“Stay,” I mutter, holding a hand up to stop her and staring down at that line on the floor. The one stopping me from storming in there and dragging her back out to the table and forcing her to listen to me.

She stops shoving stuff into her bag and turns to face me, crosses her arms beneath her generous breasts and cocks a hip. If attitude were a person, she’d be it.

“Beg.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me.” Her lips don’t even twitch. She’s not joking at all. “Beg.”

My cheeks heat against my will. My heart thunders in my chest. She’s got me so on my heels it’s not even funny. I can’t allow it to last. But can I suck it up for the sake of making her turn her ass around?

Maybe.

“Please stay.”

She doesn’t react other than to arch an eyebrow.

“Don’t leave.”

Her lips roll together in the most distracting way.

I sigh, propping my hands on my hips and staring up at the stippled ceiling above me.

“Luke is everything to me, and I want him to have a fun summer. Proper fun. Sometimes he’s stuck out on this ranch with a bunch of adults, and I worry he doesn’t get enough attention from me because I work such long hours. And I need help because it’s all just way too much. I’m fucking exhausted.” My chin drops, and I look her in the eye. “I really need your help. Please stay.”

The column of her throat shifts, and her eyes take on a slightly glassy quality. With a few soft steps, she comes to stand right in front of me. She smells like citrus and vanilla. Like some fancy pastry at the coffee shop in town. I can’t help but lean in just a little bit.

She draws close. It almost feels too close in the dimly lit room. Too intimate in the quiet house. It feels like the kind of moment where you could make a mistake and no one would ever know.

And maybe I already made a mistake tonight, or maybe I’m about to make one. Usually I’m so sure of myself. But in this instance, I’m struggling to tell right from wrong.

“Fine.” She sticks her hand out to me, and I instantly let my palm meet hers. I can feel the dainty bone in her wrist against the pads of my calloused fingers. “I will send you texts. I will keep him mostly sugar free. But if you act like a dick, I’m going to call you out on it.”

“I have no doubt you will, Red.”

We’re still shaking hands. It’s a handshake that has lasted longer than is proper. It’s a threat or a promise—I’m just not sure which.

6

Willa

Willa: I just got up.

Cade: Okay?

Willa: I’m making coffee.