“Tragically?”
Morgan laughs. “Yes.” She pauses. “Go have fun tonight, okay? Don’t think about all your stuff. Your parents are fine, I saw them two days ago. Your mom was bitching at your dad and he ignored her. Nothing has changed. Your handsome, funny, and charming cowboy won’t have his daughter with him tonight, right?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “So you don’t have to worry about her, either.”
“True.”
“I want a full report tomorrow, got it? And it had better be good. If you tell me you were in bed by nine, I’m going to be pissed off.”
Morgan’s using her mother’s stern voice. It makes me smile. “I promise when we talk tomorrow, I’ll have something good to tell you.”
There’s a knock on the door. A zing shoots through me. I’m almost positive it’s Warner with coffee. Last night when he dropped me off after dinner with his family, he mentioned birthday coffee. Libby jumps off the couch and races for the front door.
I open the door, phone tucked between my shoulder and my tipped head. I was only half right. A smile spreads across my face. Warner stands on the bottom porch stair, and Charlie stands on the threshold, a handful of flowers thrust out at me. “Happy birthday,” he says. “I picked these for you.” Libby jumps around his feet.
I take the flowers. Earth clings to the flower’s roots, showering down on my foot as the arrangement changes hands. “Charlie, you shouldn’t have.” I wink at him, and he beams. My eyes find Warner. One side of his mouth lifts into a smile. Into the phone, I say, “Morgan, I need to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Using my free hand, I slip the phone from my head and tuck it into my pocket.
Warner walks the rest of the way to me in the open doorway. He’s holding coffee. “Morgan, huh? She’s a real person?” He must see my confusion, because he follows it up with, “That’s the name you gave me the first day we met.”
I press two fingers to my lips, suppressing a laugh, and step back to welcome Warner and Charlie inside. “Morgan is my best friend,” I explain, watching Warner stride into the kitchen. He pulls two mugs down while I rinse the dirt from the flowers and drop them into a cup with water. Charlie hops onto a stool that faces the kitchen counter and watches.
“These are lovely flowers, Charlie.” I tap the glass holding the bouquet. “Where did you get them?”
He pushes hair off his forehead, dirt beneath his fingernails. “There’s a meadow behind our house. But they grow nearly everywhere this time of year. They pop up out of nowhere.”
I nod. “Wildflowers?”
“Yep.” He glances behind me at a cabinet. “Uncle Wyatt keeps hot chocolate here for me…”
Warner laughs. “Is that your way of asking?”
Charlie shrugs. “Maybe.”
“I think that’s something we can do.” I turn around, and Warner is close, so close I almost run into his outstretched hand with the mug of hot coffee.
“Thank you.” I look up at him, towering over me. He presses the coffee into my hands, my fingertips raking across his hand as I take it.
Though no sound comes from him, his face is anything but quiet. His lower lip separates from his upper. The tip of his tongue slips out, curling over his bottom lip. His pupils dilate, black overtaking caramel. Blood warms his skin half hidden beneath two days of stubble.
The increasing heat of the coffee mug forces me to disrupt the moment. I place the mug on the counter and step around Warner to fix Charlie’s hot chocolate. Like he said, there’s a jar of pre-made mix in the cabinet.
“Here you go.” I place the mug in front of Charlie. He thanks me, then glances at his feet. “Can I take Libby outside to play?”
I look to Warner. “Fine by me.”
He nods his yes to Charlie. Charlie walks out of the cabin, two small hands wrapped tightly around his cup. Libby trots beside him.
My attention swings from the closing front door to Warner. He’s looking at me over the brim of his cup.
“Happy birthday,” he says. His voice is deep and low, curling into me like the steam rising from his coffee.
“You said that already.” It’s a light, teasing admonishment.
Warner shakes his head. “Charlie did. I didn’t.”
“Right.” I look away. If I could keep my gaze trained on Warner, I would. But he’s doing this thing where he’s looking at me too closely, too intrusively, and it’s making me squirm. It’s safer to avert my gaze.
“Ready for tonight?” Warner asks. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dakota is pretty excited.”
“She really didn’t need to—”
