Leave Him Loved_Harloe Rae

by Rae, Harloe

  My desk is overflowing with presents and cards. Apparently, Bampton Elementary teachers get spoiled rotten by their students. More perks for this gig appear each morning. It’s another thing I’ll miss. I give myself an imaginary kick to the shin. There I go again. Before I get caught in the wallowing, more voices chime in.

  Polly bobs her blond curls. “Uh-huh, yeah. I helped my mama knit a scarf for you. It’s in that sparkle paper.”

  “Oh, oh. Mine too.” Tallie seems to shimmy without really moving.

  “The one in that blue envelope is from me. It’s a gift card for Target!” Danny shouts.

  Well, there goes the mystery. I laugh at their exuberance, inhaling a potent whiff of holly and jolly. “Thank you so much, kiddos. You’re all very generous. I’ll love each special gift and will open them later.”

  A unified groan rolls off the group in a wave.

  “It’s almost dismissal. Otherwise I would rip into them right now,” I assure.

  “Uncle Ree gives the best gifts, Miss Griffin.” Gabby’s smile curls with secret knowledge. I suck in a breath, waiting for her to spill the beans. To my relief, her concentration matches her age, so something sparkly takes sudden priority. I almost wipe my brow. She’s been better than expected at keeping my little rendezvous with her uncle under wraps. If only I could say the same about myself.

  The past three weeks have flown in a fuzzy pattern of never-ever dates, sex, laughter, and trying like hell not to fall for Reeve. That last one has been a real bitch, and I’m failing miserably. I’m holding onto faith that a bit of distance will allow me to clear my mind. One thing is for certain—we cannot continue on without amending our deal.

  I rock backward in the chair and grin at my students. “Three minutes left before you’re released. Remember to be good listeners so you don’t get coal in your shoe.”

  Trent giggles. “That was a funny lesson, Miss Griffin.”

  We studied different traditions throughout the weeks of December. I got a little creative with certain activities. “It certainly was. Do as you’re told, and good luck will be there instead.”

  “Yes, Miss Griffin.” The entire class drones the phrase on autopilot.

  I can’t stop a giggle from spilling at their response. Sometimes they make me feel like a headmaster in the nineteen sixties. I bet headmasters then weren’t nearly as fun, though.

  The bell screeches a second later, and the race is on.

  “Bye, everyone.” I stand and follow the flow of traffic.

  The students are a blur, scrambling to gather their backpacks and winter gear. It’s so loud for approximately two minutes that my ears ring once they’re gone and the room is silent.

  Since it’s Friday, I don’t have plans to stick around longer than necessary. I leave tomorrow for Minneapolis, blizzard or not. Being away from Reeve for ten days will suck, but I’m looking forward to going home. Double-edged sword and all that. But I have nothing on my radar for this evening, not officially at least. I hope a certain corn farmer is free to make plans.

  I begin the process of gathering my supplies for the extended break. Since I’ve managed to accumulate quite a collection, my stash requires two bags and a jumbo box. It seems that several trips to the car are in my future. Just as I pack the final objects, someone knocks on my door.

  “Hey, babe.” That gritty drawl has a shudder racking my body.

  I turn to see Reeve leaning against the frame in a pair of faded jeans and a flannel jacket. He looks hot enough to engulf this entire building in flames. Maybe I should have a fire extinguisher on standby just in case. “Hi, farmer. I wasn’t sure I’d see you tonight.”

  He stalks toward me, a man on a mission. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

  “Maybe you had something else to do.” I rattle off the phrase as a statement, but a questioning lilt raises my voice.

  “Are you still okay with this?” Reeve loops an arm around my waist and tugs me into him. His addictive hugs send a warm surge through my veins, which doesn’t make this situation easier.

  I press my ear to his chest, listening as the thumping beats pound harder. This could be the moment I come clean. How terrible would it be to admit I caught a case of serious feelings? But I’m a weak woman, and the gamble is too great. “Yep, all good here.”

  “Same terms apply?” It’s not lost on me that he’s offering an escape clause.

  “Sure,” I mumble. My heart causes a ruckus with its furious beat. He presses against me, no doubt able to feel the truth in addition to hearing my words.

