Just whatever Willow decides to cook.
And somehow it’s always perfect.
Honestly, I’m convinced the woman could make a gourmet meal out of tree bark and pinecones if she had to.
And the way she thawed my brother’s heart?
Well.That might be her most impressive trick yet.
Thatcher used to be about as emotionally available as a stump.
Now he walks around looking like the luckiest man alive.
Which, to be fair, he probably is.
I shove the hand truck again, and it sinks another inch.
“Fantastic,” I mutter.
But really, who deserves happiness more than Thatcher?
Another thought sneaks in before I can stop it.
I shake my head hard, mud splattering off my boots as I shift my weight.
Nope.
Absolutely not going down that road.
Because the second I start thinking about who deserves love and affection…
My brain goes right back to J.T.
And that look in his eyes when he said he wanted me.
I press my lips together and grab the handle again.
Stick to safer things, Kelly.
Things like groceries.
Things like mud.
Things like getting Willow the supplies she needs before lunchtime hits and the entire crew storms the Lunchroom like a pack of starving wolves.
The door opens then, and a wave of warm air rolls out toward me, carrying the smell of something rich and savory with it.
Spring herbs.
Butter.
Maybe chicken.
Definitely something delicious.
I plant my boots and shove the hand truck again with everything I’ve got.
The wheels refuse to budge.
