At the cottage, I hadn’t planned on carrying her bags, it just happened. That look on her face in the truck earlier, that beat of something heavy, something sad, I didn’t like it. For a second, I wanted to do something about it. Do something for her that no one ever has. Doesn’t mean anything, though. Doesn’t mean I want to spend time with her. Just something any decent man would do.
Then inside, she’d collided with me. One second heading for the kitchen, the next pressed against me. Soft. Warm. And in that brief moment, I noticed things I hadn’t before: the sweet scent of her hair, the heat of her skin, the way she fit against me. Then I let go, fast enough to put space between us before I could think too hard about it.
Shaking my head I try to squash the thought before my mind wanders further. Yeah. I definitely need that drink.
"Okay, I think I’ve got it!"
Mom’s voice cuts into my thoughts. She presses a button triumphantly, waiting for my phone to ring.
Nothing.
Then … "Mom? Why are you calling me?"
Harper’s voice echoes down from upstairs.
I sigh heavily, dragging my hand down my face before letting it drop into a full on facepalm.
The grandfather clock on the wall begins to chime the hour, drawing my attention. 7 p.m.
"We’ll go over this again tomorrow, Mom. I’ve gotta get back."
I push myself up from the couch, my movements slow and stiff, exhaustion weighing heavy in my limbs after a busy day. My body protests the effort, but skipping out on the bar tonight isn’t an option—Jensen would have my head.
Truthfully though, I don’t mind. It’ll be good to catch up. I can’t even remember the last time we hung out that didn’t include him having his hand up one of my heifers’ asses.
Suddenly, Missy bursts down the stairs, a blur of chaotic energy. She barrels past me, arms weighed down with an avalanche of clothes, or maybe just an unruly bundle of fabric. A pair of high-heeled shoes dangle precariously from her fingers, and she’s wearing her pyjamas. I step aside just in time.
“Sorry, brother,” she calls back, though her tone lacks any real sincerity, she’s far too focused on her path of destruction to mean it.
I frown as she whirls through the kitchen, hair in rollers, one eye lined, the other forgotten. She snatches two of Mom’s muffins, shoves them into a shoulder bag, and forces bare feet into boots without breaking stride. Her crossbody bag swings into place with help from her teeth, and just before vanishing, she jogs back to press a quick kiss to Mom’s cheek.
“I’m going out tonight. Don’t wait up. Not sure when I’ll be home, love you!”
And just like that, she’s off again.
The door swings open under her elbow, and it pulls shut behind her.
I stand in place, momentarily dazed, barely processing the distant roar of her truck as it tears out of the driveway. I glance over at Mom, who simply shrugs, her expression amused, as if to say, ‘Classic Missy.’
“Where’s she going?” I ask, needing to hear that she’ll be safe.
Mom shakes her head.
“No clue, but she’s been excited about it all day.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“And you didn’t think to ask her where or who she’s going with?”
She sighs lightly.
“Ford, she’s old enough to go where she pleases. I’m not going to pry. You know Missy, she’s a sensible girl.”
I give Mom a pointed look, the ‘Are you sure about that?’kind. She laughs, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. She doesn’t know about the last few times I had to bail Missy out when she got a little too drunk because I try not to burden Mom with things like that. Missy is sensible … most of the time. But she also likes to have too much fun.
I sigh, “Right, well, I better get going. I’m heading out with Jensen tonight. If anything comes up, if you need me, get Harper to give me a call.”
Mom nods.
