Silent Hearts (Hamilton Stables 3) (14 page)

T
he day was impossibly bright, the sky cloudless and blue, the birds singing their salute to the morning. And Becca couldn’t stop smiling.

She stretched in bed and glanced at the time, only to realize she’d woken an hour earlier than usual. For as long as Becca could remember, her natural wake-up time was eight o’clock. Whether she went to bed at ten
P.M.
or two
A.M.
, she woke at eight in the morning. But today she was up at seven, and not just awake but energized and ready for her day. Like something huge was about to happen and she couldn’t remain in bed another second. And that something went by the name Nick Hamilton.

A tingly sensation spiraled through her belly at the thought of him, and she smiled wide. Butterflies. Becca Stark, waitress extraordinaire, had butterflies.

It was all too much.

So to force herself to stop being silly and go about her day like it was just another normal day, not the first day that she and Nick were together-together in Triple Run—she pushed out of bed and wrapped her favorite fleece robe around her. The morning air held all the chill of fall and Becca’s grin widened. She loved fall. She loved mornings. She loved every single thing about this day. But mostly, she loved that she could finally show her true feelings around Nick.

No more glancing away when he changed shirts because she didn’t want to get caught checking him out. No more uncomfortable silences when he talked about dates. No more embarrassment at being caught saying his name in her sleep. Granted, that had happened only the one time after she’d fallen asleep on his couch during a movie, but it had taken Nick six months to stop chiding her about it.

She shuffled into her kitchen, flicked on the light, and then quickly pressed the Power button on her ancient Mr. Coffee coffeemaker three times to get it to turn on. Finally, the little green light was lit and Becca sighed with relief. Every morning she came into her kitchen, pressed the coffeemaker Power button three times, and every morning she held her breath until the light came on. Because what in the hell would she do at seven or eight in the morning if it decided it’d had enough of her shenanigans and quit for good? But then, how stupid was it to worry about whether she could make a cup of coffee or not? No one kept around a coffeemaker as old as this one, and no one put up with a coffeemaker that required you to press the Power button three times before it turned on. So why should she?

She shouldn’t.

Once the coffee was brewing, she sat down at her kitchen table, pulled out her laptop, and went to Walmart.com. At first, she sorted coffeemakers by price and was prepared to select something less than twenty dollars, but then her gaze locked on a Keurig, and as she read each delicious detail, she found herself going through all the reasons she needed a Keurig in her life. Less waste. Quicker output. Awesome coffee. Super cool features and a thousand different K-Cup flavors.

With a quick search to check prices, she watched as a dozen options populated the screen, each price point more offensive than the last. She moved her mouse to the little X, convinced she couldn’t pay that much when hers still worked.

But then she decided
screw that
. She had money in the bank, paid her bills on time, and worked forty to fifty hours per week. She shouldn’t have to press the Power button three times on her coffeemaker to get a cup of coffee. That was crap, and she was ready to give herself the things she deserved. Because she did deserve things. Nice things. Her whole life had been for others, and it was time she did something for herself.

Starting with the Keurig.

She found the one she liked, midpriced because though she wanted the thing, she wasn’t ready to throw two hundred dollars at it.

“So there.” Then she decided that she could use some new towels in her bathroom and added a few of those. And why not a new quilt set for her bed? And oh, oh, new sheets were a must.

Finally, after an hour of searching and adding things, that smile of hers cemented in place, she went to her shopping cart to pay and snapped back.

All right, a thousand dollars spent at Walmart might be excessive.

So she went through and chose the things she really needed, including the Keurig, and some of those fancy K-Cups because she wasn’t sure the market carried them. Then, content with her accomplishment so early in the day, she went to her coffeemaker, poured some into her favorite mug, added some sugar and hazelnut creamer, then went back to sit in her chair.

The application for University of Kentucky was still up in browser, taunting her to stop thinking and just do it. Do or die. It was a phrase her daddy used to use all the time, forever the doer—and never the saver—but there was something to it.

Taking a sip of her coffee, she moved the mouse to her favorites and hovered over the University of Kentucky application. She’d taken the SAT and had the scores sent there automatically. They might be there right now, everything in place, ready for her to apply. But could she really do this? Could she go to school with kids ten years younger than her, go back and forth between Triple Run and Lexington, work a forty-plus-hour week while getting her degree?

She pictured herself in nurses’ scrubs, caring for a little girl in the hospital as those nurses had cared for her.

Yes. Yes, she could. And it was time to stop thinking about all the things she couldn’t do and focus instead on all the things she
could
do.

With one giant breath in and out to push away the fear and another long sip of coffee, she filled out the application, unsure about half of it. Her nerves coiled tight as she read through each question and doubt settled over her. What if she went to all this trouble and didn’t get in?

But she
had
gotten into Duke years ago, and her grades there were fantastic. That counted for something, right? She’d had her transcripts transferred, and Kentucky might have those now.

The whole thing was coming together and the last step was to do this, apply. But maybe she wouldn’t get in, maybe they would take one look at
waitress
and
thirty-three-year-old
and laugh their asses off.

But she had to try.

Closing her eyes, she hit Send. Done. No going back now.

As if on cue, Becca heard her screen door rap shut and turned in time to find Reagan beside her, narrowly slamming into her face.

“Does that say ‘application sent’ like a college application?”

Becca closed her laptop and pushed out of her chair to go make another cup of coffee. “So what if it did?”

Reagan crossed her arms, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail like always, hints of gray peeking out at her temples. “But you’re old now. Old people don’t go to college.”

“They can if they want to.” And then she caught the other thing her sister had said and pointed at her. “And I’m not old.”

