Page 8 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

It's also the best team that I’ve ever worked on.

Which is funny, considering Lawson practically hated me when I first joined.

He threw me to the wolves more than once.

Made me sink or swim on some of the toughest assignments.

But I proved myself fast. And once I told myself there was zero value in crushing on him, or even noticing how wildly attractive he was, everything got easier.

He realized I could not only survive under pressure but thrive.

And once he saw that, he let me into his world.

And the anxiety that I’ve always dealt with, it’s still there, humming like white noise just under my skin. But I manage it better now. Medication, yes, but also yoga classes with Isla, meditation apps I occasionally open, and sporadic orgasms courtesy of toys that I hide in my sock drawer.

Progress is progress.

Lawson's eyes scan Catalina’s text, then he hands my phone back without much fanfare. “Okay, so why is this a big deal?”?

I sigh, already exhausted. “Because she’s staying with me and Isla for two weeks, which means she’ll take my bedroom. Which means I’ll be on the couch for the next two weeks. That condo is already cramped and the couch’s going to jack up my back.”

His brows lift slightly as he unscrews the cap on his water bottle.

Still the weirdest thing that I’ve ever seen—Lawson Marshall without coffee.

A few months ago, he gave it up completely.

Said it was making him too dependent on it.

Challenged me to do the same, which I laughed in his face about.

I’ve taken him up on almost every dare he’s thrown at me since we met—some of them wildly stupid and borderline reckless—but giving up caffeine? Non-negotiable.

He'd told me I was soft and though that usually meant I'd throw my own challenge back at him, coffee is one thing I don't play about.

“Can’t you just tell her it’s your room?” he asks, like it’s that simple.

I snort. “That’s not how things work with Catalina. She’s older, type A, emotionally fragile right now with everything her and her boyfriend are going through, and also, she’s a little bit terrifying. You'll see if you meet her when she’s in town.”

He shrugs and leans back, stretching his long legs out in front of him like this still isn't a big deal. “Can’t wait.”

"And plus, this is supposed to be our time off before the big holiday rush of traveling. I'm finally in town for a meaningful stretch, and she decides that's when she wants to visit. Ugh."

“Then just sleep in your room at my house.”

I blink. “My room?”

He doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t look up.

Just pulls out the newspaper he bought at the little Hudson stand, already flipping to the crossword puzzle like he didn’t just casually refer to the guest room at his house—the one I only use when he’s not there and needs someone to be the adult for Beckham—as my room.

I stare at him for a beat, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. And yeah, I’ve slept there. A lot. But never when he’s been in town and at the house too. That feels… different. Intimate, somehow. Crossing a line that we’ve worked hard to maintain.?

He smirks without looking up. “What? Staying at my place is that bad? You do it all the time.”

“Not when you’re there,” I mutter, heat crawling up the back of my neck.

He shrugs again and reaches for his pen to start scribbling in 3-down like we haven’t just taken one very subtle, very irreversible step toward something I’m not entirely sure we’re ready for because once you start seeing where your boss shits, can you ever go back?

He folds the newspaper neatly and sets it on his lap before turning to face me.

“I’m not a slob, Dani. You know that. I’ve got housekeeping coming every week to keep up with the dust because I’m rarely there, and Regan just restocked the fridge since I’m sticking around for the next two weeks to help with State Fair prep.

So, what exactly is the problem? There’s food, your own shower, and a bed that I heard you tell Isla on more than one occasion ′ feels like sleeping with a bear hug. ′ ”

I lift a shoulder with a snort because yes, I did say those words and then, stir my tea with the straw.

“Because you’re my boss . It’s weird. You’re going to be… I don’t know… evaluating how I make my cereal.”

That earns a laugh. He folds up the newspaper and bops me on the head with it like a disapproving older brother.

“Dani, I’m always evaluating you. Plus, I know you put the milk in first, I saw you do it once in Philly at that hotel breakfast, and honestly, I’m a bit concerned I’ve been working with a psychopath for the last year. ”

I roll my eyes and sip. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious. Your performance is under constant review,” he deadpans.

