And I swear I hear Willow laughing inside.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, bracing one boot against the frame and hauling back like I’m wrestling a bear instead of a glorified cart.
Now, I am not in any way jealous that my sister-in-law is an excellent chef.
Truly.
When she took over my half-formed idea of offering hot food for the guys and turned it into actual, healthy, balanced meals?I was grateful.
Before, I never had the time.
I was always rushing home to make sure dinner was ready at the exact minute Mike preferred.
Fork placed just so.Napkin folded just right.
God, that was exhausting.
Meanwhile, Thatcher had a habit of skipping meals entirely, and I’d worried myself sick about him more than once.
So yes.I’m grateful Willow stepped in.
But she’s entering her third trimester now.She needs to take it easy.
Which is why I volunteered to do the shopping.
It’s Saturday.
A few weeks since Clara and Greyson’s wedding.
Evan’s spending the night with his grandparents—Mike’s parents, who have been nothing but kind and steady through this whole divorce.
They love their grandson.
I mean, they’ve always been a little distant with me.But they’re decent people.And I won’t punish them for their son’s sins.
Truth is, the Supercenter—however loud and chaotic—was a welcome distraction this morning.
It kept me from sitting in my quiet house thinking about—not my ex—but rather, a certain offer a certain silver-templed construction mogul dropped in my lap and then disappeared.
I mean, who does that?
What kind of man says I want you, and then goes radio silent?
Besides the one I married.
Shit.
Maybe my man radar is broken.
“You need some help there, Kelly?”
Mack jogs over, boots splashing, grin firmly in place.
He works here at the mill, is barely thirty, and flirts like it’s a personality trait.
“I’ve got it,” I say automatically, even as the cart refuses to budge.
He grabs the handle anyway.“God, you sure look pretty this morning.”
