He parks behind Jade, a little too close. Almost bumper kiss close, and he knows it. He hops out, casual as can be, and strolls right past her truck, nodding at the lack of room he’s left her, then proceeds into the business beside Carver’s.
The cowboy walks like he’s got a saddle strapped to his soul, slow, sure, and never in a rush. Carved out of red clay and hard work, he’s lean and rangy, with forearms that could build a barn before breakfast and still find time to write you a love letter.
Lord help us.
“They’re both on the street at the same time,” I whisper. “It’s happening.”
Phylicia Finn chokes on her tea, her golden hoop earrings rattling. “Jade and Hart?” Another choke, and her sister whacks her back.
“Are you saying what we think you’re saying?” Constance Finn holds both of her sisters' arms in the air.
“Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Jade and Hart are the next couple for the Love Quilt.
“That’s impossible.” Phylicia snatches her arms away from her sister to angle her chair for a clear line of sight through the shop window.
She tucks her springs of grey hair behind her ears.
“It was crazy enough that we matched his brother and her sister together, but these two.” Nessie shakes her head and leans back in her chair. “They loathe each other.”
“Secretly lusting.”
The Quilting Guild gives us a look like we’ve been mistaken before. Which we haven’t. Not once.
Jade emerges from the wood shop, pulling a flatbed cart with two beautiful, hand-carved white porch rockers.
Then she sees his truck.
“This is not going to end well,” Nessie breathes.
Jade pauses and stares at the Wilde Ranch logo on the side.
She tilts her head, eyeing the measurements of the few tight inches between her tailgate and his grill.
“Don’t do it,” Philicia whispers, leaning in.
“She’s gonna do it,” Constance hisses.
And she does. Jade yanks her tailgate open with exactly half an inch to spare.
The quilting guild gasps in unison.
“She’s gonna scratch the paint.”
“She’s gonna break the chair.”
“She’s gonna breakhimif he comes out right now.”
Jade manages to get the first rocker in. Not without her boot slipping once, and the chair catching.
I swear, we all stop breathing.
Then comes chair number two.
She lifts, wobbles, and one foot shuffles backward. The chair tilts sideways andcrack! The rocker slips and hits the hood of Hart’s truck with full force—the paint puckers where it lands.
“Oh lord.”
“That left a mark.”
