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“Perfect. Be here even earlier, and I’ll make you an omelet.”

“With one hand?” Remi pointed to his useless arm.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Colt said.

“Fine. I’ll be here extra, extra early to help you make omelets.” It seemed she was trading solitude tonight for a full-time Sunday with Colt.

“It’s a date. Thanks for the ride.” Colt shut the door and walked toward the house.

She knew the words didn’t hold the meaning she could easily assign to them, but the word “date” had her palms itching. She’d gotten good at avoiding anything that might resemble a date or any meeting that might result in an invitation. She never dated.

But if spending time with Colt was a date, she might be persuaded to accept the offer.

And that was a big problem. Their paths didn’t align, and he’d gotten the wild hair to ask her out on a date once. They didn’t need a repeat of that fiasco. She wasn’t ready. She probably wouldn’t ever be ready.

But Colt was ready to move on, and a good friend wouldn’t stop him.

Chapter6

Colt

Colt pushed the flannel shirts in his closet from one side to the other. The only ones left were worn out. Remi had officially moved the majority of his closet to her place. Why should he care? He only needed one shirt a day.

He pulled out one of the new flannels he hid in the back and slid his bad arm into the sleeve. It wasn’t as tight this morning. Maybe he’d be back in action at the ranch tomorrow. He’d rest after church and keep an ice pack on it while he watched Sunday night football with Remi, Ridge, and Blake.

Grabbing his phone off the bed, he dialed Remi’s number.

“This better be good, Walker.”

A wide smile spread over Colt’s face. Something was wrong with him. Getting scolded by Remi first thing in the morning was enough to keep his spirits up all day.

“Bring some of my shirts back. Especially the dark-green one. It’s my favorite.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up with your shirts.”

“It’s your fault if you’re the thief.”

Remi was quiet for a moment, and Colt pulled the phone away from his ear. They hadn’t been disconnected. “Remi?”

“I’m here. Just busy getting ready.”

“And bring back my pants. The ones you stole Friday night.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t take your pants.”

“I watched you walk out the door with them stuffed under your arm. I love those pants.”

The truth was he loved those pants on her, but that was a problem for another day.

There was shuffling on Remi’s side of the line. “I didn’t take them.”

Colt scoffed. “You did, too.”

More silence. Something was off with Remi, and he was too concerned about her nose and the awkward gaps in their conversation to care about the pants.

“I plead the fifth,” Remi said resolutely.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know you have it. Bring them back.”