bedroom is amazing.” Bree trails a hand over the footboard of my massive log bed. “I like how you went with white and green and all the crisp pops of color instead of the red/gold thing most people do when they try for a rustic look.”
I scan my bedroom through her eyes, not ashamed to admit I can picture us having sex on every surface. “I can’t take credit for the decorating,” I admit. “Kim’s an interior designer. I hired her to do the whole place after I built it.”
“It suits you.” She presses a hand into the comforter, and I imagine myself tossing her back onto it and kissing my way up her body.
But there’s time for that later.
“Let’s start dinner.” I slip my fingers through hers and lead her back down the hall. “Want a glass of wine?”
“I’d love one.” She gives me a sheepish smile. “Still got the Pinot I brought?”
“Yep. Wine glasses are over there. Decanter, too, if you want to be fancy.”
“No need for fancy.” She sets to work uncorking the bottle while I turn and start pulling stuff out of the fridge.
“The pork won’t take long,” I tell her. “You okay with Caesar salad and roasted potatoes?”
“I can make the salad.”
I pass her a cutting board and my good chef’s knife while Bree finishes pouring the wine. She hands me a glass, and we set to work chopping and seasoning, our hands brushing each other’s bodies each time we move past one another in the small space. I love how we work together. I love being here with the woman I love, making a meal to enjoy together. When I reach past her to flip on some music, Bree laughs and wiggles her hips to the beat.
God, I love her.
Once the pork is grilling, I steal a few seconds to check my phone. “Sorry.” I flash Bree an apologetic look as I hit the keys to access my voicemail. “I haven’t checked in since I left the conference, so I need to make sure there aren’t any fires to put out.”
“No problem,” she says. “I should probably do the same thing, but I’m not ready to deal with my brothers.”
I dial the code for my voicemail and the automatic voice reports the grim news.
* * *
You have six new messages.
* * *
I sigh and hit the button to hear the first one.
“Hello, Austin. This is Joan Sampson. About that calendar—”
I close my eyes and stifle a groan of frustration. When I open my eyes again, I notice the first couple lines of transcription for the next messages are pretty much the same. There’s one from Mrs. Percy, too, and I scroll fast when I see the word “g-string.” Two more from Mrs. Sampson, and then—
“Everything okay?”
I glance up to see Bree watching me with concern.
“Yeah,” I mutter, scrolling to the final message. “Just my sixth grade teacher trying to get me naked again.”
Bree laughs and goes back to chopping. “Can’t say I blame her.”
I sigh and scroll to the final message.
* * *
Message six.
* * *
“Hey, Austin! It’s Aunt Genevieve. I’ve been trying to reach Bree, but her phone goes right to voicemail and her brother said she’s with you. I have some exciting news about the show. Could you please have her call me?”
Whatever noise I make prompts Bree to look up again. “Still okay?”
“More than okay. Here.” I dial Genevieve’s number, then put the call on speaker. It rings twice before Aunt Gen picks up.
“Austin,” she says. “Please tell me you’ve got that beautiful girl somewhere close by.”
“I’m assuming you mean Bree.” I grin and slide an arm around Bree as she eyes me curiously. “She’s right here, and you’re on speakerphone.”
“Hello, Genevieve.” Bree snuggles closer, and I’m distracted by all that heat and softness. “It’s great to hear your voice.”
“Oh, this is perfect,” Gen says. “I get to tell you both at the same time.”
Bree glances at me and bites her lip. “Tell us what?”
“I just got out of a meeting with the executive team,” she says. “They want to start filming in three weeks. We’ll do segments on Ponderosa Luxury Ranch Resort and on Jingle Bell Reindeer Ranch, too. The producers are thrilled to get it into the lineup so fast.”
Bree squeals and throws her arms around my neck. Her body feels unreal pressed up against mine, and I remind myself to send Aunt Gen a thank you note.
“Oh my God.” Bree bounces in my arms, and I’m treated to the delicious sway of her breasts against my ribs. “This is amazing. I can’t wait to talk to Jade and Amber.”
“I called them about ten minutes ago,” Gen says. “I swore them to secrecy, so I could call you myself.”
“You don’t know how much this means to me.” Bree is beaming, her green eyes lit with excitement. “To us—my brothers and me.”
“We’re excited, too,” she says. “I’m shooting you an email with the production schedule. It’ll be a mix of obvious things like the spa and the wedding site, plus local flavor. I’d love to get your ideas there.”
“You mean footage of things around town?” she asks.
“Exactly,” she says. “We want to capture the whole small-town vibe.”
“The Dandelion Café is cute,” Bree says. “You could get some B-roll at one of the breweries or downtown on Art Hop night.”