  Reeve’s gaze searches mine, almost frantically. Will he discover what’s waiting for him to find? “I want us to have a loophole.”

  I furrow my brow at his vague admission. “Why don’t you make one?”

  His head jerks sharply. “It isn’t possible.”

  “Or you didn’t look hard enough.” I feel like we’re speaking in riddles, yet the answer is right in front of us.

  “And you make giving in more impossible to resist.”

  I struggle to take a decent breath. Why discuss this now? And in my classroom of all places? “Maybe we can consider alternatives after I get back.”

  “Such as?” His lips tease mine with the prompt.

  He brought this up, yet he wants me to leap first? That’s fine. I yank on my big-girl panties with a huff. “Feelings are getting involved. There’s no denying it. Our chemistry and connection are only getting stronger. We’re supposed to bow out if that happens, but I don’t want this to end, not yet at least. It might be smart for both of us if we did, but I can’t see myself willingly cutting ties early.”

  “Before you’re set to leave?”

  “Right,” I confirm. Although, that deadline now has a hollow connotation. I’ve looked forward to June fifteenth for so long that it’s lost meaning. Or something else has replaced it entirely.

  He smooths a thumb along my jaw. “New year, fresh outlook?”

  “I like the sound of that.” I nuzzle into his touch.

  Reeve nods, taking a step back. “Need a hand hauling stuff outside?”

  I peek at my overflowing pile. “That’d be great.”

  He grabs the box and two bags, making it possible to take a single trip. Once we get everything situated in my trunk, Reeve exudes blasts of sizzling intensity that almost make me stagger.

  “Can I take you somewhere?”

  I spread my feet to remain upright. “Do I ever refuse?”

  He sweeps an arm to his truck, striding over to prop open the passenger side for me. “Your chariot awaits.”

  We don’t go far. After pulling onto Main Street, Reeve cruises to the opposite end and hangs a right onto a narrow lane. The drive is plowed, steep piles of accumulated snow lining both edges. We pull up in front of a barn that stands tall and proud all on its own. From the exterior, it’s safe to assume this is a regular farm building.

  I hike a brow at the seemingly average building. “What’s this?”

  “You’ll see.” He hops out, rounds the hood, and offers me a hand to step down from the lifted cab. “Close your eyes, babe.”

  My trust in him has been reaffirmed tenfold, so I allow my lashes to flutter closed instantly. “So mysterious.”

  He leads me over the snowy ground, our footsteps crunching in the silence. After a reeling creak, we hit a wall of warmth while stepping onto smooth flooring.

  Reeve gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “Okay, take a peek.”

  My inhale sputters to an abrupt halt from the sight before me. The inside appears to have been renovated into a concert venue of sorts. A wide stage extends across the entire rear wall. Wooden benches and booths frame two sides, leaving the center open, most likely for dancing. But none of that snags my attention for more than a moment.

  Strung up over the exposed beams in the ceiling and along every pillar are thousands of twinkling lights. I stare, wonder whirling in my brain. The sight is so stunning that I drop my gaze to avoid shedding tears. Heat sti
ngs my eyes regardless, and I rub at the burn.

  Reeve weaves his fingers between mine. “Merry Christmas, babe.”

  “What is this place?” I repeat.

  He guides us deeper into the main space. “Bam’s version of a banquet hall, I suppose. I rented it out for the night and added some personal touches to make it special.”

  The threat of waterworks begins anew as pressure builds in my nose. “Just for us?”

  “Yep.”

  I can’t miss the smug satisfaction in his voice. “But I didn’t get you anything. We agreed to no gifts,” I whine.

  Gabby wasn’t lying about this man’s mad skills at giving exceptional presents.

  Reeve shrugs. “This is for both of us.”

  “I’m not sure that’s any better,” I mumble. I nod at the empty stage. “Is someone going to sing for us?”

  “That’s another surprise,” he hints and clamps down on his bottom lip.

  “There’s more? What did I do to deserve such pampering?”

  His kiss is tender and worthy of this fairy-tale location. “Just by being you.”

