Page 6

I am such a nerd. The opposite of whatever you would call a cool person.

In other words, I have exactly zero chill.

Zeke— tall, growly, stupidly hot Zeke —is currently carrying my suitcase like it’s made of feathers, muscles rippling beneath his shirt, while I trail behind him like some sweatier, more confused version of Cinderella arriving late to a pool party.

He doesn’t talk much.

Just glances over his shoulder occasionally to make sure I haven’t face-planted on the graveled walkway that leads to the stairs outside Avery’s home.

His expression is all hard lines and broody intensity, but I swear there’s a twitch of amusement in his jaw every time I trip over the tiny pebbles like a newborn giraffe.

We round the porch, and I spot a small figure barreling toward us.

A tiny, furry blur of energy with teeth, curls, and zero fear.

Rosie.

Avery’s daughter. Only she is butt ass naked.

“Hi, Casey! I missed you. Mommy said you were coming for a visit!”

“Hi there, Rosie Posie,” I reply and grin at her childish innocence.

“Uncle Zeke!” she shrieks, already bored with me and launching herself into his leg with all the force of a rogue wrecking ball.

Zeke grunts but doesn’t budge an inch, just pats the top of her head like she’s a wild animal only marginally tamed.

“Hey, fuzzball,” he teases, and something about seeing him all playful like that makes my ovaries stand up and take notice.

Two seconds pass as I try not to freak out about that, when Rosie turns those big brown eyes on me. She squints, tilts her head, then grins like a little street urchin plotting trouble in a Charles Dickens book.

“Mommy! Daddy! Casey’s here and she’s Uncle Zeke’s girl!” she shouts, then innocently blinks up at me again.

Like it’s a totally normal thing to assume.

Me and Zeke. Together.

Never mind that Zeke and I are complete strangers.

My brain short-circuits.

Zeke goes still.

Like statue still.

Like don’t-move-or-you’ll-scare-it-away still.

“Uh, Rosie, that’s not it—” I squeak.

“What’s not it, Aunt Casey? Doesn’t Uncle Zeke like you?”

I don’t know how to answer her. My gaze flashes to Uncle Zeke’s mesmerizing purple stare, but he’s just grinning at me like the Cheshire cat.

His look says it all.

And I swear I could kick him for it. Only Rosie is still talking a mile a minute, and I don’t think I should resort to physical violence in her presence.

“Daddy always says he likes Mommy, and he’s always doing nice things for her,” the child states with one hundred percent certainty.

“Oh no! Was Uncle Zeke mean to you?” she asks, completely horrified, and Zeke’s eyebrows go sky high before he flicks his gaze to mine.

Panic races up my spine. I want to comfort her and reassure him all at the same time, and fuck me, but I don’t even know what the heck is going on.

How is this even my life?

“I—what? I mean—no. Of course, not. But I’m not his, um , girl?

I’m a woman. Not that it matters. Not that I am his.

I mean—I'm not anyone's. Not that I wouldn’t be. I mean, if I were, like, someone’s.

But I’m just not, um, his . I mean, I am a girl, um , woman.

A woman-girl, but I—I,” I stutter and shrug.

Fuck me.

What the hell am I even saying?

Abort. Abort mission.

Zeke just stares at me, his expression unreadable except for the way his jaw clenches like he’s holding back that sexy little growl thing he keeps doing, or perhaps a laugh.

Maybe both.

“Right,” I mutter, cheeks on actual fire.

Rosie giggles, completely unfazed.

“Aunt Casey’s pretty, right, Uncle Zeke?” she asks Zeke, and skips off with the kind of chaotic grace some children just seem to be born with.

“She sure is, Rosie Posie,” Zeke murmurs.

My heart is trying to punch its way out of my chest.

“Wow, so that was weird. Um, I mean, she’s adorable,” I say weakly.

“She can be a bit of a hurricane,” Zeke replies, voice a little rougher now. “But yeah. Adorable.”

I catch him looking at me then. Really looking.

Eyes trailing from my face down to my chest, then back up with a snap like he’s pissed at himself for doing it.

His nostrils flare, and for a second, I swear I feel heat pulse in the air between us.

“Um, where do you suppose Avery is?” I mutter to myself.

“The door’s open,” he says suddenly, grabbing the suitcase again and hauling it up the steps like it weighs nothing.

I follow him inside, trying not to hyperventilate or imagine him pressing me against one of these sturdy walls and saying something completely illegal with that voice.

Before I step through the front door, I have to pass Zeke. He doesn’t move. Just stands solid and strong, like a freaking pine tree, making me brush against him as I maneuver.

I suck in a breath as I do just that and am immediately hit with the scent of something sweet and warm—like cinnamon rolls and applewood smoke had a baby and scented the air on purpose.

I clear my throat. I don’t know what that scent is, but it’s freaking amazing.

“Wow,” I whisper as I cross the threshold.

Avery’s home is simply lovely.

Rustic but cozy, with wide plank floors, worn-in leather furniture, and a giant stone fireplace that looks like it was built by hand, probably by a man with arms the size of my entire torso, which pretty much describes Dante.

“Casey!” a voice calls out.

Avery barrels around the corner, all sunshine and belly bump, glowing like the fully human version of a Hallmark movie finale.

Lucky beyotch.

She pulls me into a hug before I can even say her name, and I let out a surprised laugh, my tote bag thunking awkwardly against my hip.

“Oh my God, it’s so good to see you!” she says, pulling back to give me a once-over. “You look great!”

“I look like roadkill,” I reply with a huff. “But thanks. And you look like a radiant fertility goddess. It’s honestly a little rude.”

She laughs. “That’s just the hormones. And maple syrup. I had three waffles this morning.”

Behind her, a huge, tall guy with tousled dark hair and warm brown eyes leans casually against the wall, his arms crossed over a faded T-shirt that reads I Grill Therefore I Am .

“Dante,” she says, turning to him with a smile. “You remember Casey?”

“Hey,” he says, pushing off the wall and waving his frying pan-sized hand in the air. “Good to meet you again. Glad you made it.”

I bite my bottom lip, trying not to be intimidated by the sheer man-size of everyone on this ranch.

What are they feeding them out here?