I’m in the middle of cooking dinner when my phone buzzes with a message. Suzy is sitting at the counter on a bar stool behind me as she colors. I’ve noticed she really enjoys doing this, and it’ll keep her entertained for hours—okay, maybe not hours, but you get the point. Grabbing my phone, a text from Booneflashes on the screen. He was supposed to be home today but ended up having to run up to the Grazing Acres Ranch because the bulls got out and he had to go help round them up. The guys all ended up going up there to help herd them back to the ranch, so I offered to stay with Suzy.
It’s not like I’d be any good at wrangling a herd of bulls anyway. Although—and I’d never admit this out loud—I wouldkillfor a chance to watch all of them do just that. A handful of ridiculously hot—and probably sweaty—cowboys riding horses, probably slinging lassos, as they bring a bunch of bulls back home. Yes, please.
That mental picture reminds me of the time a few years back when I came home for summer break after my freshmen year at college and had to stay with my sister and Boone because my parents were remodeling their house. I got roped into helping Boone build the shed they have out back.
With the sun beating down, the heat blazing, it was the first time I ever admitted to myself how attractive I found my brother-in-law. Of course, deep down, I’d noticed this about him long before that day, but I always denied it. He’s tall, rippled with strong, bulging muscle—the type that comes from years and years of riding bulls—and he was shirtless and covered in sweat. A sinful pair of well-worn Wranglers sat low on his hips that made averting my gaze impossible, a maroon and black tool belt wrapped around on top of them, with his discarded t-shirt tucked into his back pocket and a cowboy hat shielding his eyes from the sun as he carried slats of wood from the back of his truck to the area where the shed was being built.
He was—and still is—a gay man’s wet dream, and I’m sure he doesn’t even realize it. His large, hardworking hands. Corded veins covering his forearms. The sweat droplets that glistened under the sun that streaked down his chest. Even the way I gotan eyeful of the thick, black hair under his arms when he had them above his head as he carried the wood.
That shouldn’t have been a turn on.
His armpit hair had no business being that sexy.
I vividly remember wanting to drag the flat of my tongue from the bottom of his navel all the way up to his tempting Adam’s apple just to taste his sweat and feel his slick, hot skin beneath me. Hell, even now, years later, the visual is enough to stir something low in my gut. Boone Stanton, while he is my brother-in-law, is one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen. It’s unfair, honestly.
Shaking my head and forcing my mind out of the gutter, I open the text he sent.
Boone: That took a lot longer than I thought it would. I should be on my way home soon. Sorry. Do you think you could start dinner for Suzy?
Me: Already ahead of you.
Snapping a picture of the stove, I attach it to the message, hitting send.
Boone: Damn, that looks good. What is it?
Me: It’s just a bow tie skillet lasagna. Nothing special. I got some garlic bread in the oven too and I fixed a salad in the fridge.
Boone: Okay, Gordon Ramsey. I’m on my way.
Sniggering, I lock my phone and set it on the counter as I get back to cooking. Admittedly, itdoessmell fucking incredible. I taught myself how to cook in college because I was tired of living on Top Ramen and take-out. Surprisingly, I enjoy it a lot more than I thought I would.
The food is almost done when Suzy comes to stand beside me, setting a ripped-out piece of paper on the counter by the stove. “Uncle Grady, look what I made!”
“That’s so pretty, Suzy Q. You did such a good job. Is that me?”
“Mmhmm.” She points to the figure I think is me. “That’s you, and I’m right beside you. Daddy’s next to me. Oh, and there’s Mabel. And then Mommy.”
“You’re a little artist who’s going places, sweet girl. I just know it.”
Suzy preens under the compliment, her cheeks a little rosy. “You can keep this,” she says.
“Thank you. I’ll hang it up on the bulletin board in my room. How’s that sound?”
She nods.
“Can you set the table for me?” I ask her, reaching into the cabinet to grab three plates. “Put these on the table in front of the chairs. One for you, one for me, and one for your daddy. Then, when you’re done with that, let me know, and I can give you the next step.”
A smile grows on her face as she nods and takes the plates from me. Turning the burner on simmer, I place the lid on the skillet, and walk over to the fridge to pull out the salad and parmesan cheese, setting them both on the counter behind me. The timer goes off, letting me know the bread is done, so I pull that out, setting it on the side of the stove I’m not currently using.
“Okay, I’m all done with the plates,” Suzy says softly.
“Good job, sweetie. Can you next grab three napkins off the counter over there and set them beside the plates, and then give each of us a fork out of the drawer?”
“I can do that!”
She gets so excited when she’s able to help. When she gets to feel like a “big girl” and help with dinner or put the clothes away. It’s so cute.
As she’s doing that, I stir the pasta one more time, noting that it’s done. And it’s perfect timing, too, because just as I turn the stovetop off, Suzy shouts, “Daddy!”
