“Told you,” I said.
He tried a bite, chewed slowly, and then visibly deflated. “Okay. Fine. I get it. You’re living in a Hallmark movie written by a queer witch.”
Beau chuckled.
“Does that make me the city girl who finds herself?”I asked, mock-sweet.
“No,” Shane said. “You’re the weird one who already believed in ghosts and accidentally summoned a hot mechanic with your horniness.”
“Pretty sure that’s the plot of season two,” I said under my breath.
Beau kissed my temple, not saying anything, just letting his presence do all the talking.
We ate most of our food in easy silence, the kind that only exists between people who’ve already said the hard stuff out loud. Shane was still watching everything like it might disappear if he blinked too slow, but I could tell—he was softening. Warming to it. Maybe even a little charmed, not that he’d ever admit it.
Beau’s phone buzzed once, then again.
He checked the screen, grimaced, and leaned over to press a kiss to my cheek. “That’s Whit. Something about a busted fan belt over at the shop. Mind if I run over real quick?”
I shook my head. “Go ahead.”
He slid out of the booth, clapped Shane on the shoulder like they’d been friends for years, and stepped outside into the late morning sun. A second later, a familiar laugh floated through the glass—Rhett’s, I realized—and I turned in time to see Beau pause on the sidewalk to greet his older brother and Willow. Rhett was pushing a stroller, and Hazel’s chunky little arms waved wildly from inside, reaching out for Beau—who didn’t hesitate to reach in and unbuckle her to hoist her into his arms, the baby laughing.
Shane watched all of this with slow, dawning horror.
“Oh my God,” he said.
I turned back to him. “What?”
He pointed at me with a slice of bacon. “You want his babies.”
I blinked. “What? No.”
“You do.” He pointed the bacon toward the window now. “You just watched that man pick up a baby and you went…sparkly. You made a noise.”
“I didnotmake a noise.”
“It was like a whimper crossed with a sigh,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Like…when you see a puppy.”
I tried to glare. Failed. Looked down at my coffee instead. “It’s not like that.”
“You’re planning your future. Don’t lie to me.”
“Okay,” I muttered. “Maybe it’s alittlelike that.”
Shane let out a long breath and leaned back against the booth. “Jesus, Kinney.”
“I know.”
“No, like—Jesus, Kinney.You’ve got a career, a podcast, rent that costs more than a small yacht, and you’re about to throw it all away for a man who owns a dog and a socket wrench.”
“I’m not throwing anything away,” I said quietly. “I’m just…recalculating.”
He stared at me for a long second. I could see the wheels turning, waited for another snarky comment.
But that wasn’t what I got at all.
Instead, he asked, “Does he make you feel safe?”
