“Ring?”
“Yeah. You know, the kind that comes along with a proposal?”
Reese shot upright, propping himself up with one arm so he could look down at Brantley. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”
Brantley nodded.
Reese smiled. “Is he…? Did he…?”
“Not yet.” Brantley smiled, forcing himself to sit up. “But he will. When the time’s right.”
“Holy shit.”
Chuckling, Brantley got off the bed. “Come on. Let’s shower. Then I’ll make you dinner.”
“You mean you’ll let me make dinner.”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Carson’s intention was to take Slade somewherenice for dinner. A place outside of Coyote Ridge. But that was on Monday when he thought he stood a chance of convincing Slade to let him take him out. He gave up after three attempts.
Needless to say, he’d been surprised this afternoon when Slade texted him, agreeing to dinner. AND ONLY DINNER, the message had said, as though Slade was shouting at him.
Since the ball was in Slade’s court, Carson hadn’t argued when he said he preferred the diner.
Now, as he waited in a booth by himself, Carson was starting to wonder if he was being stood up. He wouldn’t blame Slade if he did. After the way he’d treated him … it was a wonder Slade would even talk to him anymore.
Each time the door opened and Slade didn’t walk in, Carson’s disappointment grew. He was about to give up when the bells jingled, signaling a new arrival, and Slade appeared, looking good enough to eat.
Fuck.
The guy was freshly showered and shaved, and now he sauntered in wearing boots, jeans, and a black T-shirt that was made to accentuate his muscular chest and enormous arms. The straw Stetson on his head only added to his ridiculous appeal.
Carson watched as Slade spoke to the hostess before following her gesture as she pointed in his direction.
Swallowing hard, he fought the urge to gulp his water as Slade approached, dark eyes even darker beneath the shadow of that cowboy hat.
“Workin’ late? Or were you decidin’ if you were gonna stand me up?”
“Always right to the point, Carson,” he said, avoiding both questions.
“I thought you liked that about me.”
Slade’s eyes slid over his face as he removed his hat and mussed his hair. Without looking away, he set it on the seat beside him. “I used to like a lot of things about you.”
“Touché.” Carson deserved that.
“And no, I wasn’t gonna back out.”
That was good to know.
“But I did call Atticus from my truck.”
Carson expected no less. Not from a man like Slade. He was honest and loyal, always had been. And that was the reason Carson felt bad about how things had ended for them. Slade hadn’t deserved his shit, but Carson had been too embarrassed to see reason.
Back then, anyway.