  And of course he raises the stakes further. Damn, he’s good. As if I weren’t already fully sunk in his baby-blue depths and country swagger. Then I remember what else he said. I clap a hand over my mouth while bouncing in place. “Oh, oh. Is it Jason Aldean?”

  And will he take requests?

  Reeve bursts into laughter then sobers at the expectant expression beaming on my face. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes?” My megawatt grin dims a tad around the edges.

  He traces the brim of his hat. “Do you honestly believe I could convince a famous musician to play a solo concert in Bampton Valley, Iowa?”

  Hearing my thoughts from his mouth makes it sound ludicrous, but backing down seems like a wimpy version of quitting. “Um, maybe?”

  “Your confidence in me is sexy as fuck.”

  I give a little bow. “Well, thank you.”

  He shoves his hands deep in his pockets. “Sorry to disappoint, babe. He’s not who you’re gonna hear.”

  “Tell me,” I plead.

  “How about I show you?”

  I attempt to peek around the curtains for a clue. “Well, okay. I do appreciate you drawing out the suspense.”

  When Reeve hops onto the stage, I’m certain he’s heading over to alert our guest of honor to begin the show. Then he picks up a guitar propped on a stand and slings the strap over his neck.

  My gasp is so long and drawn out that I almost choke. “No way. You sing?”

  “And play the guitar,” he adds.

  Of course Reeve plays guitar. How cliché for all of my wildest fantasies to come true in this small-town dream.

  “Holy shit!” I exclaim. “You’re so much better than any country star.”

  His chuckle is throaty and rich. “You might change your mind. You haven’t heard me yet.”

  “Nope, my opinion is locked in.”

  “So long as you think so.” He perches on a stool, doing a practice pass along the strings. A hint of a smirk tilts his lips as he makes a few adjustments. “I’m a tad rusty.”

  I fold my hands together and park them under my chin. “Please play for me, farmer.”

  “That’s the idea, babe.” I find the subtle tremble in his voice as he collects himself endearing.

  A tingle zips up my spine as he slides out the opening notes. I will not swoon. I won’t, dammit. But then he begins to sing, and I become a freaking puddle melting between the restored baseboards, a total goner as my knees quake to the sinful melody of his effortless vocals. I sway from the impact and lower into a crouch as my legs surrender to this losing battle. A quiet sigh escapes my jaw from the confines of trying to keep my composure. My butt smacks the ground as I become wholly mesmerized by him. I curl my toes to avoid tackling him while he lulls me further under his spell.

  He’s belting out a raw, albeit beautifully executed and captivating, rendition of “Thunder Rolls.” He could give Garth a run for his millionaire fortune. Reeve’s version is flawless and unique, just like the man slaying the familiar chorus. Country music fan or not, everyone with decent hearing knows this song. Even I can admit to appreciating the soulful tune long before leaving my city roots in a cloud of corn kernels.

  Musicians were never my thing until Reeve proved to be one. This man could be my everything. I give myself an internal eye roll. As if he isn’t already. He’s all I see, now more than ever. The spotlight is his friend, a beacon to the hidden talent he’s kept buried deep. Why hasn’t he mentioned this before? I find myself wondering how often he performs and for what audience. A bright-green spot grows by the second inside of me, insisting no one else get this piece of him. How hard would it be to keep him all for myself?

  I watch, breathless, while he unravels the story of a man done wrong. In this moment, I make a silent vow to remain faithful for however long he’s mine. His gaze sears into me with a ferocity that incinerates any barriers between us. Being so close to him here, in this vulnerable act, makes our temporary status unbearable. There’s no moving on from Reeve Colton. It’s never been more apparent that no one can compare to him.

  Reeve’s throat strains from the effort to belt out each note. I gulp as my pulse pounds to the beat of his tapping foot. His voice is the perfect combination of gritty and smooth. The words roll out of him as if each syllable belongs to him. These chords are a personal attachment, and he’s intimately acquainted. I want him to learn each part of me this way—sensually and irrevocably. My heart already carries a tattoo of his name, the permanent mark spreading with each beat. Can I be the ballad he croons each night for the rest of our days?

