“Was Seth’s room.”
Carter’s brows lift. “He’s going to lose his shit.”
“He’ll survive.” I step in and start unpacking without hesitation, pulling out cushions and blankets like I’m setting up camp in enemy territory. “June gets the best room. End of story.”
Carter follows, slower, eyes narrowing as he takes in the details. “You moved his stuff.”
“Sure did, without telling him.”
Carter lets out a low sound, half laugh, half warning. “That’s how you get buried.”
I toss a pale pink cushion onto the bed, then another in cream. “He’ll want to act civilized in front of June.”
Carter steps closer, voice dropping. “You’re doing this because you want her to be comfortable.”
“Yeah.”
“And because you’re staking your claim,” he adds, blunt as a hammer.
I pause, then keep arranging the cushions like I didn’t just get called out. “Call it whatever you want.” I continue decorating. The bed gets the full treatment—Egyptian cotton sheets in soft white, a fluffy duvet in pale blush, and then layers upon layers of blankets draped artfully across the foot and sides just as I saw on Pinterest. The cushions pile up against the headboard in varyingsizes and shades. I even bought some with little tassels because they looked cozy.
The sitting area in the room gets attention too, with a cream-colored throw for the small couch, a few more cushions, and a soft rug I found that looks like clouds. The bathroom already has towels, but I bought new ones in pink-and-white stripes because the ones Seth had were boring as hell.
“You got snacks too.” Carter states the obvious, pulling items from another bag. “A lot of them.”
“Quality over quantity. Or in this case, both.” I take the snacks from him and arrange them on the chest of drawers. Fancy cookies, good chocolate, sea salt chips, gummy candies, a selection of nuts and dried fruit for when she wants something healthy. Mountain spring water in glass bottles because plastic is tacky.
“You’ve thought about this way too much,” Carter says. “What happened to training for the rodeo?”
“I’ve thought about it exactly the right amount, and this is more important.”
We step back and survey my work. The room has been completely transformed—what was once a perfectly nice but somewhat bland space now looks like something out of a magazine.
“It’s very pink.”
“She’ll love it.”
“You don’t actually know that.”
“I know she deserves to feel special.” I cross my arms, satisfied. “And this room screams ‘You are special, and we’re thrilled you’re here.’?”
Carter opens his mouth to respond, but I hold up a finger. “Wait. Almost forgot. The pièce de résistance.”
I grab the last bag and pull out my masterpiece. It’s a body pillow. Full length. Custom printed. With my face on it. Well, mywhole body, technically. A photo from one of our promotional shoots, printed life-size onto pillow fabric. I’m posed in full cowboy gear, with a hat, boots, jeans slung low on my hips, and a shirt unbuttoned all the way down, showing a good portion of my torso. The expression on my face is somewhere between smoldering and playful.
It’s glorious.
Carter stares at it for a full five seconds before he loses it. “What thefuckis that?”
“It’s me.” I hold it up proudly. “In pillow form.”
“Why does that exist?”
“So she won’t miss me too much when I’m not around.” I carry it to the bed and arrange it lovingly against the cushions. “See? Now she can cuddle with me even when I’m not here. Problem solved.”
Carter is bent over, hands on his knees, laughing so hard no sound is coming out. His whole body is shaking.
“You—” He gasps for air. “You actually?—”
