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Then I stagger-drop into the armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table, tip my head back, and close my eyes.
CHAPTER 12
Callie
It’s the smell that wakes me, maple syrup and something baking. Maybe bread? Pancakes? Did I fall asleep in a diner?
The one thing I know for sure is this isn’t Loveland Ranch or my apartment in LA because I’m on an unfamiliar couch and curled up beneath the softest blue blanket known to humankind. I force my eyes open wider and scan the room. Nothing looks familiar.
Maybe this is some fever dream because I swear I’ve never smelled anything so good. Rolling off the couch, I wipe the sleep from my eyes as they adjust to the dim light in the room. I see closed plantation shutters over tall windows, a rough-hewn coffee table that looks like a giant stump of wood, and a couch matching the one I slept on. No artwork adorns the walls. Very few decorative items sit on the coffee table. The house screams bachelor.
It only takes a second to put the pieces together when I hear Scout’s giggles from a couple of rooms away. I don’t remember leaving my purse on the table, but there it is, full of mints, hair bands, and an emergency pair of panties. Don’t judge. Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I follow the sound of giggles, maple, and cinnamon.
Scout sits at the kitchen table, dressed in a navy tee and a cowboy hat, his legs swinging beneath the table, where he sits in a booster seat on the high-backed chair. Luke has his back to me, standing shirtless at the stove with a spatula in his hand. It’s impossible not to notice his carved back muscles and the way his casual sweatpants drape over his ass and cling to his strong thighs. I don’t force my eyes away until he turns and catches me staring.
Swallowing hard, I bring a hand to my hair, smoothing down the strands that have already broken free of the ponytail and swim around my head like fireflies. His scowl eases to something neutral, and I let my gaze sneak back to appreciate his sculpted abs and chest.
Damn.
“Hi.” I put up a hand just as Scout notices me standing there and shouts my name.
“Callie! I wanted to wake you and play, but Daddy said you needed sleep.”
My eyes flick to Luke’s in appreciation. He turns quickly back to the stove.
“Thanks, Scout. I guess I was tired. How’d you sleep?”
“Like a log.”
Only then do I see Luke’s cheek muscle tug hard enough to turn his scowl into something less menacing. A smile? Not quite, but it’s a move in that direction. “You tired him out. Hard to do.”
“Isn’t that what they say? Tiring out a kid is like trying to tire out a puppy?”
Luke turns back to the stove and flips two pancakes over. They sizzle in melting butter, which makes my mouth water. “Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a puppy.”
“Never, like not even when you were a kid?”
He turns back around and crosses his arms. His biceps flex and I get a beautiful dose of some morning forearm porn. He points in the direction of the pasture. “Lotta animals on a ranch. Never considered adding pets into the mix.”
I’m about to lobby for my favorite animals in the world when he shoots me a warning look. His eyes flick to Scout. Message received—do not mention getting a puppy in front of my son, who will want to get a puppy.
Instead, I tip my head toward the stove. “I hope there’s enough of whatever you're cooking for one more person.” Walking over, I take a look at the perfectly browned pancakes and a matching stack on a plate. He’s made nearly a dozen, and a glass measuring cup sits next to the stove, still half-filled with pancake batter. “Let me retract that. I hope you have enough people coming to eat eight thousand pancakes.”
Scout giggles. “Daddy, why are you making eight thousand pancakes?”
Luke’s ears turn red at the tips, and he shoves a hand in his hair, which I’m starting to notice he does whenever he’s flustered.
“I’m not. Callie is exaggerating.” He lowers his voice and tips his head down so he’s practically speaking at the floor. “Try to do something nice and get made fun of.”
I put a hand on his arm, wanting him to stop being so hard on himself. This time he doesn’t flinch. “I wasn’t making fun of you. And I have a good appetite, so bring ’em on.”
He nods and hands me a plate with two pancakes on it. I gesture for him to keep going, and he adds two more. Sitting down next to Scout at the table, I douse my pancakes in syrup from a little ceramic crock. Scout watches me cut a square of pancake, dip it in the syrup on the plate, and pop the bite into my mouth.
He takes one of the cut-up pieces from his plate and does the same, smiling at me as we both chew. I notice that he has strawberries and blueberries off to the side in a bowl, which looks untouched.
“Hey Scout, can I have a blueberry?”
He nods and pushes the bowl toward me. “This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook from eating fruit,” Luke says, watching us.
