“Did you tell her you guys aren’t even knocking boots because you’re too proud to beg?” he asked, leading the way to the striped roll-arm couch. Their YouTube channel was already cued up on the TV.

She picked up her own gigantic salad and followed. She flopped down and propped her foot up on the coffee table. “We’re not having sex because I don’t want to have sex with some possessive, egotistical, alpha hero.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Shut up.”

“Your toe looks slightly less disgusting,” he said, pointing at her foot with the remote.

She glanced down. The bruising had morphed from a dark purple to a nauseating greenish yellow. “Feels mostly better,” she said. She hated to admit it, but taking that one weekend off from physical labor had been…nice. She’d caught up on her budget updates, written two blogs, dug further into her research into Aaron Campbell and his wife, and gotten ahead on her social media scheduling.

And she’d actually dragged a lawn chair out onto the lawn for an hour both days and enjoyed the view…with her phone and laptop, of course.

“She wanted me to know that Silas is a good guy.”

“So you’re thinking he paid her off?” he teased.

She jabbed him playfully with her plastic fork. “No. I’m thinking what kind of guy gets that kind of loyalty from an ex?”

“Uh. Hello?” Dean said, raising his hand.

“We didn’t tell people we had been married,” she reminded him, scooping up zucchini and corn and tomato with her fork. “Not on the channel.”

“True. But you also never complain about your super-gay ex-husband. Because I’m awesome, and you recognize my awesomeness. Maybe ‘These Boots Were Made for Walking’ Michelle just wants to make sure you know how awesome Sly Sy is.”

“That’s the second boot reference in under three minutes. Where are they?”

He perked up. “There’s this disgustingly adorable shoe store at the end of town. Do you think I can pull off cowboy boots?”

She glanced down at his avocado-and-toast socks, pretended to ponder. “I’d need to see them on you,” she decided. “Wanna go Saturday?”

He dropped his fork in his salad and sat up with ramrod posture. “Did you just ask me to take you shopping?”

“What? We shop together all the time.”

“We used to. I’m personally responsible for every cute item in your wardrobe that you left behind in Seattle.”

She wanted to argue, but there wasn’t a point in fighting the truth. “I could use a few basics,” she said. “Plus, I really want to see these cowboy boots.”

“Drinks before or after?” he asked, shifting into planning mode.

“During. You have an easier time talking me into things when I’ve had alcohol.”