Page 27

GRACE

I skip dinner and blame it on a headache, ignoring Nash’s questioning look and the heavy weight of everyone else’s eyes that seem loaded with hope and expectation. It’s a lie, but no one questions it. I grab a sandwich from the kitchen and sneak upstairs like a teenager with a curfew.

When the door to my room clicks softly shut, relief floods me. I sink onto the bed, unwrapping the sandwich and digging in without tasting a single bite. My mind won’t stop. Nash’s words loop over and over: “ We could make this the home you’ve been looking for.”

God.

I glance at my still half-packed suitcase in the corner. Tomorrow I’m supposed to leave. My return flight is booked. Back to deadlines, noise, and the safe predictability of my controlled chaos.

And yet, the thought of leaving twists hard in my chest so sharply and unexpectedly that I swallow a lump of unchewed sandwich, almost choking.

Already? I stare at the clothes folded inside that bag, at the sensible shoes and blazer I brought for the interviews before I met the men downstairs, and found I wanted to blend into their world, not stand stiffly on the outside. The ache blooms heavier.

There’s a soft knock at my door, then it bursts open before I can answer.

Junie’s barefoot, holding onto the door handle on tippy toes.

The twins barge in behind her, Matty trailing like a sleepy puppy.

Eli leans against the frame, watching, arms behind her back like she’s too cool for this but doesn’t want to be left out.

“Story?” Junie begs, scampering across the room to drag a blanket off the bed.

I sigh, but I’m smiling. Even though I’m shaken, I never stood a chance against this deluge of cuteness. Corbin appears in the doorway with Rory, his expression apologetic. “Let Miss Grace rest her head.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “One, though.”

Like magic, Eli produces a book, and the next ten minutes pass in a blur of tangled limbs and whispered giggles as I read Where the Wild Things Are in my best dramatic voice.

By the time Rory’s eyelids flutter closed, my cheeks hurt from smiling, and my heart feels raw and full at the same time.

I kiss each of them, flushing when I lean in close to Corbin to reach Rory’s chubby cheek.

Levi appears in the doorway to take his son, his expression apologetic, though who to, I can’t be sure.

As they all trot away, the sharp twist in my chest returns.

When I step out of that front door tomorrow, I’m never going to see any of them again.

When I’m finally alone, I open my laptop and pull up my inbox.

Dozens of messages wait for me: edits, meeting requests, crisis emails.

I dive in like I always do, my fingers flying across the keys, solving problems, delegating, and managing.

The hit of importance, and of being needed, used to give me a rush, but tonight, it feels exhausting, petty, and annoying.

Why can’t these people figure out their own shit?

I close my eyes. Nash’s voice again. “You could slow down here. ”

Could I? The seven days of vacation I mentioned were earmarked for a trip to Jamaica. An escape into luxury, probably by myself. It had sounded like a great idea to the me I was before I arrived here and lost my ever-loving mind. Now, it sounds empty, lonely, and sad.

Before I can talk myself out of the craziness infiltrating my brain, I pick up my phone and dial Joshua Longhorn’s private number.

He answers on the third ring, sounding distracted as he drawls my name. “Grace?”

“I’m extending the ranch piece,” I say. “I want to stay longer.”

There’s a pause. A soft sigh. “Fine. Don’t let it go off the rails.”

I hang up and type a quick email to my assistant: change my flights, extend the rental car, cancel the staff meeting.

The second I hit send, a weight lifts off my chest. My shoulders drop. My breath comes easier.

I’ve bought myself enough time.

Enough for what, though?

I shower, hoping the water will wash some sense into my head or some stupidity down the drain, but as I emerge and dress in my nightwear, loneliness crashes over me.

Distant laughter filters up from downstairs, and the disconnection I feel is magnified.

I glance at my reflection in the darkened window, at my damp hair and flushed cheeks.

Beau nudges my knee with his nose, tail wagging. I scratch behind his ear and whisper, “I guess I’m staying, buddy. For now.”

He makes a soft, high sound in response, then lumbers over to the door.

I stare at it for a full ten seconds before I move.

The house feels impossibly big, every creak and whisper of wood unfamiliar enough to remind me I don’t belong.

But then I think of Nash’s steady hands and calm voice and of the way I hadn’t wanted to pull away.

I pad barefoot down the hall and stop in front of his door.

My pulse stutters. What the hell am I even doing?

Before I lose my nerve, I lift my hand and knock.

The door opens almost immediately. Nash fills the frame, bare-chested, worn flannel pajama pants slung low on his hips, his hair damp and messy, maybe from a rough towel-dry. His eyes flick over me once, slowly, darkening as they take in the thin cotton of my tank and the bare stretch of my legs.

“Grace,” he says, voice low and rough.