“How about the cupcake shop?” I suggest, wanting to be helpful.
“Good thinking,” Bree says. “I’m sure Chelsea would be up for it.”
“We’re looking for quirky things, too,” Gen adds. “Charming little details like a high school football game or a charity bake sale—that kind of thing.”
Bree gives me a look I can’t quite read, then winks. “How about a charity calendar featuring photos of local cops?"
Aunt Gen laughs. “Oh, that’s perfect. I’ll have my secretary get in touch with some meeting times and we can schedule a brainstorming call in the next couple days.”
Wait, what?
I’m still gaping at her as they say their goodbyes and hang up. I pull her into my arms, too happy for Bree to be annoyed about the calendar thing. “Congratulations. I know this is a big deal for you.”
“I’m so happy.” She bounces a little in my arms. “I never would have met her without you, so I owe you big-time.”
I palm her ass and grin. “My pleasure.”
She giggles and lifts up on tiptoes to kiss me. “This is amazing.”
I lose myself in the kiss for a few seconds before remembering the tail end of the conversation. With my sternest cop stare, I pull back and squeeze her butt a little harder. “Did you have to mention the damn calendar?”
Laughing, she slings a leg around my waist and pulls me against her so I’m pressed against her core. “Still not a fan of stripping for a good cause?”
“I’m all for taking my clothes off,” I say, grinding into her. “Just not for the townspeople or a bunch of old ladies. I don’t want other cops turned into sex objects, either.”
“I hear you loud and clear.” She gives me a mock salute. “From now on, you’re just my sex object.”
“That’s more like it.” I kiss her again, sliding a hand up to cup her breast. “So why the hell did you mention the calendar to Aunt Gen?”
“Because I have an idea for how to do it better,” she says. “This is part of my new self-improvement plan. Bree-two-point-oh solves problems instead of running from them.”
My thumb skims her nipple through the thin cotton of her shirt, distracting us both for a second. “I like all versions of Bree,” I tell her. “But I’d prefer whichever one is going to get me out of posing for a lecherous calendar.”
“No lecherous posing,” she assures me, doing something extra-lecherous as she slides a hand into the front of my pants. “You can keep your clothes on and everything.”
“For the calendar,” I clarify.
“Only for the calendar,” she assures me as I back her up until she bumps the counter, threading my fingers through her curls. “I have other plans for your immediate future.”
I can’t wait. Not just for the immediate future, but the one that comes after that. The long-term future, which I know involves Bree and me together. I can feel it.
I can also feel her unzipping my fly as I boost her up on the counter. “I’m really loving your ideas,” I tell her. “And I love the hell out of you.”
“And I love you, Sergeant Sexypants,” she says, shoving my jeans down over my hips. “Pants or no pants.”
“Let’s go with no pants.”
She giggles and tilts her head back to kiss me. “Deal.”
Epilogue
BREE
“That tux is everything.” I tug the lapels of Austin’s powder-blue suit and pull him down for a kiss.
Holy yum, I’ll never get tired of this.
We’re both grinning when we pull back, and I wonder if he knows I’m hanging on to his tuxedo jacket for balance. After all these months, I still get dizzy when we kiss like that.
“Hey, sexy.” He kisses me again, softer this time, but every bit as mind-blowing.
“Hey, Chief Hottie.” I let go of his jacket and smooth out the front of it. “I still can’t believe you found this thing in a thrift store.” Sliding my hands down and around, I cup his butt through his dress pants and give a squeeze.
“Hands off, kids.” Jade King zips past and swats my knuckles with a ruler—not hard, but enough to send a loud thwap across the ballroom. She grins at me and keeps moving. “We need one phone book’s width between your bodies at all times,” she add. “No hanky-panky.”
Brandon laughs behind her, knowing damn well hanky-panky is on everyone’s mind. It’s kinda the point of having an old-school eighties prom for guests over twenty-one. He throws me a wink as he trails after his fiancée, looking every bit the prom king in his ruffle-front shirt and bowtie.
“I think she’s letting the prom supervisor thing go to her head,” he tells me, patting Jade’s butt beneath the massive teal bow at the back of her dress. “I’m diggin’ it.”
Jade turns her ruler on him with a saucy glint in her eye, and I silently congratulate myself for appointing her our official prom monitor. The role suits her.
Brandon scoops her up in a swirl of laughter and hauls her toward a corner of the room, possibly to reprimand more prom-goers, but more likely to make out in a closet. They’re almost out of sight when Brandon turns and gives Austin a discreet thumbs-up.
Huh?
