"Hey, sweetheart." He stood as I approached, pulling out the chair next to him. "How was your day?"
"Long." I sank into the seat with a grateful sigh. "But good. Really good, actually."
"Yeah?" He settled back down, his hand immediately finding my knee under the table. Just resting there, warm and solid. Claiming.
"Dr. Hanson got the approval." I couldn't keep the grin off my face. "Permits went through. We're breaking ground on the permanent clinic next month."
Devon's hand tightened on my knee. "Next to the station?"
"Right next door." I looked up at him, unable to contain my excitement. "I'll be working thirty feet from you. Well—when you're over here and not at a job site."
"Guess I'll have to find more reasons to swing by the station," he said, grinning.
The table erupted.
"The clinic’s being built?" Conner raised his beer. "That's fantastic."
"Congrats, Rylie," Hux added, grinning. "That's huge."
Mason leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with mock disbelief. "Man, Devon. You really went and got yourself domesticated, didn't you?"
"Shut up," Devon muttered, but there was no heat in it.
"No, seriously." Mason gestured between us with a fry. "One week ago, this man was eating cold pizza alone in the station kitchen. Now he's got a girlfriend moving in next door. Cupid took him out like a sniper."
"More like a sledgehammer," Conner added, laughing.
Devon flipped them both off, but his hand stayed on my knee, thumb drawing lazy circles that made it hard to focus on anything else.
Gabby appeared at my elbow, pad in hand and that ever-present smile on her face. "Hey, Rylie. Congrats on the clinic news. What can I get you?"
"Sweet white wine, please. Whatever you have that's cold and celebratory."
"Coming right up." She turned to the table. "You guys need anything else?"
"We're good," Mason said, but his eyes tracked her as she walked away.
I noticed. And judging by the way Conner elbowed him, he'd noticed too.
"Subtle," Conner muttered.
"What?" Mason grabbed another fry, trying and failing to look innocent.
"You've been watching her all night."
"I have not."
"You asked her name three times last week."
"I have a bad memory."
"You remember every play from the 2015 Super Bowl."
Mason opened his mouth, closed it, then shrugged. "She's pretty. So what?"
I bit back a smile, glancing around the roadhouse. Gabby wasn't the only attractive woman working tonight. There was a brunette behind the bar mixing drinks with practiced efficiency, another server—younger, maybe early twenties—clearing tables with nervous energy, and someone I hadn't seen before setting up the small stage in the corner.
Devon caught me looking. "What's that smile for?"
