ONE YEAR LATER
CASEY
My favorite time of day on the farm was sunrise, especially in the fall.
This morning I woke to golden light streaming in through the curtains, falling against Hank’s face. I blinked awake, taking him in as he lay next to me. He looked so peaceful in his sleep; so perfect. I reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his temple, the glow of the sun seeming to expand in my chest.
I could wake him—Hank was another great way to start the day. Over the summer, when Hank wasn’t on shift, I’d let myself wake up slowly, luxuriating in the feel of summer sheets and the soft rhythm of Hank’s breathing. After a few minutes, I’d roll over and scooch my back up against his hard body. A warm glow would take over me as his arm slid over my side as it always did, pulling me tight against him.
More often than not, I’d soon feel the sleepy jump of his hardness at my backside.
When that happened, Hank’s first words of the morning would be a whisper in my ear. “You do this on purpose, don’t you?” Or, “I love you.” Still other times, it was, “I want you.”
All the words worked. Hell, Hank could recite the alphabet, and I’d still roll over for him. Once or twice, when Sam was spending the weekend at Graydon’s, we spent the entire day in bed, both of us hopping back into the sheets after quickly tending to the animals.
Although Mr. Furryneck always seemed to know when I was trying to sneak away fast, making snorts of disapproval and tucking his head under my hand. It was as if he thought I should spend the day with him, stroking his fur and telling him how handsome he was.
Since we’d transitioned into fall, I mostly restrained myself from jumping Hank—in the mornings, anyway. Long nights at the station would wear on him if he didn’t rest. Even though Hank’s version of being exhausted and crabby was him going quiet and yawning a lot, or sometimes getting emotional over silly things like TV commercials, I liked him well-rested.
Last night, Sam had gone for a sleepover at Jeremiah’s (who’d toned down a lot over the past year). He wouldn’t be home until later that afternoon. But Hank had come in late last night. When he crawled in next to me, I’d been sleeping so soundly all I remembered was the damp of his hair on my cheek—still wet from his shower at the station—and the scent of his shampoo as he kissed my neck.
This morning, I gave Hank a kiss on the cheek, forcing myself to let him rest. Although, when his stubble brushed my lips, I was sorely tempted. I slipped out of bed before I could change my mind, pulling on some woolly socks, and headed downstairs, the wood treads creaking comfortingly as I walked. Even though the house had been gutted to make way for new insulation, electrical, and everything else a fully functional modern home needed, I’d made Graydon keep the original farmhouse features, including the old wooden staircase. Sam liked to slide down the very bannister I used to when I visited my grandparents’ place at his age.
I felt a little twist of old sadness in my chest as I thought about how I didn’t know when I was his age, that I would later call this place home when my parents died.
I hadn’t thought about them in a long time, but as I slipped into the kitchen, I hummed the song I remember Mom singing sometimes as she made breakfast before the rest of us woke up.
I’d set the coffee to brew at the crack of dawn as encouragement to get out of bed. After pouring myself a mug, I stepped out into my newly renovated veranda, which faced southeast. It was the perfect spot to watch the sun come up.
Some mornings I brought a journal with me down here, jotting down notes for my jewelry business, or things I wanted to get done around the farm.
This morning though, I just wanted to enjoy the sunrise. I didn’t have any urgent production deadlines. All of September and a good chunk of the summer I’d been prepping for the Autumn Fair, which happened last weekend. I’d had my best sales day yet, selling out of my signature obsidian wrap earrings and pendants. The next event was the Christmas Fair, but I didn’t need to ramp up work for that for another week.
So, instead of thinking about my beloved jewelry business, I settled back on the wrought iron daybed I’d set up here for just this purpose, wrapping my hands around my piping hot mug. The mug was one of a set I’d bought from my new friend Morgan, a potter who lived over on Opal Lake who made stunning ceramics with colorful glazes.
As I looked out over the rolling hills of my farm, this morning lightly frosted and lit up in sunrise oranges and yellows, I thought about how grateful I was for where my life was now.
For how far I’d come.
I remembered my mornings with Karl—I’d liked the peace of being up there above the rumble of New York City. But those mornings had nothing on these. When I sat up there sipping my orange juice and planning my day, I hadn’t known what that jagged thing underneath had been.
