I follow her around the yard, a golden acreage spread out before me. We head toward a little pen tucked behind the house, where a black-and-white dairy cow feasts on tall blades of grass.
Stevie glances up at me. “You remember Emmy, right?”
The cow moos.
I freeze when Stevie moves to unlock the gate, and I’m convinced the cow is going to ditch the grass, morph into a carnivore, and devour me for its Thanksgiving main course. Maybe it remembers the boots.
I glance down at my nonleather shoes, then deduce that my emotionally draining week has drained a few brain cells as well.
Stevie reaches for the halter and ushers the animal forward. “You can pet her.”
“Um…” My hands instinctively dive into the pockets of my jeans. “Can I see her teeth first?”
She snorts. “She’ll love you.”
The cow is giant, all muscle and bulk, her hooves sinking into the soft earth with each slow step. Her large, dark eyes blink lazily at me as if sizing me up. I take a hesitant step forward, my heart beating a little faster than I’d like to admit.
Stevie chuckles, giving the halter a gentle tug as the cow inches closer. “See? She’s harmless.”
I swallow hard and reach out a hand, hovering just over the cow’s smooth, warm hide. “I swear, if she bites me, I’m holding you responsible.”
“Emmy’s a lover, not a fighter.” Stevie pats the cow’s flank affectionately. “Besides, cows don’t have top teeth.”
I finally let my hand rest against the animal, feeling the coarse fur beneath my fingertips. Relaxation softens my muscles as Emmy stands patiently, like I’m not even a blip on her radar. Our eyes meet through the hazy sunshine, and a smile flickers on my mouth. I glance over at Stevie. “Why did you want me to pet your cow?”
She shrugs, looks away. “Just a feeling.”
“Hmm.” We stand like that for a few more minutes as I stroke the thin layer of fur and contentment shimmers through me.
Stevie watches me intently, and I swear a glint of tears brightens her eyes.
Huh.
“Okay, time for pie baking.” Stevie draws the cow back into her pen, swipes her hands together, then locks the gate. “Want to help?”
I squint at her. “Because I’ve bewitched you with my culinary masterpieces in the form of food delivery apps.”
“Never too late to learn.”
She brings me into the house a moment later, and I’m greeted with the aroma of casseroles in the oven, half-baked and bubbly, and raw dough being rolled out on countertops. Stevie’s father lumbers down the staircase as we pass through the living room.
“Lexington,” he acknowledges.
He’s taller than me, broad-shouldered and potbellied, and he might be intimidating if his gaze wasn’t so warm. Chocolate-colored eyes narrow for a beat before his face melts with joy.
I clear my throat. “Happy Thanksgiving, sir.”
“The hell with formalities. Get over here.” The air whooshes out of me when he grabs me by the shoulders and suffocates me with an equally firm hug.
When we pull apart, I shake his hand. Stevie’s father was in the shower when I rolled out of bed this morning, groggy and dreamy-eyed, still unsure if last night was real. We fell asleep in each other’s arms after round two, and it’s all I can think about. The quiet, peaceful aftermath—her hand splayed across my chest, her warm breaths coasting along my cheek.
Then I woke up bright and early to her hand around my dick before falling back to sleep in a state of pure contentment.
Joplin peers out from the kitchen, breaking through the moment. “Lex, you’re awake!” She bounds over to us in a casual, floor-length ivory dress. “Can I touch you?”
I blink at her.
“Respectfully, of course. Like a hug or a pat on the back. Maybe a quick caress of your hair?”
