There he is.
My lumberjack.
God, I’ve missed him.
“Maybe I will,” I say, leaning into him. “If you tell me what the text I sent you said.”
“The text?” He pretends to not know what I’m talking about.
The text I sent him. When I didn’t know it was him. When I thought I was crashing with one of Gabe’s friends and wanted the night with half-naked Harrison to last just a little longer.
We’re at the very end of the marina, where the dock narrows and the water stretches out forever. The sun is sinking lazily over the sea.
It’s the perfect end to a jacked-up day.
Or it would be, if the kids were here.
“I love you, Pix,” Harrison says, his voice so full of feeling it trembles.
“I love you, Lumberjack.” I kiss him, slow and sure, then pull back just enough to look at those heart-melting eyes. “What did the text say?”
“The text…” He drags the word out slowly.
“Tell me,” I beg, batting my lashes up at him.
He looks down at me, something warm and fond softening his eyes. “Jesus,” he murmurs. “You’re laying it on thick.” A corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re worse than the kids.”
He smiles, pulls out his phone, and presses it into my hand. “Read it for yourself.”
I look down at the screen.
Pix
Hi, this is Gabe’s sister.
Sorry I’m running late.
Will bring donuts in the morning.
Had to see a lumberjack about some wood.
I slap a hand over my face, mortified, laughing so hard my eyes sting. “I did not say that.”
“Oh, I have written proof,” he says, far too pleased with himself. Then his mouth curves with wicked satisfaction. “But it gets better.”
He taps the phone.
And I keep reading.
PS. Pretty sure I’m marrying him.
I stare at the words, heart pounding, blinking through tears.
Then, I smile.
“It’s like I’m clairvoyant,” I tease.
“You certainly are.” His lips feather mine. “Mrs. Evans.”
