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“There’s been a key under the mat on the pack porch my whole life. Until recently. When some asshole stole it.”
He has the nerve to smile at me. “You knew about that, huh? And not anymore, Lemon.”
Jameson’s casually putting away groceries and getting out pots and pans to make dinner. Like I’m not still super pissed at him.
“It’s like you want me to slap you, kid. Did I ask you to do this?”
“Not yet.”
“Yet? You thought I was planning to ask you to do this?”
“Probably, at some point.”
“Well, I wasn’t!”
“I’ll text you the code, babe. Now both of us can get in. And no one else. And you don’t have to keep a key under your door mat where every criminal passing through town would know to look for it. Perfect solution.”
“I’m changing the passcode. You can keep knocking on the back porch and taking your chances to see if I’m going to let you in. As soon as I figure out how to change the damn code.”
Jameson frowns at me, looking almost as pissed as I feel. “You wouldn’t really do that, would you?”
“I guess we’ll see, kid. You had no right to do this without asking me. And I’m super pissed about it. But since you’re here, I bought stuff to make lasagna for dinner. You make me the best lasagna I’ve ever tasted, and maybe—maybe—I’ll forgive you for this overstepping. Maybe.”
Jameson grins at me. “I’ll make you lasagna, babe. The best thing you’ve ever tasted.” He glances down, and I know he’s thinking about his perfect dick. “Well, second best. And then I’ll make you come until you’re feeling generous enough to forgive me. Don’t you worry.”
The worst part of it is that I know he will. And I know I’ll forgive him.
“And you should remember who gave you your very own miniature horse today, Lemon.”
“Asshole.” Glaring up at him, I can’t hold it for long before a big smile takes over my face. “I already love Apple so freaking much. She’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. She really doesn’t belong to anyone? I can keep her?”
“Her name’s Apple Pie, babe. And yeah, you can keep her. Haley looked for tattoos, brands, tags, microchips. There’s nothing on her to say who she belongs to. She’s a stray, and she’s yours now.”
What the hell is happening here? Jameson overstepped big-time with the lock situation… and I’ve already pretty much forgiven him for it. Or I know I will by the end of the night. It took him minutes to talk me down from nuclear-level pissed off to eating out of his damn hand. He gave me a tiny little horse. He’s making me lasagna for dinner. He keeps showing up for me. The way he smiles at me. The way he wants me… I’m in so much trouble with this man.
“Thanks, kid. I love her so much. But I am never calling her Apple Pie. You gave her to me, so that means she’s mine. And I’m changing her name to Apple.”
“You can try, but I think Apple Pie’s already caught on.”
“Wait, does everyone know you gave her to me?” Panic cuts through my happiness. “They’re going to know about us, Jameson.”
“No, but it was obvious how much you loved her today and how well she got along with Violet. It only makes sense that she’s yours.” Jameson wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry, babe. No one’s going to know about us until we want them to.”
But we’re never going to want anyone to know about us.
We can’t.
chapter twenty-six
lily
Jameson slept over last night. And the night before. And the one before that. I’m getting used to not sleeping alone, and I like it.
I heard a noise out in the backyard the other night, and Jameson went to investigate it for me. Turns out, it was just a racoon and her babies helping themselves to the compost bin next to the greenhouse. But it was nice to have someone here with me. To have Jameson here. He brought me my very own baseball bat the next day, since he wasn’t too happy that I didn’t already have one.
I know this can’t go anywhere—I know it’s just sex—but I’m not ready for it to stop. That man annoys me and makes me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. And oh my god, he definitely makes me come more. It’s like he thinks making me come is an Olympic sport, and he’s training for the gold.
He wasn’t lying in my bed next to me when I woke up this morning, which isn’t unusual since he has to be out at the farm so early. But it’s a Saturday. And yes, I know that farming is a seven-days-a-week kind of job, Mr. W. But Jameson usually sleeps in on Saturdays. With me. In my bed. We have morning sex, since we only get to do that on the weekends. Then he makes me a big weekend breakfast. I do the dishes after. I love our weekend mornings, and I’m starting the day pissed that I didn’t get to have it today. Where the hell is he, anyway? He always tells me where he’s going and what he’s up to, whether I want to know or not.
