I roll my eyes, pleading with my heart not to beat out of my chest and give me away. “Yeah, my senile grandfather who can’t keep to a diet and thinks everything that’s not red meat or covered in grease tastes like cardboard.”
Pops gives a dry chuckle. “Oh, I don’t know ‘bout that. Seems more likely it’s whoever you keep sneakin‘ off to see the second I go to bed.”
I stop scratching Winnie andjolt upright. “I’m not—"
Pops’ eyes glint. “Or maybe it’s Tripp since I caught him slinkin' out of your room the other night when you both thought I was sound asleep.”
Shock twists through my gut, sharp enough to make me nauseous. Winston grunts, nudging me with his nose so I’ll keep scratching him.
“It’s not what you think,” I gasp out.
“Honestly, I don’t know who you’re tryin' to fool. You two have been gaga over each other for ages. It’s about time y’all did something about it.”
My gaze flashes to his. “Does Wes know?”
“Well, no. I wasn’t gonna tell him, and he’s been a little too preoccupied with the ranch lately to notice what’s happenin' right under his nose. I, on the other hand, have had plenty of time on my hands.”
“You can’t tell Wes. He would kill us.”
Pops’ eyes narrow. “And why’s that? Last I checked, the two of you were grown-ass adults who can make your own decisions and manage your own love lives. Life’s too short not to get some while the gettin’s good.”
My cheeks burn, and I toss a carrot at him, but he ducks out of the way, more agile than I gave him credit for.
“If we couldnottalk about my sex life, that would be great.”
His fingers comb through his mustache idly. “Have you told Tripp yet?”
“Told him what?” I mutter, still trying to come to terms with the fact that Pops knows I’m sleeping with Wes’ best friend.
“That you’re in love with him.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like he has zero doubt in his mind about it.
“I don’t—I’m not—" I stumble over my words.
I want to deny it,but damn it, he’s right.
My shoulders slump in defeat, and Winston snuffles around by my feet in search of more carrots, oblivious to my implosion. “I, uh, got a job offer. In Denver. I didn’t want to tell him when it might not make any difference.”
And because I’d been sure there was no way he felt the same. Tripp’s always been smart enough not to get tangled up in feelings, and I made the rules of this arrangement plenty clear. No feelings. Just a checklist and some good times between friends.
But lately? It has felt like more. Like maybe we’re both going back on that pinky swear we made in his hot tub two months ago.
He nods, slow and sure. “Now that is a pickle. I’m sure the two of you could figure out some kind of solution. You’re smart kids.”
I roll my eyes. Mom had said almost the same thing when I'd called to tell her about my job offer. “What happened to you all telling us what we should do?”
“I s’pose you grew up, and we learned when to back off. Though I considered forbidding you from keeping that damn nuisance,” he says, nodding at the pig.
I frown. “He’s not a nuisance. He’s family.”
“Must come from your mother’s side.”
Pops chuckles, and I give him a reluctant smile. Winston lets out a satisfied grunt and flops back into the mud.
“Come on,” Pops says. “You should clean up before Sawyer finishes up whatever supper she’s cookin' us tonight.”
Winston grunts like he’s disappointed the show’s over, flopping into the mud again. I give him one last scratch behind the ears before trailing Pops inside the old farmhouse.
By the time I’m finished cleaning up, the house is full of the sounds of the ranch family. Sawyer’s distinctive laugh echoes up the stairs as the smell of garlic and herbs weaves through the soap-scented steam. It feels like home in the best way—the most important way.
