Page 63 of Serving Bunt

“You have no idea.” Her grin matched my own. “But if it makes you feel better, my ex owns the bar.”

“Is he the one who stole your air fryer?” Bella asked.

“No, she’s the one who dumped me because I got creeped out every time we had sex in front of her antique doll collection.”

I barked out a laugh before I could stop myself. Forget the game. I had about a dozen more questions to ask about these horny dolls.

Bennett shook his head, almost as if he knew what I was thinking. “I figured since Bella and Abuelita wanted to see the set, we could make a day of it and watch the game together,” he said.

“We were just gonna stream it on my tablet back in our cabin,” Matty told him and then, immediately froze.

The group went quiet for half a second.

Bella’s head tilted with interest. Parker’s sunglasses slid down her nose, comically slowly. Even Abuelita looked like she was fighting a grin.

“Our cabin?” Bella echoed, her voice dripping with interest.

There was no denying the stupid burst of warmth those two little words sent through me.

Our cabin.

Not his. Not mine.

Ours.

Like sharing space with me had already started feeling natural to him, too. Like maybe, I wasn’t the only one secretly wishing it could stay that way.

“It’s a long story,” I quickly added. “I guess we could set the tablet up in the breakfast room—”

“Actually,” Bennett cut in, looking far too pleased with himself. “I got to talking with Bernice on the way in, and she had another idea.”

Uh-oh.

“Something bigger.”

I glanced at Matty just in time to catch the exact same wary look crossing his face. The one that said whatever Bernice had planned, there was absolutely no chance the two of us were going to get any privacy for the rest of the day.

Matty

Bennett hadn’t been kidding when he’d mentioned that Bernice had planned something bigger. I guessed I shouldn’t have been surprised. From the moment we’d arrived at Juniper Ridge, it had been obvious that neither she nor her wife did anything halfway.

What might have started as a casual plan to stream the All-Star game on my tablet had somehow turned into a full-blown watch party on the front lawn.

The exterior side of the barn had been transformed into a screen that rivaled any drive-in theater. And that was coming from a country boy who had spent nearly every Friday night between his sophomore and senior years at the Auto-Vue Drive-In.

The massive projector, that, apparently, Bernice kept tucked away for private events and weddings, beamed the game in crisp, glorious HD across the wall. Blankets, folding chairs, and even a few of the sofas from inside the inn were scattered across the lawn like colorful wildflowers.

And then, there was the food.

Being a pro-baseball player definitely had its perks. I would be lying if I said I had never used my so-called “star power” to get a last-minute table at a restaurant or score some sold out concert tickets, though the latter had only been to win over my step-nieces, who were major Tyler, the Creator fans.

I was now, too.

Tonight, though, none of that pull had been necessary.

It was Parker and Lolly who had somehow managed to rally not one, not two, but three food trucks on extremely short notice. Parker, with her effortless charm and local connections—including the ex who had allegedly stolen her air fryer—and Lolly, who chaired an online group of queer business owners and, seemingly, had half of the Grande Ronde Valley on speed dial.

One of the trucks was farm-to-table, Filipino fusion cuisine, slinging everything from adobo fried rice to pork belly tacos. Another offered gourmet grilled cheese sandwich skewers, paired with fancy tomato soup shooters. The last was a gourmet waffle truck, and . . .