Now, a lifetime later, I finally knew. There were holes in my heart. One shaped like the farm, and one shaped like Hank. When Sam was born I was sure I’d be whole again, and in a way, I was. If all I had was Sam, I’d survive.
But having it all? The farm, and most mind-boggling of all, Hank? I often felt like I’d won the lottery.
“How did I know I’d find you here?”
Hank’s voice, gravelly with sleep, cut into my thoughts.
He stood in the doorway, his hand wrapped around another of Morgan’s mugs. He was shirtless and so sexily sleep-rumpled a surge of warmth spread in my lower half.
How could he do that to me just by entering a room?
I smiled, feeling the warmth spread all the way to my toes. I was so lucky. Beyond lucky. “You found me here because it’s the second best place in the house.”
Hank came towards me in what might be called a swagger. “Oh yeah? Where’s the first?”
I lifted a brow. “I think you know.”
“Next to me?” He sat down next to me and burrowed his face into my neck, nipping at my collarbone. Somehow, he didn’t spill a drop of either of our coffees.
“Yes,” I laughed. “Always, next to you.”
Hank settled in next to me, giving me a long, languorous kiss that sent more liquid warmth all through me, before leaning back against the giant pillows. He threw his free arm around me, sighing contentedly as I leaned into him.
From here, I could see a sliver of Ruby Lake over the farthest hill, sparkling in the morning light.
I ran my hand over Hank’s arm, my fingers sliding down the lumpy, braided skin of his scar. A thought came to me then, the one that had lingered like the slightest shadow as I took stock of my good fortune. A shadow that sent the tiniest fissure through my total contentedness.
“Hank?” I asked. I lowered my mug onto the table next to the daybed.
His eyes were closed, an immensely satisfied smile on his face. “Yes, love?”
“Are you happy?”
He blinked his eyes open, immediately serious. “What do you mean, am I happy? I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life. Ever. I only tell you every other day.”
He got up on his elbow, putting his own coffee down. “No question, Casey.” Then his eyes took on a look of concern. No, panic. “Are you happy?”
“Yes, Hank. God, yes. It’s just…” I struggled for the right words. It was like I was pulling them from some deep part of me, some old, pained part of me that couldn’t believe I could be this happy.
That I didn’t deserve it.
I thought I’d put that part of me to rest, but it was as if this was some final piece I needed to expunge. To make absolutely sure.
“I’m happy,” I said. “Sincerely. But we’ve both been through so much. Our lives have been… characterized by heartbreak. People we’ve loved have passed, and we spun so far away from each other for so long…”
“We found our way back to each other,” Hank said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Yes,” I said. “I know. But it feels like…” I looked out over the autumn trees lit up like flames. “I feel like it’s too good to be true. Like the other shoe has to drop.”
Hank studied me for a moment, his eyes swirling with emotion. Then he sat up, so we were facing each other, and took my hand in his.
“Casey, it’s okay for you to be happy. None of what happened to you—to us—none of it is your fault. It’s not.”
He hesitated.
“My therapist…” He looked down, as if embarrassed, then into my eyes once more. “My therapist keeps reminding me that our brains and our hearts are always trying to protect us. To look out for us, even though sometimes the messaging we get is scrambled. But Case, you don’t have to earn happy. All of this—” He swept his hand around the room, to the vintage window panes lining the veranda, to the table and chairs at the other end, and to Jewel Lakes County beyond. “All of us—you, me, Sam—we’re not here because you had to suffer. We’re here despite what you went through. You don’t need to hurt to be happy.”
The words unwound the stiffness that had lodged itself in my heart. I knew, logically, that I had nothing to be ashamed of. That just because I’d been happy before and it had all fallen apart didn’t mean I was predestined to lose things. But I needed to hear it from Hank. I needed to know he wasn’t worried. Because if he wasn’t, I didn’t have to be either.
A hot tear rolled down my cheek. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“You were just your beautiful, loving, kind, amazing self. You got into my heart all those years ago when we were kids, and you never left. Even if you ended up across the world, a million miles from me, you’d still be there.”
“You’re sure?” I asked. I choked back the tears threatening to spill.