“Well, in that case,” I say, dragging out the words, “I’m definitely sleeping on my sister’s couch and not at your house.”

“If I have to hear about this damn couch one more time, I’m going to lose it,” he mutters, reaching for his water bottle.

I bite down on a smile and shake my head. “Fine. I’ll sleep in your guest room. But if I so much as catch you grading how I crack and scramble my eggs, I’m out.”

“You wound me,” he says, one hand to his chest like I’ve accused him of murder. “Plus, we all know the only way to eat eggs is over-hard.”

“If you’re a murderer.”

“I’m offering you shelter. I wouldn’t accuse me of being a murderer.”

I huff out a breath. “I know,” I say dramatically. “And I appreciate it. But let’s not forget who rescheduled your entire Midwest tour when the vendor dropped out last minute. I do you favors too.”

He chuckles low and soft. “That you do. You’re a great assistant, Dani.”

“Speaking of,” I say, pulling out my phone and tapping to bring up an email.

“A Jeannine Underwood has been blowing up our inbox. She’s trying to schedule a meeting with you.

Wants to discuss a ‘potential collaboration.’” I glance at him over the top of my phone.

“Is this for business or…” I let the rest of that question hang because he knows exactly what I’m asking.

Business or pleasure?

He doesn’t answer right away so I whisper it, “Is it a collaboration with your penis and her vagina?”

He snorts without looking up. “Really?”

I lean over, watching as he scribbles a word into the crossword puzzle. “Booty? Honestly?”

He smirks. “It asked for another word for pirate’s treasure.”

“Sure, it did.”

“Tell Jeannine I’m not taking interviews at this time,” he responds.

I tap out the response, voice dry. “Oh, cryptic. Very on-brand. Yes, Lawson, give me nothing.”

“See, that’s why I keep you around. Smart ass comments like that are all the fuel I need to get my day started.”

The overhead speaker chimes and the gate agent announces our boarding group. I scoop up my carry-on and glance at Lawson who, as always, only brought a backpack slung casually over one shoulder. And, also as always, the second my hand touches my bag, he takes it from me like it weighs nothing.

I never used to be the kind of woman who let anyone else carry her stuff. I enjoyed my independence and handling things on my own. But working for Lawson Marshall? Let’s just say I’ve gotten used to letting someone else be the muscle while I keep all the things from catching fire.

And it’s not lost on me that in the year I’ve worked for him, I’ve streamlined his entire business.

Grown the Marshall family’s market presence.

Doubled their following on socials giving his sister Regan a much needed break from managing that.

Negotiated deals that make his siblings look at me like I’ve got some kind of magic touch.

They don’t just tolerate me anymore; they’ve claimed me as one of their own and I love feeling part of a family that works so well together.

As we fall in line toward the gate, Lawson casually drapes his free arm over my shoulders. Warm and easy. Familiar. I’m grateful for the friendship that we’ve built.

“So, you’re staying with me and Beckham for the next two weeks then?” he asks.

I groan, playing it up even though we both know I already said yes and would loathe sleeping on my sister’s couch while Catalina’s in town.

I can only imagine waking up every morning to her criticizing the way I don't fold my clothing in the drawers, the mess of laundry in the corner and my new career.

“Apparently.”

He laughs. “You won’t even see me. Or be there yourself, half the time. Didn’t Rae rope you into helping with the mayor’s float for the big State Fair kick off parade?”

“Yeah,” I sigh, thinking of Lawson’s sister-in-law Rae and how effortlessly she manipulated me into volunteering during what was supposed to be my first real break in months.

She’s the mayor of our small town, a position she earned two years ago after battling it out against Lawson’s younger brother Cash, and she’s also the most Halloween loving, black cat energy female I’ve ever met.

We clicked instantly and anytime that I'm in town, I try to meet up with her, Regan, Molly and their best friend Lydia.

“See?” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’ll be no big deal. We’ll hardly see each other.”

No big deal. Right.

Except somehow, sharing a house with my boss—even one I already know inside and out and have strictly put in the boss box —feels like a very big deal.