Emmy's POV
Being carried down a public street by a giant, grumpy man draws attention. I can feel the stares of every passerby, every curiosity in their gaze.
"Carson, put me down. People are staring," I hissed, squirming in his arms.
He didn't even glance at them. His hold just tightened. "This is the only way I know you'll actually get to the car without deciding to go back and steal his priceless art collection."
"I was considering the vase," I muttered, but I stopped struggling. What was the use? The man was a brick wall.
I decided to change tactics. "You have to be getting tired. I'm on the plus side you know. And quite heavy."
He adjusted me effortlessly, his arms not even straining. "Nice try. Now stop wriggling."
A laugh bubbled out of me. "This was just like a scene from my book, Dazed, where the male lead is being wildly possessive. A tad psychotic, too, if we're being honest. You know, this is very Ronan Black of you. All you're missing is the threatening glare and the public spanking."
Smack.
He spanked me again. Right there on the sidewalk with a thousand eyes on us.
I yelped, more from surprise than pain, and then started laughing uncontrollably.
I know...I know, being spanked by my grump of a husband twice in the span of twenty minutes should elicit something more than uncontrollably laughter but if I had a bucket list,being spanked by an attractive man who literally swept me off my feet would top that list, it was a dream come true.
He was treating me like a girl...his girl.
I felt the rumble of his own laughter vibrate through his chest. We must have looked insane—a man carrying a laughing woman, spanking her as he walked.
We kept talking, easy and light, all the way to the cars. When he finally set me down, my feet tingled. I made a beeline for the driver's side of my Aston Martin.
A firm "Nooo" stopped me.
Carson pointed a finger at me. "I'm driving you. I don't trust you not to make another 'stop'."
"How's that supposed to work? We have two cars. And I am not leaving my Aston Martin on the street, Mister."
He simply took my hand, led me to the passenger side, and opened the door. Then he held out his palm. "Key."
I blinked. How in the hell's name did he make telling me what and what not to do so damn sexy. If it was another man, he would be curled up on the floor, bleeding.
I do not take being told what to do well...never have.
"Carson—"
"I'll have someone pick up my truck. Give me the key, Emilia."
With a sigh, I dropped the key into his waiting hand. He was just too bossy to argue with when he used that tone.
As he drove us out of the city, I asked him about Willow Creek. His whole face softened. It was like the was talking about his favorite thing in the world.
"It's… a place," he started, a smile playing on his lips. "Where everyone knows everyone. Too nosy. Too warm. Mrs. Jenkins will have a pie for you before you've even unpacked, and old Mr. Gable will know you bought milk before you even get home."
I watched him. Was I wrong? "You hate all those things." I told him anyway.
"I do," he admitted freely.
"So why stay?"
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes on the road. "It's where I met the love of my life. It's home for me."
Oh.
The word landed like a stone in my stomach.
Right. Liliana. Sometimes, in the wild chaos of the last two days, I forgot. I forgot that life didn't start yesterday. I forgot he was a stranger with a whole past, a man who had loved and lost so deeply that a whole town was a monument to her.
A stranger who had my back more than anyone except Lark and Dad. A stranger who made me feel things I'd never felt, but whose heart was already spoken for, even in death.
I must have gone quiet. He noticed, of course he did. Carson noticed everything.
"You hungry?" he asked, his voice deliberately light. "There's a good diner up ahead."
He pulled into a parking lot next to a place called 'Big Betty's'. The air inside smelled like old grease and fried onions.
I stared at the menu, at the pictures of food that looked like they'd been deep-fried in motor oil. My stomach did a small, unhappy flip.
Carson followed my gaze. Before I could say I'd manage, he waved the waitress over.
"Do you have any… healthier options?" he asked her.
She snorted, not unkindly. "Nope. But the new-age psychos down the road do. It'll cost you triple, though."
Without a word, Carson picked up his untouched food, took my elbow, and guided me out.
I protested, "Carson, wait, I'll eat the burger! It's fine!"
He just shook his head and drove us to the bright, clean, and terrifyingly expensive cafe down the street. I sneaked a peek into Lark's wallet while he ordered. A few lonely coins stared back at me. I started counting them quietly in my palm, my face heating with shame.
Carson didn't even look at me. He just paid.
"I'll pay you back," I whispered as the cashier handed him the receipt.
He just asked, "You want a drink?" His eyes scanned the colorful board and so, did mine.
He saw me pause on a picture of a bubble tea, swirling with pink and white but I shook my head quickly. I didn't want to be more of a burden to him.
"I'll take a cup of the pink one," he told the cashier, pulling out his wallet again.
"Carson, no," I said, a little too loudly now. "You don't have that kind of money to just spend on silly drinks! You are broke!"
I saw him freeze. I saw the cashier's eyes widen.
Crap! I had done the one thing I never meant to do. I had embarrassed him.
"Thank you" He said to the cashier.
He grabbed the bubble tea cup, and without a single word, he turned and walked out.
My heart plummeted. I clutched my stupid, expensive breakfast and ran after him.
"Carson! Wait!"
He was walking so fast, his strides eating up the pavement.
"Carson, slow down!"
I finally caught up, my breath hitching.
"Carson, I'm—"
He spun around so abruptly I almost crashed into him. His eyes haunted me.
"I might not be Vanderbilt or Astor rich, Emilia," he said, his voice low and tight with hurt. "But I can buy my wife breakfast!"
And then, to my absolute horror, my eyes filled with tears. Seeing him that angry must have triggered something in me.
"I'm sorry, okay? People don't usually pay for breakfast for me!"
The anger vanished from his face in an instant, replaced by pure, panicked distress.
"Emmy? Oh, hell. Sweetheart, don't cry." He fumbled, his big hands coming up to cradle my face, his thumbs wiping my tears.
His voice dropped to a soft, hushed murmur. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. Please don't cry."
"I didn't mean to embarrass you," I choked out between shaky breaths. "I'm so sorry."
"You're forgiven. It's forgiven, okay? You just have to stop crying. It kills me."
I took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, wiping my face with the back of my hand.
I smiled, suddenly feeling much better and quite hungry.
"Okay. Good. You know, I'm really grateful I'm not being controlled by my pregnancy hormones. That could have been much worse."
He nodded slowly like he was saying he wasn't touching that comment even with a two hundred pound of electric pole.
We got back in the car. A little while later, we drove past a wooden sign, faded by the sun. Welcome to Willow Creek.
I sat up straight, my hands folded in my lap. I looked at the quiet main street, the old-fashioned shops, the towering trees, and I sent a silent prayer into the universe.
Be kind to me, Willows Creek.