I swallow hard. “I, um... I needed to tell you. I’m staying. I called the office. Changed my flight.”

His face softens, breaking into the wide smile he seems to reserve for the animals and kids in this place. He caught the sun today, and more freckles dusk his nose and cheeks like glitter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought myself some time, you know, to do justice to the article.”

His hand reaches out for mine, strong fingers curling around my wrist, thumb brushing lightly over my pulse point, easing me toward him slowly like he’s giving me time to object. “Justice to the article?” He pushes the door shut behind me, smiling like he knows exactly what I mean.

His eyes hold mine, soft and warm like he sees every lie I tell myself, every secret hope and need I press close to my chest like playing cards. His focus is singular and intense, like I’m the only thing he wants to look at for the rest of his life.

My breath catches as he pulls me gently closer, our bodies almost touching. His voice drops into a soft rumble.

“Let me show you what it could be like if you stayed for good.”

I barely nod before his mouth is on mine, hungry and certain.

The kiss steals the air from my lungs. There’s nothing soft about it now; this is need, pure and raw.

His hands slide up my sides under the loose fabric of my cami, fingers skimming my ribcage, and the gasp that escapes me is shocked and desperate sounding .

Nash pulls back, giving him enough space to look me in the eye. His pupils are blown dark, his breath uneven. “This what you want?” he rasps.

“Yeah.”

He groans softly, dipping his head back down, and claims my mouth again.

His thumbs stroke lazy circles over my skin as the kiss deepens.

I arch into him as he pushes the hem of my cami up higher.

His mouth leaves a hot trail from the corner of my jaw to my collarbone, and I shiver under the heat of him, the anticipation curling low in my stomach.

His voice roughens. “I’ve thought about this every damn night since you showed up.”

I don’t have the breath to answer, especially when he drags his fingers down my spine, and his lips brush over the curve of my breast. I tangle my hands in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more.

A sharp knock at the door makes us both jump like we’ve been caught with our hands in the cookie jar. We freeze, breathing hard, hearts racing. Nash curses under his breath and leans his forehead against my shoulder.

The knock comes again. This time a voice, low and unbothered, asks, “Nash? You decent?”

Cody.

I stifle a half-laugh, half-groan, burying my burning face in Nash’s neck. He stiffens but doesn’t step away.

“Give me a sec,” Nash calls, reluctantly pulling back and brushing his lips over my temple in apology.

I scramble for my composure, tugging my cami back down and trying to slow my ragged breathing.

Nash runs a hand through his hair and strides to the door, yanking it open to reveal Cody’s easy grin.

Cody’s eyes flick from Nash’s bare chest to my flushed face, visible over Nash’s shoulder. One brow lifts, slow and knowing.

“I was coming to remind you about the irrigation check in the south pasture first thing,” Cody says casually. His gaze lingers. “But I guess you’re… preoccupied. ”

Nash growls low under his breath. “You could’ve messaged.”

Cody shrugs with infuriating calm. “Could’ve. Didn’t.”

Then, with that same wicked glint I’ve come to associate with him, Cody tilts his head and smiles right at me. “If you two are busy, I’ll let you get back to it. Unless… you want company?”

I blink. My brain short-circuits. My mouth opens, then closes again. Heat floods my cheeks and other places that came alive for the first time when Allie opened up to me about her poly relationship.

Nash stiffens beside me. “Cody—”

“What?” Cody raises his palms in mock innocence, his grin wicked. “Just offering. We’re family here. We share. Thought maybe the lady should know all her options.”

My pulse thrums wildly as I stare at him, stunned by the words and how easily he says them. Is this what Allie meant? This easy blur of boundaries? This casual temptation under one roof? I shake my head faintly, still speechless.

Cody chuckles and backs toward the hallway, his eyes still locked on mine. “No harm, no foul. I’ll see you both at breakfast.”

“Wait,” I say, as his shoulder brushes the doorframe. He stops and pivots back slowly, his mouth curving into something that’s half smile, half dare.

Nash watches me closely, his pretty blue eyes growing cautious. “Are you sure?” he murmurs, his voice a notch lower. “He’s always been too damn bold for his own good.”

I laugh nervously and breathlessly, sounding insane. “Sure? No. But do I want him to stay?” I glance at Cody, then back at Nash. “Yeah.”

Nash closes the distance again, one hand coming up to tuck my hair behind my ear, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. His thumb brushes the hollow of my cheek, featherlight. “You want to know what it’d be like if you stayed?”

The words settle heavy and sweet in the space between us as Cody looks on, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, quietly watching, giving me space but holding his ground.

“Yes,” I whisper, the word catching in my throat. Yes , even though it’s reckless, and I should know better. Even though every breath of this moment is stoking the slow-burning agony of leaving.

But I say it anyway.

And that one quiet syllable is all it takes to tip the balance.