“That’s usually the author’s call to make, not their husband who only married her to win a bet.” Macon’s eyes went wide. “That’s what this is. You’re trying to get her to stay.” This time his younger brother definitely called him a dumb fuck under his breath. “There are better ways to win over a woman than to try and run her life.”

“Just read the book,” Nash said, shoving down the itchy feeling that his brother might be right. “I’m telling you, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Did that sound like a threat or a promise? He didn’t know or care.

Leaving the manuscript with his brother, Nash took off toward the park to avoid the pre-Christmas shoppers clogging up the sidewalks. He’d shave five minutes off the trip home by taking the walking path that went past the pet café. Chelle would just be wrapping up her writing time and getting ready to dive into her work for the foundation when he got home. Steps speeding up as he checked his watch, he figured he could play the timing right and stop at the deli on the corner to pick up a pack of her favorite Twizzlers.

He cut across the street to hit the shop on the corner across from the park, distracted by thoughts of Chelle and how fucking hot she looked in her writing uniform of messy bun and yoga pants. Nash headed into the bodega for Chelle’s favorite writing food and a couple of sandwiches to have for dinner along with the soup he’d left simmering on the stovetop before he’d gone to brunch.

Macon was wrong about the book. If Nash hadn’t given it to his brother, would that have been a better option? Chelle had kept the books hidden away for years, thinking—wrongly—that they weren’t any good. They were fucking brilliant. But if he didn’t share them with Macon, Chelle never would, and then she’d be trapped in that place where all she heard in her head was that she wasn’t good enough. She was. She was amazing. She just needed a little nudge to get there. And if Macon didn’t see how fantastic the books were, he’d never tell Chelle and she’d never get her feelings hurt.

That wasn’t going to happen, but on the off chance his brother turned stupid overnight, Nash had protected her from ever knowing.

He grabbed a bag of strawberry Twizzlers and headed toward checkout, his shoulders getting lighter with each step closer to Chelle.

She’d be excited when she found out what he’d done, because his brother was going to love the book. Nash just needed to wait for the right time to tell her—the only problem being it was starting to feel like they didn’t have enough of that left.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chelle