“Ah, right, after she gave him a good old spanking,” he chimes in from across the table, his trademark shit-eating grin spreading across his face.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Count to three. Remind myself that fratricide is frowned upon in civil society. “If you want a sober driver tonight, you’d better shut up. Both of you.”
Remy zips his lips over a mouthful of cookie, eyes still dancing with teasing.
Shaking my head, I cross the open space to where Rhys is sprawled on the rug and scoop him up. He squeals, his crayon flying from his hand, but he’s laughing as I settle him on my hip. He’s getting too big for this; growing too fast.
“Be good for Grandma, okay?” I press a kiss to his cheek, enjoying the softness of a seven-year-old’s skin against my stubble.
“I’m always good.” He kisses me back and wraps his skinny arms around my neck in a squeeze that threatens to choke. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, kiddo.” I set him down and ruffle his hair. It springs back up in ten different directions. Evans hair. Impossible to tame.
“I need forty-five minutes to shower and get ready,” Rebecca announces, already heading for the door. “You’re picking me up?”
“Yeah.” I follow her out, calling goodbye to Mom over my shoulder and flipping the bird to Remy—he just smirks wider.
Each of us has our own place on the farm. Me in the house I built eight years ago on the northeastern corner of Hollow Creek, far enough from the old farmhouse for privacy but close enough that Rhys can walk to Grandma’s when he wants. Becky is in the renovated cottage by the flower fields. And Remy, in the dismissed foreman’s quarters he fixed up near the cattle pastures. We’re within reach when someone needs an extra hand, but without stepping on each other’s toes.
I hadn’t planned to shower or change. I was going to show up in my work clothes, have one beer, listen to the band, and drive everyone home. Simple.
But Faye will be there.
The thought sends me to my truck, then home straight into the bathroom, where I strip off dusty jeans and my musky Henley. The shower runs hot, steam filling the small space. I scrub hard, swearing it’s not about her. Just personal hygiene.
I shave for the first time since Sunday, studying my reflection in the foggy mirror. Even without the stubble, the man staring back at me looks older than thirty-two, with lines around his eyes from squinting in the sun and a permanent furrow between his brows from worry and weather. What the hell am I doing? She’s Rhys’s teacher. She thinks I’m an arrogant ass.
Still, I pull on a clean pair of jeans and a dark blue flannel that Rebecca swears “brings out my eyes” (whatever that means). I comb my hair back, taming it with a bit of gel from an old bottle I haven’t used in years, until it no longer seems like I’ve been electrocuted.
When I walk outside, Remy is already leaning against my truck. He takes one look at me and bursts out laughing.
“What?” I unlock the truck and hop in.
“Nothing.” He’s still smiling ear to ear as he climbs into the passenger seat. “Sweet how you’re totally not into the teacher.”
“I’m not.”
“Uh-huh.” He buckles his seatbelt, grinning at me from across the cab. “Then I’m honored the clean-shaved jaw and combed hair are for me.”
I throw the truck in reverse, gravel spinning under my tires. “One day, you’ll get stupid over a woman. And it’ll be my turn to laugh.”
“Never gonna happen.” Remy makes a twirling gesture with his finger. “That’s why I keep ’em circulating. Never stop too long on one.”
I shake my head and turn onto the dirt road that leads to Rebecca’s place.
She’s waiting on the porch when we pull up, and joins the merciless teasing the moment she gets into the truck.
“You cleaned up good.” She leans between the seats. “Did you get the memo we’re going to the Moonshine and not to meet Faye’s parents?”
“You’re both walkin’ home if you keep this up.” I shift into gear, and the truck lurches forward.
But curiosity gnaws at me. “Do you know anything about her? Faye, I mean. Where she’s from. Her family.”
Remy coughs into his fist. “Just to clarify—you’re asking because you’re so not into her.”
I reach over and clap him on the back of the head. Not hard, but enough to make my point.
“Ow! Assault!”
