Page 19 of Wild Sanctuary

As in friends… with benefits?

The kind of friend thing where they talk on the phone about how their days were? The kind who still gets her in bed when she’s home and lonely?

My grip on the plates goes hard as I force my thoughts down, filing it all away with everything else that isn’t my problem.

“Oh yeah?” Colt’s grin widens. “Denver guy? Let me guess—finance bro? Tech startup? Crypto enthusiast who won’t shut up about blockchain?”

“Marketing, actually.” Daisy laughs. “He works for a tech startup, so half credit.”

“What’s his name?”

“Felix.”

I busy myself with the plates, arranging them around the table with more precision than the task requires. Behind me, June is asking Daisy about her drive from Denver, and Colt’s already moved on to complaining about the potholes on Route 287.

Every muscle I own has a violent opinion about Felix from marketing.

I already don’t like him.

Some slick city guy who got the years I didn’t. Who got to know her. To touch her. To have her.

And from the sound of that friend thing, maybe he still gets to.

The plate in my hand clinks too hard against the table.

“Plates, not frisbees, mister,” June chides. “Gentle.”

“Sorry.” The word comes out rougher than I intend.

Get a motherfucking grip, idiot.

Daisy Monroe is an old family friend writing an article. Nothing more, nothing less. And absolutely nothing I’ve got a right to want.

Don’t be the thing that stops her.

With Tom’s words in my ears, I immediately lock everything down where it belongs. It never used to be this damn hard, but then again, she never used to be standing ten feet away in a blue sundress, close enough to touch.

Close enough to destroy me given half the chance.

“Though I have to say,” Daisy continues, and I can feel her eyes on me even though I refuse to look up, “the threat of June’s guilt trip isn’t exactly a hardship. Something smells incredible.”

“Pot roast.” June looks up with a smile. “Your dad’s recipe.”

Daisy’s expression shifts, and just for a heartbeat, raw pain flashes through her eyes before she smooths it away.

“He always said nobody made it like you do,” she answers quietly, smoothing out a non-existent crease on her dress.

June’s smile wobbles. “I learned from watching him. He was the real cook. I just followed instructions.”

Nobody says anything for a minute. Nobody needs to.

West appears in the doorway, quiet as always, and the tension breaks. He nods at Daisy, then moves to help June with something at the stove. Those two have always had their own language, communicating in glances and half-gestures that the rest of us can’t quite follow.

I clear my throat. “Table’s not going to set itself.” The move is graceless, but has the desired effect. June hands me a stack of napkins, directs Colt to fetch the good glasses, and the moment passes, replaced by the comfortable chaos of dinner preparation.

Colt’s phone vibrates, and he glances at it with a smirk. “Beckett says hey. And that I still owe him fifty bucks from the Super Bowl.”

“You bet against the Chiefs?” West asks, incredulity hanging from every word.