I shrug. “Yeah. He’ll walk in when Luke and I are cleaning up after making a batch of cookies and say nothing about it. Just talk to Luke. But then in the morning he’ll leave a note by the coffee that says, Best cookies I’ve ever had.”

Summer laughs.

“Summer! Stop laughing and help me. What does that mean?”

Her head tips back, and I catch the guys glancing up at us. “It means he loves your cookies, Wils.”

I snort. “Of course. My cookies bring all the boys to the yard.”

Summer laughs harder, her wine sloshing in her glass as she does. “He did it all for the cookie,” she wheezes.

“Good lord. Can we please stop quoting awful songs and talk about my actual problem?”

She wipes at the tears on her cheeks as she straightens. “Okay. Okay. I’m honestly still just trying to wrap my head around this. Did you kiss him? I know you’re forward. Did you freak him out? He’s very . . . stern?”

“Way to take his side!”

Her eyes roll. “There are no sides. Tell me more about the notes.”

I sniffle and shoot her a dirty look. “Sure feels like it. Oooh. Poor innocent Cade who pushed me up against a hay bale and kissed me stupid.”

Summer rolls a hand, urging me to get over it and tell her more.

“Things like, Luke told me about his guitar lesson today. Thank you. Or, Please don’t paint the front porch. I don’t know how to take that though.”

“You painted the front porch?”

I scoff. Cade is such a stick in the mud sometimes. “We used paint to add details to the banisters. It looks cute. You’d swear I painted his front step Barbie pink or something.”

She eyes me like we both know I should have said no to Luke’s idea. But whatever. We can paint it over. It’s not like we killed someone or threw heads of lettuce out of my car.

“Basically, he comes home and we silently cook together. We eat dinner, and he mostly talks to Luke, avoids looking at me, says, Thanks, and then gets to work putting Luke to bed. I assume he’s exhausted after that and passes out. Truthfully, I don’t know how he does it. It’s way too much for one person to handle all on their own. But if I cook dinner, he gets all crabby. If I clean, he gets crabby. Oh! When he told me to stop doing laundry the other day, he said that I’m just the nanny, not the maid. So who the hell knows? Then he left me a note on the dryer that said, Thank you for your help.”

“It’s really kind of sweet. Like . . . for Cade?”