My wife had finally taken my PowerPoint presentation to heart and asked how we got started. That was when I’d tapped on my jam-addicted brother with former pro-football player millions who was all too ready and willing to write a fat-ass check that jump-started production for Steele & Bramble Artisanal Jams. And also gave him lifetime access to as many jars as he wanted—within reason, obviously. The man was an animal.
Declan had finalized the logo. Laurel had handled the branding and social media. Chloe was working on local wholesale partnerships—starting, of course, with Wicked Little Things. And Xander had agreed to pose with the jars while wearing his uniform for an ad campaign thought up by none other than my mom.
My family had shown up for Willa like she was already one of us. And she was. Woven so deep into my history, I could barely remember a time before her.
Even Beau had come around during his two week visit. We didn’t talk about the exact details of Willa’s and my relationship—for everyone’s sanity. But Willa had her twin back, I had my best friend back, and we’d done that all without any punches, passive-aggressive texts, or anyone threatening farm burial.
“Mabel was asking when we might get some new flavors of honey,” Chloe said, brow raised toward my wife.
Willa shifted in her seat, a blush staining her cheeks that made my dick twitch in my jeans. “Soon. We’re testing out new flavors now.”
And by testing, she meant I was spending hours drizzling them all over her body and licking them off.
Chloe grinned. “Good, keep me posted on production because the old woman’s ravenous for more stock.”
“I will,” Willa said with a nod, pressing her lips together to hide a smile that only I knew the reason for.
Goddamn, I loved this woman.
I leaned over and murmured against her ear, “If you keep looking like that, people are gonna figure out you let me eat those new flavors straight off your thighs this afternoon.”
She turned toward me, one brow raised. “Don’t play chicken with me, husband. You remember what happened last time you teased me in this place? I beat you at pool.”
My gaze dropped to her lips, recalling, in great detail, what had happened that night.
“Yeah, and then I fucked you in the alley,” I said, voice low and rough. “Seems like I was the real winner of that night, wife.”
“Wrong again,” she said, leaning in until we were nose to nose. “Two beats one, husband. And Idefinitelyhad two.”
Sutton leaned across the table toward us. “Are you two flirting or fighting?”
“Or on your way to fucking?” Chloe added.
“Yes,” Willa and I answered at the same time.
“Jesus Christ,” Declan muttered. “I’d kill for five fucking minutes that don’t involve front-row seats to any of your sex lives.”
“Ohhh,” Chloe said, elbowing him in the side. “Is that a cry for help, Dec?”
Declan slid his gaze to Chloe. “No, it’s a cry for maintaining my sanity. I don’t need to know what my brothers do in the bedroom.”
“Or maybe you just need to be preoccupied with your own bedroom activities,” Chloe shot back.
“We should set Dec up with someone for next week’s trivia night,” Sutton said, brow raised as she split a glance between Chloe and my wife.
Willa nodded. “Might be a good idea.”
“So you’re not so sad,” Xander said.
“And lonely,” Atlas continued.
“And desperate,” I finished.
“Fuck all of you,” Dec said. “I’m not?—”
The front door slammed open hard enough to catch everyone’s attention, and in stalked Penelope. The quiet, unassuming librarian was gone, and in her place was a cardigan-clad nightmare in glasses. She stormed toward our table, her mouth pinched in a thin line, glare focused solely on my brother. And not only was Declan not at all surprised by this ambush, but he looked like he’d been…expecting it?
“Holy shit…I’ve never seen Penelope mad,” Willa murmured. “She looks like she’s going to murder someone.”
