The house rattles with a clap of thunder, and I close my eyes, swallowing hard. I am not prone to panic attacks, but storms give my heart a workout.
“It’s okay.” Ry steps up behind me, loops his arms around my chest, and pulls my back to his front. “I’ve got you.”
“Let’s just get to work on dinner and talk about something else,” I suggest. “It’ll keep my mind off it.”
“I can do that.” He links his fingers with mine, and we walk downstairs together. “How about burgers and fries for dinner?”
“Yum. I’ll cut up the potatoes.”
He kisses me on the sensitive spot just under my ear and then opens the fridge to pull out the ground beef.
“How was work today?” he asks me.
“Productive. That booth is the best, Ry. I’m so spoiled in there. I don’t know how I’ll go back to my tiny setup back home at the end of the summer. I got a new gig this afternoon, so now next month is completely booked solid. Here’s hoping I don’t get sick or anything. Because there isnowiggle room.”
Lightning flashes through the windows, as if it’s enveloping the house, and then thunder crashes, and I jolt, slicing my finger with the sharp knife.
“Fuck.”
“Whoa, come here.” Ry takes my hand in his and leads me to the sink, his face dark as he stares down at the cut. “No more knives for you today.”
“It’s not that bad.” I sound so grouchy, it’s almost laughable. “I can still help with dinner.”
“Nope.” He hooks my chin and makes me look at him. “I’m not asking, Wills. I’m telling you.”
“Bossy in the bedroom is fine, but I don’t need—”
“You’re hurt,” he counters, just as thunder strikes again and I jump. “Hey. No sharp instruments for you when you’re jumpy. I don’t need you severing a finger or something. Let’s get this bandaged up, and I’ll cook dinner.”
“My plan worked.” I’m trying to lighten the mood here. “I got out of dinner duty.”
“Next time, just tell me you don’t feel like cooking.” He sighs and fetches the first aid kit from below the sink and bandages me right up, then places a sweet kiss over my little wound. “There. How about some wine?”
“I won’t turn that down.”
“You sit, I’ll pour.”
“I’m not an invalid, you know.”
He lifts an eyebrow, daring me to talk back again, so I fold my lips together and sit my ass on a stool while he opens a bottle, pours, and then slides the glass over to me.
“Thanks. How was work for you today?”
“It was good. Nothing is injured, and everyone seems to be settled in just fine. Spike’s son, Micah, moved into the bunkhouse yesterday, and so far so good there.”
“I hope the two teenagers get along okay,” I say before taking a sip of the crisp white wine. Thunder claps, but I manage not to jump this time, and I can tell that the storm has moved on, as the sound is growing fainter.
Thank God.
“Aiden was showing Micah the ropes in the barn this morning, and neither of them looked ready to kill the other, so I’ll take that as a win.”
He winks at me, and my heart stills. It’s the same wink he’d give the camera after every single interview.
The wink just for me.
I won’t even admit to how many times I’d find interviews on YouTube, just so I could rewind and watch that wink over and over again.
“Have you noticed that Aiden doesn’t like to be touched?” Ryker asks.
