Page 37 of My Husband Problem

But that’s also intimidating.

And also you’re in love with him.

I clear my throat. “I am really happy here,” I admit.

He actually looks pleased when he gives me a big smile. “I am very glad to hear that.”

Then he takes a bite of his biscuits and gravy. And because I’m watching him carefully for his reaction, he cannot hide the grimace.

I, however, hide my triumph and grin.

He coughs and reaches for the bottle of water he carried in with him. He clears his throat after swallowing several drinks of water. “So what’s on your agenda for today?”

The biscuits turned out fine, but the sausage gravy is terrible. There is absolutely no salt or other seasoning except for copious amounts of black pepper.

I stroke my hand over Oscar’s head. “Oh, I have a really busy day. Several meetings.”

“Can I take you to lunch?” he asks. “At the café?” He’s eyeing his plate as he says it.

I smirk.

“I could make us lunch here,” I say. I have no intention of making us lunch here.

“No, please let me take you out,” he says quickly.

I manage not to laugh. “Well, that might work. I’ll have to let you know what time, though. My meetings are a little up in the air.”

Mostly because I don’t have any set meetings. But I intend to stay very busy and where he can't spend time with me.

“If it’s team stuff, I’d love to come along,” he says. “After all, the more time we spend together, the better.”

There’s a knock on the back door just as he says that, and I look over to see Wilson, one of my neighbors, standing on the back porch.

Right on time.

I cross the kitchen to the door. “Oh, no, you’re actually going to be busy this morning.”

“I am?” he asks.

I open the door and gesture for Wilson to come in. “Good morning,” I greet. “Would you like some breakfast?”

I already warned Wilson to eat before he came over because he would not want what I’m going to offer him.

The older man is dressed in his typical fashion in a pair of leather loafers, linen slacks, a button-down shirt, and a vest. He removes the bowler hat, revealing the entirely bald head underneath. He hooks the hat over the back of one of the chairs. “Oh no, I already ate. But thank you, darling.” He leans over and gives me a peck on the cheek.

“Great. Well, I need to get going. Wilson, have you met Declan?”

“I have.” Wilson extends his hand to Declan.

Declan rises, taking Wilson’s hand and shaking it. “Good to see you again, Wilson.”

“You, too. Nice to see youinsidethe house. And this is a great way for us to get to know each other.”

I hide my smile as Declan tries, and fails, to hide his confusion.

“Okay, then, I’ll let the two of you get to work,” I say, lifting Oscar out of the sling. He gives a discontented grunt, but when I set him on the table—yes, the table, right near Declan’s plate of food—Wilson strokes his head.

“Hey, big boy,” Wilson croons to the cat.