As was the woman who moved into view beneath the arch at the end of their path. “Well, aren’t you two just darling!”

Carol had a sun hat on that was roughly the size of a small child and lipstick that could help planes land at night rimming her smile. Brady released his hold on Sloane’s hand and repositioned it to the small of her back. He gave her a little push to close the space between them and their host.

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but I don’t think darling has ever been one of them.” Brady had switched his tone to smooth. Give me a good tip smooth. Sloane hoped to copy the confidence.

“So if he’s not heard darling, what little nicknames do you like to call him?” Carol asked. “Or are you still going with Guy?”

Sloane’s attempt at confidence stalled out before it ever got traction.

What did she call Brady? What cutesy nickname would even fit? Honey? Sweetie?

Pookie?

What was it that he’d called her earlier?

“Sweet cakes,” she blurted out.

“Sweet cakes,” Carol repeated. She didn’t seem impressed.

Sloane leaned in. “Yep, sweet cakes is what we call each other. You know, an equal-opportunity pet name.”

Brady nodded. “We’re all about equality over here. She slaps my ass just as much as I slap hers.”

“Yep,” Sloane kept on. “Sure do. Equality.”

She should have known what was going to happen next—that someone’s ass was about to get slapped—but butter her butt and call her a biscuit if it wasn’t Sloane’s hand that landed against the seat of Brady’s jeans in a flash instead of the other way around.

Carol’s eyes widened, as did Brady’s, but he didn’t say anything past a grin.

“Well, I’m sure your audience will appreciate that progressive stance,” Carol said after a moment. She turned around and motioned to the now-paved path that led deeper into the garden. “Why don’t y’all go ahead and take a look around while we wait for the rest of the guests to show up. Not everyone has had your punctuality.”

“Everyone?”

Sloane realized a little too late that she’d been too wrapped up in their story to remember to ask who their audience was supposed to be.

“Oh, you know, just the usual suspects.”

Sloane didn’t know who the usual suspects were, but Brady took her hand and led her down the path and out of sight from the socialite before she could ask again.

“I’m sorry I slapped your butt,” Sloane apologized when they were out of earshot. “I got swept up in the moment.”

Brady snorted. “Never had anyone call me darling and never had someone apologize for smacking my ass. Been a wild morning so far.”