“So, um. What are your plans for the day?” I asked him.
He cocked his head to one side, pondering it a moment, before replying, “Well, I figure we can get our work done early—the lawn needs mowed and I have some paperwork to catch up on—and then we can spend the rest of the day doing whatever our little hearts desire. What do you think?”
I smiled and picked up the cinnamon roll again. “I like it,” I said. “Let me enjoy this delicious pastry first, though.”
“Of course,” he said around a chuckle. “And I’m going to enjoy watching you enjoy devouring that pastry.”
I bit my lip on a grin, rolled my eyes, and took another bite. My teeth sank into the soft, buttery dough, and it practically melted in my mouth. Sugar and cinnamon coated my tongue as I chewed slowly, savoring the moment, before swallowing. “Mmm.”
Damn, the man could bake. Was there anything Adam Sinclair couldn’t do?
I ended up eating two cinnamon rolls, then regretting the second because the food seemed to swell in my belly when I rode around the lawn on the zero-turn. Every bump and jolt made me feel like the Pillsbury Doughboy, but I got it done.
While the mower cooled down, I fired up the weed-eater and buzzed around trees and landscaping, giving Adam’s property that nice manicured finish that matched the rest of the ritzy houses in the neighborhood.
Adam definitely lived in the nice part of town. The houses—if you could even call them houses—here probably sold for millions, with perfect lawns and decorated gardens, the vehicles parked out front worth more than my entire life.
I stood in the middle of the yard, looking around at all the different mansions neighboring Adam’s manor. These were people who knew people, people who had money, who were born into money, or who had amazing jobs paying six-figure salaries.
And who was I? Nobody. I didn’t have money or a job; I didn’t even have a savings account.
I didn’t belong in this world. Did I really think I deserved someone like Adam?
Bitterness swept in like a rising tide, tearing away this morning’s happiness in its undercurrent. My shoulders slumping, I finished my duties outdoors, but dragged my heels going back inside.
Adam was reading a book on the couch when I finally did return. I tried to slink past the living room, but he called out my name in such a way that it tugged on my heartstrings.
“Fletcher?”
“Need to wash up,” I mumbled, the only excuse I could come up with, before continuing on my way to the kitchen.
I ran hot water and lathered my hands and upper arms with soap, getting all the grass and dirt off my skin. I’d need a shower tonight, but for now, this would have to do.
Adam wouldn’t be deterred, though. He followed me into the kitchen, coming up behind me. Just like once before, at the beginning of all of this, his warm, firm body pressed up againstmy back. His hands cupped my hips, then moved down a bit, his fingers sliding into the belt loops of my jeans.
“Fletch? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lied, but I was a terrible liar and we both knew it. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course I’m gonna worry about it,” he replied, his voice so gentle. He wrapped his arms around me, embracing me from behind, and my head fell forward.
I hated that it felt so right, being in his arms. Being held like this. Cherished. Adored by this Alpha who I didn’t deserve. Who I had no rights to want.
“Talk to me, baby,” Adam murmured.
I turned slowly in his arms. I rested my hands on his chest and gazed up at him, my eyes already tearing up with what I was about to say.
“D-Do you think this is a bad idea?” I managed to whisper despite the ache tightening up my throat.
“What?” He looked surprised and a little confused. “What do you mean?”
“This.” I gestured between us. “Us. Whatever we are, whatever we’re doing. It feels so right, but I… Are we just fooling ourselves?”
Adam’s expression changed, shifting from confusion to sympathy to concern in one fluid motion. He cupped my face in his hands.
“Baby, where is this coming from? We were okay at breakfast?” he murmured. “Did something happen?”
“No, I just…” I choked on the words. “I don’t belong here, in your world. I am no one.”
