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“I’ll do the shoot with you. Tell Layla to set up the time and place, and I’ll be there.”
“Why?” My hands shake as I stuff them back into my pockets.
Is he jealous of another man touching me? It’s too much to hope for. But the possibility has my heart racing in my chest like the sun shining through the clouds on a dreary day. I’d do anything to convince him to get to know me better. To date me. To marry me and have three kids.
Maybe he’d move to San Francisco. There are dozens of fire stations there. It would be a perfect opportunity for him to advance in the ranks, as things are pretty set in stone here in Meadow Bay. Layla’s father is the chief, and Marco Aguila is second in command. When Alan retires, the helm will be headed by Marco.
“As a favor for Connor.” He gives me a look like I’m stupid for even questioning why he’d do it, and the momentary flicker of hope I experienced is smashed at my feet. I’m such an idiot. “Why else would I do it?”
The knife was already lodged into my chest. I didn’t need it twisted.
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” I shift from foot to foot rather than punch him in the gut. “I’ll pick someone else. Thank you.”
“Harbor,” Cole growls as a string of people show up to buy raffle tickets. The fact he chose now to call me by my given name rather than my nickname pisses me off even more. Screw him.
I greet the first customer as if she’s a long-lost friend and continue chatting up the townsfolk until our volunteer period is over and I can escape. I’m not going to be someone’s afterthought or obligation. That doesn’t cut it for me.
Chapter Eight
Cole
After a fitful sleep, I climbed out of bed, showered, and got dressed, wishing I hadn’t asked for Friday and Saturday off. Working alongside Harbor left me feeling irritated and turned on. And it doesn’t seem to matter to my body that she rejected my offer to do the photo shoot with her. My brain says forget her. But my body says, when do we see her again.
I twist the doorknob and jog down the stairs, hoping that exercising some energy off will fix what sleep and a cold shower couldn’t–getting her out of my head. Because God knows she’s living there rent-free.
When I step onto the main floor, I stop in my tracks and listen. The sound of plates rattling and muffled voices fills my ears. Emilia and the kids are here. I inhale the scent of eggs and bacon. Well, at least if my house is going to be invaded, she’s smart enough to know I need food.
I march through the living room, down the hallway, and grin at the two hellions seated at my kitchen table.
“Unc Col.” Sofia climbs down from her seat and runs to me with her curls flying in her self-made breeze. When she’s within arm’s reach, I grab her and lift her into the air.
“Hey, baby.” I nuzzle her cheek as she giggles.
Emilia spins around with a wooden spoon in her hand and wrinkles her nose. “Hey.”
“What?” The muscles in my back tighten as I drop Sofia back down to her feet and Thatcher latches onto my legs. “Hey, buddy.” I ruffle his soft hair and wait for my sister to drop her bombshell.
“I need to ask you a favor.”
“What?”
Great. If she’s giving me a sheepish look, it’s not going to be something I want to do. I lift Thatcher and settle him on my hip as Sofia returns to her seat and stuffs a slice of bacon in her mouth. Her little hands are covered in grease. Thankfully, she waited to eat until I got downstairs, or I’d need another shower.
But on to the good news. I’ve found the magic elixir for ending my permanent hard-on. My sister and her kids. I’ll have to remember that in the future.
The door opens, and my parents barge into the room. “Son.” My dad nods as I embrace my mother and kiss the top of her head. After all these years, she still smells like vanilla with a faint hint of musk. It doesn’t matter how many times we buy her different perfumes; she still sticks with her favorite discount brand.
“Pops,” I return his greeting.
“Baby.” She cups my cheeks and sighs, “God, you’re so pretty.”
“Pretty!” Sofia laughs until her eyes dance. “Boys aren’t pretty.”
“I beg to differ, young lady.” My mom gives Sofia a loud kiss on the cheek. “All my kids and grandchildren are pretty.”
Why did I think it was a good idea to move in next to my parents? Right. Because Emilia’s husband was a deadbeat and left her when she got pregnant with Thatcher. One kid interfered with his game nights. But two would’ve kept him from his 8-hour gaming sessions and hooking up with his assistant.
Emilia dries her hands and looks at me expectantly while twisting the stove knob and wiping her hands on a white dish towel.