Reagan’s eyebrow shot up in mock question, and Becca hated her sister a little bit in that moment for always being able to master sass. “Older than me.”

“That doesn’t make me old. And maybe you need to worry about yourself going back to college. Or that husband of yours.” Becca poured her coffee, mixed in her cream and sugar, then did the same for her sister, her ears pricked for the long sigh she knew would come at the mention of her sister’s husband.

A part of Becca felt like the worst sister on the planet for bringing up Reagan’s crappy husband, but she needed the attention away from her. In truth, it wouldn’t take Reagan long to move on to talking about herself anyway. She couldn’t carry on a conversation without eventually directing it to herself, so Becca had merely sped up the process.

“You know that job he took at the market?”

Becca took a long sip of her coffee. “Right. As a bagger?”

“Grocery organizer.”

Now it was Becca’s turn to cock an eyebrow.

“All right, bagger. Well, anyway, he was laid off last night. They said he wasn’t a good fit for the job.”

“What happened?”

Reagan picked at her nails, took a drink of her coffee, and waved her hand through the air. “Something about smelling the fruit before he put them in the bags. He was just trying to make sure they were selling fresh produce.”

“Smelling the fruit?” Becca couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing, nearly falling over as she fought to keep her coffee from spilling on her laptop. “You’re joking.”

“Hey, it’s called being nice.”

Becca shook her head. “No, it’s called being weird. Weird as hell, in fact. Can’t you just picture him taking a big whiff of Charlotte’s melons?” Then Becca realized the double meaning and broke into fresh hysterics, unable to contain herself.

“God, shut up,” Reagan said, but she was smiling now, too. “You know I hate you, right? Only you would get lucky enough to score a Hamilton.”

“I didn’t score a Hamilton.”

“Talk is you’re kissing all over town ... and doing things in his pool.”

Oh, crap. She thought back to that night in the pool, but there was only woods around Nick’s house. “How did they ... never mind.”

Reagan pointed at her sister now. “You are so not the good child Mama and Daddy thinks you are.”

“You tell them and I’ll kill you.”

“My lips are sealed if you promise me one thing.”

Becca waited.

“Details. All the details. Something tells me that Nick Hamilton is a lot kinkier than his glasses lets on.”

Becca thought of her and Nick’s time in the Keys, the things he’d done to her in bed—numerous times—and decided, yeah, he might just be.

 

Nick set out the ingredients he’d picked up at the market on his kitchen island. He knew Becca loved fish, and he planned to grill her the best fish of her life. Add in some fried squash and asparagus, white wine—because she liked it, even though she thought it was uppity—and French bread because the woman would eat her weight in bread if she could, and he had all the ingredients for a delicious, homemade meal. Becca’s favorite kind.

The thought of taking care of her like this, treating her to something special, made him happy in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t just about spending time with her. He wanted to show her, over and over again, how much she meant to him.

Which his brothers would probably say meant something, but while Nick was eager to shower Becca with affection, he wasn’t ready to drop down on one knee, confess his love for her, and plan a spring wedding in the Square.

Still, their relationship had just begun, and he had time to figure out what he wanted and how much he could offer her. That decision didn’t have to be made today.

For today, they had plans to hit the festival, or the mayor would surely hunt him down, and then come back to his house for dinner ... and other things. Lots of other things if he hoped to top their time in the Keys. And he was more than a little excited for her to stay in his house for the first time. Though, in truth, it wasn’t the first time. Or the second. Or the hundredth.

But it was the first in which they would share the same bed. And though a part of Nick wanted to delay the overnight so he could work through how he’d be with Becca in the same house where he’d been with Britt, the rest of him was eager for her to arrive. To stay as long as she was willing.

But first, they had to survive the festival.

With a quick glance outside to check the weather, Nick went to work seasoning the fish and placing it in Ziploc bags to marinate, then put everything into the fridge. He took out a beer and decided that early or not, he needed a little liquid courage. They’d gone on the weekend getaway to the Keys and they had flaunted their relationship a bit at the market, but that wasn’t the same thing as holding hands in the middle of the Square and announcing to all of Triple Run that they were officially together. A couple. Exclusivity and all.

Nick wanted to protect Becca from all the extra gossip that surrounded the Hamiltons, but the problem was it had already begun. The town had separated into two sides—first there were those who felt their relationship could be disastrous for the emotional state of the town. Becca was well loved at the diner and that was the best place to get a full breakfast. Where would the trustees meet if Becca and Nick broke up?

Then there were those in town who found the whole thing romantic, the Cinderella story, the best-friends-to-lovers story, all of it right there. A Lifetime Movie played out right before them. They’d watched Nick and Becca grow up wrapped around each other, laughing and joking and getting into as much trouble as possible. And now they were kissing.

It had a Kodak moment thing to it, and nobody liked postcard moments as much as the people of Triple Run.

Nick glanced at the wall clock over his sofa, and a swirl of nervousness curled through his stomach. Wow, was he really nervous to see Becca? Becca who he’d been around several times a week since he was eight years old? Becca who’d seen him covered in chicken pox and still come over despite warnings from her parents to stay away?

Somehow that Becca and the one he wanted in his arms, in his bed, weren’t the same in his mind.

This Becca was all woman, beautiful and sexy and funny and kind. He couldn’t get enough of her. He never wanted this to end.

Suddenly that realization sent another flurry of uneasiness through him, but he pushed it away. They weren’t making statements or promises of anything at all. They were having fun while getting to know each other in a new way.

Still, he cared about her, and a large part of him wanted to be the man for her. He wanted to take care of her, he wanted to be the man she would seek when she was afraid, the one she would seek when she was excited—the person by her side for the rest of her life.

Damn, when did that happen?