Jas stabbed his spade into the ground. He yanked out the dandelion and dumped it in the garbage bag. The garden around the house had been somewhat maintained. Not to his high standards, but not bad. He was mostly out here because he could keep an eye on Katrina through the kitchen window. All without actually talking to her.
He’d kissed her. How could he have done that? How had he allowed almost a decade of pent-up need and affection to escape? He prided himself on suppressing... well, everything.
He hacked at the root of a particularly stubborn weed. He’d slipped and let his feelings come out, done the worst possible thing he could do. He swallowed, the self-disgust nearly choking him.
He had to apologize. He rested his rusted spade on the ground and glanced up at the window. She came into view, tying her hair up on top of her head, her round face in profile. Her lips were bare of lip gloss, and they were perfect, the bottom full and pouty, the top a sweet bow. She’d showered and changed as well, and her loose green shirt was the same color as the emerald dress she’d worn when he’d first seen her.
He’d apologize, and explain that it had been a onetime thing, a mistake. He’d offer to leave if she’d like him to.
She wouldn’t actually make him leave, right? She’d give him the benefit of the doubt.
He came to his feet, but stopped when he heard the sound of hooves from down the road. Why was Bikram here, when they’d only talked a few hours ago?
A flash of crimson came through the trees.
Oh no.
Another flash, and the shadow of a huge black stallion.
Ohno.
Had Bikram known? Surely he would have said something if he had.
The horse and rider emerged from the copse of trees. His grandpa came to a stop a few feet away, his devil horse’s feet kicking up in the air a little. The old man had always been a showboat, and he wasn’t becoming more discreetas he aged. His signature bright-red turban was the least dramatic thing about him.
Andrés Singh was locally and nationally known as the Peach Prince. Within the family, he was known as a tough son of a bitch. Jas had firsthand knowledge of how tough he could be.
The horse settled and Andrés lifted his chin at him, an action Jas immediately mirrored. They were similar in many ways: their thick eyebrows, their high cheekbones, their physique.
Their stubbornness.
Andrés slid off his horse and patted the animal on the neck before walking toward Jas. The man was as tall as Jas was, though age had stooped his shoulders. His denim shirt and worn jeans could be found on any other farmhand, but he’d always carried himself with an air of command. “Jasvinder,” he said.
Jas took his gardening gloves off and slapped them against his palm. “Grandpa. You were supposed to be out of the country.” And he’d be texting Bikram immediately to ask him what he thought Jas had meant bydon’t tell anyone I’m here.First his brother told their mom, now—
Ah. His mom. He should have known, since he hadn’t gotten a single phone call from her in days. She’d surely blabbed.
His grandfather’s dark gaze pinned Jas. When he was a kid, those eyes could have made him confess anything and everything that could be classified even moderately as mischief. “Plans change, boy. Sorry to disappoint you.” His gaze slid over Jas’s shoulder.
Jas’s heart both sank and sped up. He glanced behind him. Katrina stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen, flour on her apron and face. With her rolled-up shirtsleeves and snug jeans, she looked like a farm woman with a penchant for baking, not a wealthy investor.
Katrina cocked her head and returned his grandfather’s inspection. “Hello.”
Andrés’s mustache quivered. His beard hadn’t grown any less thick and luxurious as he aged. “I presume you are Katrina. Hardeep’s wife.” It would be hard not to hear the disdain Andrés heaped on Hardeep’s name.
This was a shit show.
“I am.” Katrina came outside and extended her hand. “You’re Jas’s grandfather?”
“I am. Andrés Singh.”
She shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her eyes met Jas’s and skittered away.
He mentally kicked his own ass again. The stupid kiss.
“Thank you so much for your hospitality. Your farm, or what I’ve seen of it, is beautiful.”
“No need to thank me. I didn’t even know you were here.”
