Page 159 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

But I’ll take it.

Hell, I’ll take anything she gives me.

“Guess we didn’t fool anyone,” she whispers against my lips.

“Wasn’t exactly tryin’ to,” I murmur back.

Kelly snorts and heads toward the kitchen just as the phone rings.

She answers on the second ring and within seconds she’s arguing.

I don’t have to try hard to piece it together.

J.T. Lawrence Construction.

Leonard J.T. Lawrence himself, judging by the volume and the sheer audacity of the call.

He’s been the McCrae mill’s biggest client for years.

Kept them afloat when they were expanding.

Throws his weight around like he owns the damn mountain.

He’s not a bad guy.

But calling Kelly at home?

That’s crossing a line.

But it’s not my fight.

Clara moves around the kitchen like she’s been here her whole life, unbothered by the noise behind her.

She unwraps the burritos, reheats them in a pan, slices the muffins and toasts them in butter like she’s running a five-star breakfast service.

“I thought you couldn’t cook.”

“I can’t,” she corrects me. “This is reheating. I can reheat like a motherfucking champ.”

“Damn straight you can, Trouble,” I reply and kiss her quick.

Then, I turn on the electric kettle and dig through the cabinet for a tea bag that isn’t fruit flavored.

“This is cozy,” she says softly.

I look at her across the small kitchen—sunlight hitting her hair, sleeves pushed up, humming under her breath.

It is.

Cozy.

My grin spreads without permission.

Then a small human hurricane barrels in.

“Hi, Greyson! Morning, Clara! Can I have some orange juice?”

Evan’s hair is sticking up on one side, pajamas mismatched, eyes still heavy with sleep.