“I’m positive.”
I reveled in this revolutionary thought. I could just be happy.
My heart felt as if it had been buoyed by balloons.
“I have another strange feeling, Hank,” I said after a moment. I got up on my knees in front of him, cupping his face with both my hands. I kissed him, slow and soft. Then, against his lips, I said, “I feel like things might just get better and better with us.”
Hank seemed to stiffen under me, and for a moment, I wondered if he’d misheard me somehow.
Then he got up and strode over to the table. There were a handful of jars decorating its surface—some of Margot’s ceramics and some others I’d picked up with Sadie while antique shopping. He lifted the lid of what looked like an old sugar jar and pulled something out of it.
Though I didn’t see what it was, my stomach jolted.
“That feeling you have,” Hank said as he came over to me. “It isn’t strange. I didn’t think there was such thing as better than perfect, but there is. It’s us. Together. In this place. As a family.”
He was nervous, I realized, just as he opened his hand. In his palm lay a ring—a moonstone oval with diamonds ringed around it.
I recognized the ring—I’d mentioned I saw it in Sadie’s shop almost a whole year ago, right after the whole incident with Karl. I hadn’t meant it as a hint—I’d just genuinely thought it was beautiful, and it matched my style perfectly. I’d named it amongst of a bunch of things I saw that day.
But he’d gotten it and held onto it for a whole year. He knew I wasn’t ready earlier, that I was still recovering from everything that had happened. I was busy setting up my business and renovating the house and farm.
“Hank,” I whispered, through my fingers. “You remembered.”
“I couldn’t forget,” he said, as he lowered himself onto one knee. “I could never forget.” Hank’s eyes locked onto mine. “Casey, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
I didn’t need even a half second to consider. It had always been Hank. Through all of it, he was the steady heart that beat next to mine.
“Yes, Hank. Always and forever, yes.”
Hank’s eyes were wet. “Phew,” he said.
I laugh-cried as he slipped the ring on my finger. It was a perfect fit, no doubt thanks to Sadie somehow figuring out what size I wore. I’d have to give her grief about keeping this giant secret from me for so long.
Hank leaped back on the bed and took me in his arms. He kissed me long and deep, and I felt the wet of his lashes against my cheek.
Then he burrowed his face into my neck, kissing and nuzzling my skin. “I love you, Casey Mitchell. Now and always.”
Hank’s lips brushed against my ear, and just like that, the warm glow in my abdomen spiked into something hot, spreading fast through my whole body.
Hank must have sensed it because his teeth came down on my earlobe. “I think we should celebrate,” he said, his tongue flicking my earlobe.
“How do you suggest we do that?” I asked.
He slid his hands down and bunched the hem of the oversized t-shirt I’d worn to bed—one of his—lifting it up to my ribs. I wore only a thin slip of underwear underneath.
“By eating you for breakfast,” he said, his lips curling into a grin.
I squealed as Hank pulled the shirt up over my head, tossing it on the floor. Then he lowered me onto my back, knocking pillows aside to make room.
I closed my eyes, letting sensation take over. He made a line of little kisses between my breasts. Then he traced the same line with his tongue.
I shuddered, lifting up into him. Then he brought his mouth to my nipple and tugged, gently but insistently, with his lips and tongue and teeth.
“Yes,” I said, breathing hard.
Hank toyed with my other nipple with his finger and thumb, gently pinching and tugging.
I moaned under his touch, my hips writhing.
“You want me?” he asked as he drew his hand down my belly.
“I need you,” I said.
His hand glided over my underwear, moving his hands in circles over the fabric until I whimpered with need. Hank let out a groan against my breasts, and I knew he could feel my wetness soaking through.
What was it about this man? Even after more than a year since we’d gotten back together, and all the years we were together before, he still made me ache, both in body and soul?
Hank slid my underwear sideways, dipping two of his fingers inside of me, making me gasp.
“Hank,” I breathed, as he deepened his touch.
Waves ran through me, bringing me dangerously close to the edge. The world tilted as I arched my back, pressing myself against his hand. I was fucking his fingers, desperate for him. “Hank, please.”
“Tell me again.”
“I want you.”
