You married my sister in secret, fucker. What do you think?
Lincoln:
In that case, you’re definitely not ready to hear about the kitchen island.
A few days later,I made my way downstairs as I tugged my T-shirt into place, hair still damp from a shower.
After sweating through berry picking, chicken chasing, and checking the hives with Willa, I’d earned a drink before myshift tonight at the bar. All of us were still settling in with the new schedule at One Night Stan’s while Tasha stepped up in a managerial role, but Trivia Night demanded all hands on deck.
It would also give me a bit of time to figure out when I could make this outdoor tub happen. Turned out, finding a chunk of time when Willa wasn’t on the property was difficult as fuck. Difficult but not impossible.
I expected to find my wife relaxing in one of the armchairs, reading her latest book in the same series as the breeding one we were both so fond of. What I did not expect was to find her power walking circles around the silo like she was in a race with herself to see how fast she could wear a track into the floor.
Her hair was pulled back in a braid, her cheeks flushed, though not from arousal like I preferred. She didn’t even notice me, too busy muttering to herself. Something about how so very screwed we were.
So, that was probably fine.
I stood on the bottom step, leaning against the wall as I watched her whirl past again, no sign of slowing. “I know better than to tell you to calm down. But could you maybe stop long enough to fill me in on what’s got you anxiously burning a hole through the floor?”
She didn’t break her stride, just scowled at me likeIwas the idiot here, and kept right on pacing.
“I’ll take that as a no.” I pushed off from the wall and took the last step before striding toward her. “I’m going to assume that glare was an unspoken request for my assistance.”
“For your wh—” She didn’t get the words out before I stepped in her path, gripped her by the waist, and lifted her onto the island. “What the hell, Lincoln?”
Stepping between her legs, I settled my hands on her thighs, anchoring her in place.
“Just breathe for one damn second, all right?” I reached over and grabbed her emotional support water bottle and handed it to her. “Here. Drink.”
“Don’t boss me like a child,” she mumbled, eyes narrowed, but she took the bottle anyway. “I’m only drinking because I’m thirsty and not because you told me to.”
“I don’t care why you do it, wife, so long as you do.”
She glared at me while she drank, her scowl so fucking cute I had to remind myself now wasn’t the time to bend her over and fuck her into a better mood.
“Good.” I darted my gaze over her face, studying her. Flushed. Irritated. And very close to hangry. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“Lunch, same as you.” She rolled her eyes like it was the dumbest question she’d heard all week.
I glanced at the clock—five now, which meant she’d eaten almost six hours ago.
“Don’t move.” I stepped back and pointed a finger at her. “I mean it.”
She huffed but did as I said while I grabbed a package of her favorite peanut butter crackers from the pantry.
After opening the pack, I handed it over. “Eat. Then talk.”
Her eye twitched and she opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, but she shoved a cracker between her teeth instead. I grinned, and she only pursed her lips in response. But she downed those crackers like she’d been starved for hours.
I wouldn’t doubt it if she had been.
Once she finished the pack, I leaned against the sink directly across from her and crossed my arms. “All right, wife. You’re hydrated and fed. Now tell me what had you running laps around the silo.”
She took a deep inhale before blowing it out slowly. “I got an email that we made it through both the preliminary andsecondary rounds for the grant. They’ve narrowed it down to the top ten applicants.”
“Shit, seriously? That’s amazing! That means?—”
“We’refucked. It means we’re absolutely fucked.”
