#thinkin of doing longer snippets one of these days bc rn i only do like four pages worth

[kennedyslvr]

TENNESSEE WHISKEY, STRAWBERRY WINE — CHAPTER 10 (AO3)

woo! double digit chapters baby! lessgoooo!

chapter is kinda tame but i love building the relationship tension. 🤍 hope u all enjoy it nonetheless!

full chapter here!

The sound of my phone vibrating on my bedside table pulls me out of my slumber. I groan deeply, my face muffled by the plushness of my pillow and the wet stickiness of drool slicked to the corner of my lips. I furrow my brow, hoping that tiny vibration was just a trick of my ears, and that I’m still deep within my dreams.

I had dreamt of him. Again. Most of my recent dreams have revolved around him. His voice. His warmth. His scent. My brain turns to mush when it comes to the likes of that man, and I don't entirely mind it. Then again, I've always had a little bit of a fascination with older men. I don't know why—I like to blame such a fascination on all of the smut I read in my spare time.

My phone vibrates once more, this time telling me that I was indeed not in my dreams where me and the ranch hand are sharing a drink and cosy conversation in front of a fire without any clothes on. I let out a soft whine, pouting as I thrust my arm out from under the warmth of my gray waffle-textured comforter and feel around for my phone. My fingers clutch it at the edge of the bedside table and I pull it towards me, rolling onto my back with a low grunt.

I was right to change out this mattress. Memory foam is perhaps the best thing I have ever slept on—no noisy springs to contend with or risk digging into my naked flesh. I blink away the blurry vision as I peered at my phone, first noting the time—just after nine in the morning—before seeing the new notification.

An email alert.

I’m positive that I’d turned on my out-of-office status before flying out here, but as I go to click on the notification to check out the message, I already know exactly who had sent it.

Below is the important work that you have been hired to do, and that you have been neglecting. We can't all jet off to sun ourselves in the country. Please get to it soon, before the next quarterly meeting. Don’t disappoint me, Deanna.

Of course—out of office statuses do not truly exist to my mother. How this alert has managed to come through when I have most definitely—I had checked before reading the email—turned off the notifications is a conundrum that I don't really care to solve right now.

I’m presented with two options—ignore the woman, and risk her calling me incessantly until I follow her orders. Or, I respond back to her email and remind her again that I’m out of office right now, and would be out of office for the foreseeable future.

But even then, that would also result in a phone call, most likely. I deliberate over each option carefully before going with the latter. I hit the ‘compose email’ button and began to type.

If you couldn’t already tell by my status on Teams, I am out of office for the foreseeable future due to a family emergency that you could not be bothered to concern yourself with. I am not ‘sunning myself in the country', I am spending valuable time with the grandfather you dragged me away from when I was a child. When I decide to come back to work, I will look at the work you have sent me. Until then, fix the situation yourself. You ran this company well enough without me before—you can do it again.

I can already hear her admonishing me for my lack of manners as I pressed ‘send’, letting my email loose. But I don't care for that woman’s judgement right now—she has already ruined a perfectly good morning.

I groan again, throwing my head back against the plush pillows. I squeeze my eyes shut and lift my hand to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose and uttering incoherently under my breath. Then I squeak as a sharp knock thumps on my bedroom door—a familiar three knocks in quick succession.

I clear my throat, pulling the blanket up a little more around my naked frame—well, underwear-clad frame. I like sleeping in my underwear, it was more comfortable. Especially now that I’m not in UK climates anymore but in hot-as-balls Southern Texas.

With my modesty preserved, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Come in.” I yawn. The doorknob rattles as it turns, and Grandpa leans up against the wood frame. He has his coffee in hand, as always, and I highly doubt that it’s the decaf coffee beans I had bought from the grocery store yesterday in an attempt to replace his regular dark blend.