Kade is taller than me, maybe by seven or eight inches. But with me in my socks and him in those slightly heeled boots and hat and anger—I feel downright tiny.
Hate how much I love it.
“Why are you here?”
I lick my lips, suddenly nervous, and glance away. “I told you. Your mom asked me to help her get ready for the Honey Bea Bash. I’m helping out here on the weekends.”
He scoffs, crossing his arms.
“Look, I didn’t know she’d have a booth at the farmers market,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes. “What was I supposed to do? Tell your incredibly sweet mothernowhen she’s telling me she’s struggling to handle everything all by herself? That she’s not as young and able-bodied as she used to be?”
Kade tenses. “She said that?”
I nod slowly and he rips off his hat to tug on his hair. A beat passes between us, and then he says, “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine,” he echoes, petulant as hell. “Just stay out of my way.”
“Oh, I plan on it.” I huff, backing toward the front door. “I’ll be out of your hair soon, and then you won’t have to see me again.”
Another step.
His brows lift. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’, darlin’?”
Pretty sure he’s just using the nickname because he knows it pisses me off. Unfortunately for the both of us, it’s having the opposite effect on my system right now.
Brows tight, I gesture over my shoulder to the open front door. The sound of construction fills the air. I can hear men talking, but it sounds like they’re outside. On the roof, maybe.
“I assume you brought me here because this place has a bathroom,” I say, edging toward the door, bouncing on my toes a bit. “If not, the coffee on your boots will be the least of your worries.”
There his jaw goes again—sliding back and forth like he’s choking on an insult.
I give a fake pout.
He huffs, rolling his eyes skyward and bites out, “Fine.”
“That your favorite word today, sunshine?” I murmur.
He snatches my coffee and storms past me, barking, “Let’s go” over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I shout, tearing after him. “That’s mine!”
“We made a deal, freckles. You owe me a coffee, and since youtrippedand spilled mine, it’s only fair,again,” he says, moving across the plastic-covered foyer at a clipped pace—dirty boots and all.
Apparently, I don’t need to be in just my socks, but I am, and unfortunately for everyone, they’re unicorns flying on weed leaves from Abby.
They’re also fuzzy.
I love them.
But the uncontrollable urge to rip them off and hide them in my bag gnaws at my brain while I follow him, eyes swinging in every direction.
“I never agreed to that deal,” I murmur, taking in the open floor plan farmhouse with appreciation. “Both parties have to agree to something in order for it to be binding.”
He scoffs and comes to a stop so abruptly, I slam into his back—face first. His addictingly masculine smell fills my senses just as I lose my footing, but I never hit the ground.
A big, calloused hand lands on my hip, wrapping around it like he has the right.
