Bernice and Pearl, the farmhouse renters, were just as shameless as Mabel. And they were enamored with my husband. They’d both gone on and on about how he wassuch a sweet boyandshould definitely earn Husband of the Year status.
Which, yeah. I could see why they’d think that. He hopped on the ATV and headed over to the farmhouse anytime they couldn’t so much as open a jar or figure out the remote. And last week, he’d driven them into town for their hair appointments. When they were done, he’d treated them to lunch and some Black Cats at One Night Stan’s. The man oozed charm—he couldn’t help it.
Still. I didn’t need half the women in Starlight Cove eyeing my husband like he was up for auction.
“You’ve officially reached celebrity status, husband. You have actual fangirls,” I called once inside the silo, kicking off my shoesby the door. “Bernice says she’d like you to help her ‘move some furniture’ next week. But I’m pretty sure that’s code for turn up shirtless and lift things slowly. And Pearl called you their resident eye candy and asked when their next show would be.”
No answer.
That was unusual, especially with the kind of material I was giving him to work with. That smug jackass was going to be strutting around here like a damn peacock, all proud and cocky at the silver-haired cougars panting over him.
I glanced toward the loft, juggling my purse and the last of the brownies Chloe had forced on me. “And Mabel—well, I’m not even going to repeat what she said, but it involved several honey sticks and a harness.”
Still no response. The silo was quiet. Too quiet.
I furrowed my brow, glancing out the front door window. Confirming that, yes, Ihadseen Lincoln’s car out front, so he was definitely here. And it wasn’t like we lived in a mansion. It shouldn’t have been difficult to locate my 6’5” menace of a husband.
“Linc?” I climbed the stairs, figuring I’d find him in the bathroom or lounging on the bed, reading with a pair of earbuds in. But the only thing up here was the subtle scent of his cedar soap hanging in the air.
Where the hell was he? It was too late for any farm chores—the sun was about fifteen minutes from disappearing below the horizon. And there weren’t many—or any, really—hiding spots in our tiny home.
But that man could make mischief out of nothing but bad ideas and terrible impulse control. He was definitely up to something.
“Lincoln Steele,” I called, making my way back downstairs. “If you’re planning to jump out at me naked again, I swear to god?—”
My words caught in my throat when I stepped through the French door onto the back porch and froze.
Nestled beneath a wooden pergola draped with fluttering linen panels was a huge, weathered-copper soaking tub. It was filled to the brim with hot water, and steam curled into the evening air in soft little wisps like in a dream. Fairy lights were strung from above, casting a soft, golden glow over the tub and the pots of wildflowers surrounding it, three sides of this little haven draped with fabric, making it hidden from prying eyes.
And right next to it all stood my Husband of the Year. Wearing a black T-shirt and low-slung jeans, the faintest smudge of dirt on his jaw, and a grin that melted me right where I stood.
“Hey, wife. How was book club?”
“How was—” I breathed out a laugh and shook my head, taking a step toward him. I couldn’t decide where I wanted to look, my gaze pinging from him to the beautiful tub and back again. “What is all this?”
He didn’t move, just crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. “Your new favorite spot.”
“Did you…” I slowly walked toward him, glancing at the setup that haddefinitelynot been there this morning. “Did you build me anoutdoor soaking tub?”
His grin widened, his dimples winking at me. “Me and a few others—not that fuckerJeff, though. He was too busy fondling his eggplants.”
“Oh my god.” I huffed out a breath, half laugh, half sob. This man was sweet and ridiculous and absurd and mine.
At least, for now, he was mine.
“My brothers pitched in. And I bribed Atlas’s football team with pizza. Teenage boys get shit done real quick when there’s food on the line.”
I stepped forward, my breath caught in my throat as I took in everything. The fairy lights. The soft drapes for privacy. The faint scent of lavender rising from the steaming water. “Lincoln, this is?—”
“Romantic as hell?” he asked, brow raised.
I laughed. “It’sridiculous.”
His smile widened as he tugged me to him, his hands on my hips, his thumbs slipping under the hem of my T-shirt. “Yeah, but I’myourridiculous husband.”
“I can’t believe you did this,” I whispered, my throat clogging with emotion.
He stared down at me, his gaze full of something that I could trick myself into believing was love. “You deserve it. Steaming, lavender-scented water. Peace and quiet. Your ridiculous husband, delivering drinks and orgasms while shirtless—what’s not to love?”