  I’m in a damn trance. He’s so consumed by the song, lost in the lyrics. I’m jealous of those notes he’s memorized, each run and measure gliding in harmony. Reeve’s eyes drift shut as he strikes a crucial line with shattering passion. I couldn’t look away if a swarm of blood-thirsty bats headed straight for me.

  The final chords fade with a silky twang of metal strings. He lowers his face, as if needing a moment after revealing so much. After a long sigh deflates his posture, Reeve climbs off the stage, a burning sea of bright blue heading straight for me.

  “Wow.” I cough to clear the smoky lust from my voice. My sluggish brain attempts to process and replay each second. “I’m no talent agent, but you’re really incredible. That was… just, wow.”

  If I’m not mistaken, a blush stains his cheeks. “Nah, it’s just for fun.”

  I ghost my lips over that red hue. “Well, I’m a fan.”

  “You want my autograph?” He leans into my touch.

  “Yes, please. But seriously, you’re crazy amazing. I’m trembling just from listening to that.”

  Reeve kisses me, long and slow, leaving another permanent tattoo on my heart. “I wanted to give you something to remember me by.”

  That earns him a light shove. “As if I could ever forget you. Plus, I’ll be gone for barely more than a week.”

  His nose brushes mine. “It doesn’t matter. One minute is too long.”

  With that, my fate is sealed. I love Reeve Colton—it’s official. Not the simple, breezy kind that’s easy to wiggle free of. Nope. I’m completely trapped and floating in a romantic bubble built for two. But only one of us stands inside, and that means I’m totally screwed.

  I lift my chin at Buck to signal for another Coors. He ambles off to fetch my order with a flick of his hairy wrist. In the meantime, I polish off the one in my hand. The beer tastes worse than cigarette ash, but I guzzle it down all the same. I’m stuck in the revolving hangover phase between Christmas and the new year. My wheels have been spinning without direction since Audria left five days ago.

  The stool beside me creaks with movement. “Are we just gonna sit in silence all night?”

  “Feel free to find better company,” I mutter.

  Gavin shoves my arm hard enough to knock me sideways. “Why’re you being
such a boob?”

  I straighten with a muffled groan. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

  He hikes a shoulder. “They just hang out all day, looking fine as fuck. Not good for conversation, though—unless you’re motorboating those fun bags. I had a point to make in there, but it got lost when I started thinking about tits.”

  I barely listen to him, busying myself with palming the cold bottle Buck drops off. “Audria has the greatest set of cans.”

  “Wouldn’t know,” he mutters.

  “As you shouldn’t.” I swallow a mouthful of bitter fizz. Does this piss water even contain alcohol?

  Gavin pastes on a smile wide enough to compete with a birthday clown. “Being a selfish prick doesn’t make you very popular.”

  That trash doesn’t elicit a response. Besides, my wavering focus wobbles across the room, attempting to peel apart the clash of colors. The Salt Lick is far too noisy for a typical Tuesday afternoon. All the needless chatter is a vise against my temples.

  I pinch my eyes shut. “Does Buck have holiday specials running, or why the fuck is it so crowded?”

  “People are celebrating, like we should be.” His voice borders on nagging.

  It might as well be nails on a chalkboard. That image makes me think of a classroom, which flashes to an image of Audria with a ruler. Dammit, why am I so obsessed? The liquor is diminishing my filter, or what’s left of it.

  “This sucks worse than yesterday,” I drone.

  My apparent friend claps me on the shoulder. “That’s all on you, man. You’re a serious fun sponge without my gal pal in tow.”

  I give him the finger. I think it’s the middle one, at least. “Thanks, asshole.”

  “See? Fucking grump. What’s your deal?”

  I drain more of my Coors. “I don’t wanna discuss it.”

  “We’re sitting at the bar, drinking beers, watching football replays. This is the time to talk,” he urges.

  Gavin is like a brother to me. I’ve always been able to tell him anything. But these feelings are new and terrifying as fuck. I’m not sure I can trust him to listen without gloating and tossing out a few taunts for good measure. He makes a gruff noise, rolling his hand in a circular motion.