I’m impressed.
More than that, I’m proud of him for stepping up. He seems to be really trying, and bad attitude and overly sexual banter aside—I truly think he’s going to make a great dad to her.
I also think that information is terrible for my hormones.
“Jesus,” he murmurs suddenly, tapping the back of my hand. “Don’t think you can ignore her anymore, darlin’. She’s about to steal your nut butter.”
Cheeks burning from the nickname, I whirl to find Mrs. Whittaker grinning like a feral cat. Her muumuu is pink leopard print today, and—bless us all—she’s wearing a bra.
“And Kade,” she sing-songs, waving around one of my jars, “if you’re gonna pick fights with pretty women in the grocery store, ’least buy her dinner first.”
“Mrs. Whittaker, please—”
“Don’t ‘Mrs. Whittaker’me like I haven’t seen you buck-ass naked before.”
Kade chokes and I gasp.
“You what now?” he rasps, beating his chest.
“Gotta go,” she chirps, spinning her cart toward the produce. “My show’s on. I’m just here for cucumbers, eggplants, and olive oil.”
Kade blinks. “What the hell are you making with—”
I elbow him hard in the gut. He doubles over with a groan. “What the fuck, Walker?”
“Don’t you dare ask,” I hiss. “If she tells us, I will dig out both my eardrums.”
Then I spin my cart and storm off down the aisle, heart racing, pulse pounding, and cheeks on fire.
I need space, air, and sanity.
Because if I stay one more second, I’m going to do something insane—like kiss Kade Archer.
Or buy a cucumber I absolutely do not need but will find a use for while imagining just howloudthe grumpy cowboy can make me scream.
Chapter Thirteen
Come on, Lassie. You can do it.
“Rise and shine, Daddy!”
I squint through the split in my fingers, brain foggy and absolutely not ready for whatever fresh hell this is. But no matter how many times I blink, the hallucination doesn’t go away.
Griffin Sterling and Wilder Reed.
Two men I’ve trusted through gunfire, blackout nights, and too many bad decisions to count. Brothers in everything but blood.
Also? Two men who live several states away and haveno fucking reasonto be standing on my doorstep right now.
“Why do you look like you just woke up? It’s four pm,” Griffin barks as he shoves me aside and storms into my living room like he owns the place.
“Because I did,” I mutter.
Wilder’s right behind him, arms full of bags and a manic glint in his eyes like he’s been snorting energy drinks. He spins in a slow circle, brows high, mouth open.
“This is…”
“Quaint?” Griff chokes out, Tennessee accent thick as he drops one singular duffle bag onto my kitchen table. “Small but—”