He pulls me into his arms again, distracting me by wrapping his fingers up in the laces at the back of my dress while Cyndi Lauper croons about girls wanting to have fun. I can relate. Honestly though, I can’t remember ever having this much fun with my clothes on. These last few months have been the best of my life.
“I get to undo these later, right?” Austin murmurs in my ear as he tugs at the strings holding my dress together in back. “Or now. Now’s good.”
I laugh and nudge his hand away before he can do any serious unraveling. “I know the corset-back isn’t technically eighties, but this is the prom dress I always wanted,” I admit a little sheepishly. “I figure I could fudge a little.”
“Honey, you can do whatever you want, since you planned the damn event. And since you’re raising a gazillion dollars for charity.” He lowers his mouth to my ear again, swaying to the music. “And since you look like a fucking wet dream in this dress.”
I smile as he twirls me around, spinning me so my belly somersaults as I scan the crowd. Holy cow, half the town must be here. “It really is a nice turnout.”
I’m being modest, but I’m so damn proud I could bust. Hundreds of bodies sway together under the swirl of disco lights. Everyone’s drinking and laughing and busting out their best breakdance moves as the song shifts to a Michael Jackson hit. Half the people in this room probably wore diapers when this song was popular, but they’re having a great time.
I’m part of this. I made it happen.
Friends. Community.
And yeah, awesome sex—all of that is finally mine.
Austin smiles like he knows what I’m thinking. He probably does. The guy is practically a mind reader, but that’s not a bad thing. He kisses my temple. “Between the fact that everyone paid eighty bucks a head to get in, and the fact that you’re donating all the proceeds from food and drink sales—”
“And the photo booth,” I remind him.
“That, too.” He twirls me again. “It’s hands down the biggest fundraiser the Deschutes Children’s Welfare Society has ever seen.”
I smile as we slip into a quick shuffle-step. Austin’s a surprisingly good dancer. He’s good at lots of things, all of which I’ve loved discovering over the last few months.
“I can’t believe they managed to make our ballroom look like a freakin’ gymnasium,” I tell him. “Remind me to get pictures in case I ever have a bride who wants an eighties theme.”
“You outdid yourself, Miss Bracelyn,” he tells me. “Congratulations.”
I’m saved from my urge to blush when Mrs. Sampson rushes up, calendar in hand. “Austin, dear.” She thrusts a Sharpie at him, and I resist the temptation to make a crack about anti-graffiti laws and permanent markers in public places. “Will you sign my calendar?”
“Absolutely.” He flips the cover of Cops and Critters, and there’s that bubble of pride again. This was my brainchild, my way of appeasing the ladies, supporting the Humane Society, and oh yeah, keeping the officers fully-clothed. All the cops are posed with their pets, and the proceeds go to the local animal shelter.
“We’ve already sold more than three hundred,” Mrs. Sampson says proudly as Austin scrawls his name below his picture on the September page. “What a great idea using this dance as the kickoff event for it.”
“I’m so glad it worked out,” I tell her, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t tell anyone I said so, but Austin and Virginia’s picture is the cutest.�
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“Oh, I know it, honey.” She pretends to fan herself as Austin recaps the pen and hands it back to her with the calendar.
“Let me know if you want Virginia Woof to pawtograph it for you later,” he quips. “All this fame is going to her head.”
Mrs. Sampson titters and tucks the calendar under her arm. “As soon as we do another print run, I’ll buy more for all my grandchildren.”
We watch as she hustles away, vanishing into the crowd of dancers. I look up at Austin and smirk. “Just a guess, but I’m thinking she wouldn’t buy it for her grandkids if it had naked pictures of you holding your cop hat over your junk.”
“Let’s hope not.”
I do a little pirouette to make my dress shimmer around me, then twirl back into the safety of Austin’s arms as the music shifts to a slow dance. Bon Jovi, I think. “Did I tell you we booked two more weddings this morning? That’s eight since the episode trailers started running.”
“I saw one last night when I was watching the news.” Austin grins. “Pretty wild to see my hometown in commercials for a famous wedding program. You’re gonna kill it when the show airs.”
“That’s the hope. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Sure you could have.” He smiles and spins me again. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”
With you I can. I think it, but don’t say it, because duh, that’s cheesy.
But I think he knows it. We spend almost every waking hour together when we’re not working, and like I said about the mind reader thing.
Austin draws me back against his chest as Sean approaches with a silver platter of shrimp ceviche bites in one hand. My brother is dapper in a hideous silver tux and a resigned look that I know is only a cover for the fact that he’s loving this almost as much as I am. Beside him, Amber is resplendent in a poofy-sleeved pink gown.