Page 111 of Already Callin’ You Mine

“On one condition. You tell me why me and not one of your other sons,” I challenge. It might be a step too far, but I’m willing to take the risk here.

She gasps, hand flying to her chest in mock offense. “Maybe because you’re my favorite?”

“Ha!” Talk about a bald-faced lie. All our lives, both our parents have insisted they don’t have a favorite of the seven of us. In reality, we all know that the “favorite” was an ever-changing rotation of which one of us was causing them the least amount of heartburn in that moment. “Don’t lie, Mama. You wanna ask Presley questions you think I’ll object to.”

It’s a joke, mostly. While I don’t doubt she wants to have some girl time with Presley, I also know that she has a hundred and one other ways to do it than make me go outside and cut flowers. This is nothing more than my chance to get a rise out of my mother.

At least until she purses her lips and narrows her eyes at me. Oh, shit. That really is the reason.

“Jace Butler Hayes, go outside and do as you are told. Allow me some time with your girl.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Fine, let me just go grab⁠—”

“Your father’s got the baby. They are perfectly fine out there with your brothers. Let him enjoy showing him around. Go.”

Yes, ma’am…

I nod, doing as I’m told. She left no room for argument, and I know better than to try and make some.

I head outside, trying to get my assignment over as quickly as I can. Only, the shears aren’t where they should be, so I lose a solid twenty minutes looking for them. And then I can’t find anything to put the pansies in. It’s like I was set up to have a five—ten at most—minute errand take forty-five. But I get it done, hopefully having clipped enough flowers to accomplish whatever it is that Mama wants.

I walk back into the house, the smell of all the amazing things being cooked hitting me like a wall. It’s a perfect medley of aromas and spices, making my tummy growl. Only, that’s not what really bowls me over.

My eyes land on Presley, her head thrown back in laughter at something Brenna said. I can’t make it out, but whatever it is has Brenna all animated, with Presley, and all the others surrounding her, in hysterics.

She looks so perfect like this. Happy, relaxed, and at home. Like she belongs here, as part of this family. Which, she does.

My heart squeezes, warmth spreading through me. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want a future with her. Than I want this family I’ve inherited. I don’t know what that fucker back in Raleigh was thinking, but maybe I owe him a six-pack of Southern Brothers as a thank you. His fuckup is the reason I’m standing here, reveling in all this.

But I want more.

I want there to be a ring on that finger, so she can show it off to the world. So people know that she’s mine. I want her to be Presley Hayes. I want to spend our Sunday mornings snuggled in bed, not only with Otis, but with a gaggle of siblings for him.

Most of all, right now, what I want is a kiss.

Straightening myself out, I push forward, walking toward all the laughter, ready to make a smart-ass comment. To keep them all laughing while I kiss my girl.

“See, that’s why I’m glad I fell in love with⁠—”

Presley stops abruptly, hands clapping over her open mouth. Eyes wide with panic, she looks around, checking to see if anyone heard what she said. None of my sisters-in-law look fazed. If anything, they appear more concerned with why she stopped herself.

Me too, actually.

“You love me?” I keep my voice light, almost teasing, as I close the distance between us.

Presley’s eyes grow even more, looking like they are going to pop out of her head. Her hands are still covering her mouth, as she starts to move her head in a weird wiggle, and I can’t tell if it’s supposed to signal yes or no.

“No, I didn’t mean…I mean…” she sputters. “Yes, but, I…” Hauling in a deep breath, she tries to collect herself and fails, a deep crimson creeping up her neck.

I place the flowers on the counter, ready to take her in my arms, but she bolts. Pushing right past me, she moves faster than I’ve ever seen and heads toward the sliding glass door that leads to the back deck.

I can see where Otis got his urge to run…

“I didn’t mean—” Brenna starts.

“You’re fine, Bren,” I assure her.

“I’ll go⁠—”