And then there’s this huge, imposing man. I thought he might have been asleep, or at least completely tuned out, butboy was I wrong.
His jaw clenches. His eyes are open now, sharp and narrowed on Jessica like he’s tracking every word, every insult.
He isn’t ignoring her. He’slistening.Watching.Silent, but so intensely present it makes the air between us hum.
Suddenly I don’t want to let my sister win. I might be the quiet one, but even I have my limits.
My mouth opens before my brain can catch up.
“He’s my man,” I say, loud enough for her, her friends, and probably half the town to hear — before she tries to steal him too, like she did with my first serious boyfriend.
The words hang in the autumn air like strings of lights, shocking even me. The people around us fall silent, waiting for a fight.
Jessica’s eyebrows shoot up. For once she’s speechless. Then laughter peals from her perfect mouth, a sound that still makes me feel eight years old andinvisible.
“Your man? Please. As if.” She tosses her long hair over her shoulder, her glossy lips pulling into a sneer. “No one wants you, little sister. They tolerate you because you have flowers and bake sweets. Theypityyou.”
Her words slice deep, reopening scars I thought I hid under layers of soil and petals.
Heat rushes to my face and embarrassment twists in my belly. The urge to take back my claim wars with a stubborn streak that rarely sees daylight.
My grandmother used to tell me flowers bloom brighter when they're loved, and maybe I’ve been starving for love so long I’ll claim itanywhere.
Something in him changes. He leans forward and slips his hand around my waist, pulling me in close between his knees. His grip is possessive and protective, and for a second I forget to breathe.
When he speaks, his voice carries a weight that stops my sister’s laughter cold.
“Watch your mouth,” he says to Jessica, steel threaded through every syllable. “You don’t talk tomy womanlike that.”
My heart stops beating.
My woman.
The words wrap around me like armor. He is playing along. He is saving me from embarrassment.
The rational part of me tells me this is a show, an act to shut Jessica up. But the way his fingers splay against my hip, the warmth seeping through my sweater, the way his eyes soften when he looks at me — it doesn’t feel like anact.
Jessica recovers quickly. “Your woman?” Her laugh is brittle. “She’s pathetic and plain. You can do better.”
She reaches out and trails a manicured nail down his chest like she’s never met a man she couldn’t seduce.
His jaw ticks. His hand tightens on my waist.
“Touch me again, and you’ll pull back less than you started with,” he says quietly, gaze like ice. There’s no anger in his tone. Just a calm promise.
Jessica’s hand freezes midair. For once, she looks nervous.
Then he turns his attention fully to me.
“Come on,sunshine,” he murmurs, his voice turning warm for my ears alone.
Without waiting for a response, he pulls me effortlessly into his lap, settling me across his thighs like I belong there.
I squeak, half scandalized, half exhilarated. He braces one broad arm around my waist to keep me steady.
The world tilts. This man ishuge. His biceps flex beneath ink and leather, and he smells like gun oil and cold mountain air. His hair is dark with streaks of silver at the temples, and there are tiny lines around his eyes and mouth, hinting at years livedhard.
A jagged scar slices up his neck and disappears under his beard. He is easily twice my size and at least fifteen years older. Every logical bone in my body tells me to wiggle free and run.
