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“That new picture you added to your Instagram of you and Bob during your morning jog is cute.”
I bite my lip, staring at his mouth, craving it, and wishing to know how he kisses. My gaze lowers to his sculpted chest and tattooed arms. He’s dreamy. No wonder women flock to him like bees to flowers. I know one thing that they don’t: Landon Miller doesn’t do relationships.
Landon looks around the kitchen. “Where is the mutt?”
“Bob isn’t a mutt, Daddy. He’s a Newfoundland. It took us a long time to find him, remember?” Cassie corrects him.
They gifted him to me a couple of years ago for my thirtieth birthday.
“He’s at the barn with the Alpacas,” I respond.
“Lee, what are we having for breakfast?” Dad repeats.
“Cereal?”
“Pancakes,” Cassie says, frowning at me. “We’re making pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon,” Cassie lists, sounding like she’s already planning a big meal.
“Sounds like a treat,” Dad says, smiling at me.
“It’s not a holiday, people,” I complain.
My family doesn’t understand that this place has to be ready for the guests in a couple of hours. I’ll have to bake several batches of chocolate chip cookies to replace the stench of bacon. Why don’t they go to the resort for breakfast? I glare at them, but the anger subsides when Landon reaches out for my hand and squeezes it.
It’s okay,he mouths.
“Come on, I’ll help you,” Landon offers, heading to the industrial refrigerator.
ChapterTwo
Knightly
Tryingto erase the image of a nice family breakfast is impossible as I watch Landon stride toward his car. I stare at his broad, powerful shoulders. I find myself loving him and hating him all at once. Damn this idiot and his friendly gestures.
“Would you like me to make dinner for you tonight?”he asked after Cassie and Dad left for the barn.
Seriously? He should keep his offers and kindness away from me. It makes it hard for me to remember he’s just a friend. Then why do I have the urge to grab my coat and step out into the freezing tundra and kiss him?
“Close your mouth and stop salivating for Landon Miller,” Damian, my oldest brother orders.
“You’re annoying,” I complain. “Why are you even here? Didn’t you hire an internationally recognized chef for the resort? You should have him cook for you.”
Once breakfast was ready, he just waltzed into the house and sat at the table as if he had been invited.
“I’m just pointing out the obvious.” He ignores my question. “Everyone knows you’re in love with him.”
“I. Am. Not.”
“You should tell him,” Bishop, who’s been brooding all morning, says.
“Why would I do something that stupid?” I glare at my brothers who, for some godforsaken reason, are still hanging around. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Look, you’re not fourteen anymore,” Bishop explains. “Tell him how you feel, and if he doesn’t feel the same, move on.”
My throat is clogged, my legs are shaking. Is this an intervention? I don’t have time for themoran intervention.
“Don’t torture yourself like that,” Damian says. “Just stop lusting after him.”
I relax. It’s just another day at the Harris house.