Abruptly, Hank got off the daybed. I gasped at the absence of him. But he kneeled before me, hooking his fingers into my waistband and pulling my underwear down, tossing it aside. Then, with his hands on my knees, he parted my thighs.
This man. This gorgeous, sexy man. I always wanted him, in all the ways I could have him.
“I love you,” I whispered. It didn’t matter if he heard me or not. It was the truth—so clear and so pure in that moment.
“Casey,” Hank said as he looked at me, his expression almost pained. “God, Casey.” Then he bent down and buried his face in my pussy. I moaned louder at the feeling of his breath on me. When his tongue met my clit, a lightning bolt of pleasure shot through me. My body spasmed, then went loose, like I had no control over it. Like all that existed was Hank and his touch. Then his fingers returned, slipping inside of me, curling against my g-spot.
There was no hope for me then. I came, loud and hard, bucking and grinding under him, sweat slicking every part of me, even in the cool air of the space.
Just as I finished and caught my breath, his tongue returned, probing my already swollen clit and making me come so hard I saw stars. I ground my hips against him as my climax sent me somewhere so exquisite that for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
When I finally came back down to earth, Hank stood before me, his cock hard under his gray sweatpants.
“Good lord,” I said, getting up on my elbows. Despite the surge from a moment before, my pussy tightened at the sight. “You know gray sweatpants are a thing, right?”
Hank grinned. “Even if they’re off?”
With a quick flip to his waistband, he dropped them to the floor.
I sat up fully, beckoning him toward me. “Here,” I demanded, reaching for him. I slid down onto my knees on the floor, taking him in my mouth. The tip of his shaft was wet as it passed through my lips; the taste like salt. I nearly came again when his cock hit the back of my throat.
Hank groaned, “Casey…” he said. Then he pulled himself out of my mouth. “I have to fuck you, Casey. I can’t not fuck you right now, with your taste on my tongue.”
As I backed up to sitting on the bed, he came forward, his hand on his cock. It looked so good, so thick and hard and full. I reached for it again, but he put his hand on my shoulder and gently but firmly pushed me back onto the bed.
“I told you I’m going to fuck you,” he said. Then he bent over me. Lifting one of my legs back so my knee hooked over his shoulder, he hovered there for a moment, the tip of his cock at my entrance.
He looked into my eyes, his expression serious. Then the corner of his mouth turned up, and just as I opened my mouth to beg for him, he plunged into me.
This time, I screamed with pleasure.
This only made Hank thrust harder. “Yes,” he said, as he slammed in and out of me. “Tell me, Casey.”
“It feels so good,” I said, my voice shaking with the movement of him. Explosions went off inside of me, the sensation of him filling me so complete. “So good when you fuck me hard like this.”
The freedom of not holding back, of saying whatever I wanted, making whatever sounds I wanted, of arching under Hank as he slammed into me, was indescribable.
He had to feel it too, because he groaned, loud and hard, his whole body tensing on a final, deep plunge. I felt his seed fill me and that was enough that when I drew my hand to my own body, circling my clit for only a moment, I came immediately, clenching around him a final, shuddering time.
Hank rolled off me and for a few moments, we both lay there panting. I felt like the world was spinning around us, like our own planet.
“Thank you,” he said finally, still catching his breath.
“For what?” I asked.
He rolled over, resting his head in my hand. “For saying yes. And for showing me the truth. For being you.”
I bent my face into him, resting my forehead against his shoulder. “That’s what we’ll do, okay? We’ll help each other out. Even perfection will be hard sometimes, but as long as we’re together, we can do anything.”
I pulled back to take in his face.
He was looking down on me, his expression wide open. “I love you, Casey Mitchell.”
I ran a hand down his scarred arm. I loved every part of him. Every scar and every memory, every then and every now.
“I love you Hank Archer,” I whispered. “Now and always.”
* * *
Thanks for reading this bonus scene! I loved getting to revisit Casey and Hank and hope you did too.
Want more Jewel Lakes? Potter Morgan Carter gets her story in the Jewel Lakes Holiday Special: FINDING HIS CHEER, available now.
Plus, don’t miss the final Jewel Lakes Series story–Jewel Lakes Series Book Five: ALL YOUR FAULT, coming October 27, 2021!
