Page 45 of Found By You

Duke: You want two? They’re only in pint size.

Me: Just one for me is fine.

Duke: You got it, gorgeous.

I smile, watching the door and counting the seconds until he returns. Didn’t I just say I should keep my feelings in check? I’m a lost cause.

I don’t know when I fell asleep—well, probably while Duke was rambling on about car stuff—but when I wake up, the room is dark and there’s a strong arm pinning me against a warm chest.

He stayed.

I slide my hand over his, interlocking our fingers as I listen to his light wheeze of a snore. My eyes well with tears. I didn’t expect him to stay a second night in a row. I sniffle, wiping my tears away. I don’t even know why I’m crying over this. I wanted him to stay.

Duke nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his hot breath fanning me as he lays a kiss below my ear. His hand slides away from mine to rest over my stomach, his thumb gently rubbing soothing circles.

If I hadn’t already decided to stay, that small action alone would’ve sealed my fate.

Fourteen.

Duke

I stand with my arms crossed over my chest while Maci looks over the used, but new, Ford Explorer. It’s got winter tires, low miles, good gas mileage, all-wheel-drive, a family-grade vehicle with a five-star crash test rating, and it’s available in blue or red—which is also very important, apparently.

She thinks they lowered the price by five grand, but what she doesn’t know, is I called ahead to the salesman early this morning. Based on everything she showed me last night in her price range, I know she’s trying to keep her payments low. But I’ve got the money. And giving a chunk of change for a car that’ll keep her and the baby safe seems like a damn good investment to me. I’ve looked this thing over with a fine-tooth comb—it’s in great shape for the price they’re (now) asking.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“It’s nice,” she says, sitting in the driver’s seat. She’s already test-driven it, and I can tell she likes it, but she doesn’t seem sold. “Why do you think they lowered the price?”

I shrug. “They’re getting in new inventory. End of the year sort of thing.”

Maci nods as the salesman, Steve, who I used to go to high school with, strides over with a bright smile. “So, what’s the verdict?” he asks, playing along just like I told him to.

I raise a brow at Maci staring at me with nervous doe eyes. “It’s a good deal. And a damn good car to be riding around in with the baby.”

“Baby?” Steve beams. “Congratulations, you two. I didn’t know.”

Maci’s face twists uncomfortably. “Um, thanks. Anyway, what, uh, is the down payment?”

I knew she’d ask this. Which is why I told Steve to tell her a low-ball offer. I don’t know her financial situation, but from what I can tell, she’s trying to conserve. Whether that’s for rent or baby stuff—probably both.

Maci decides to make the deal, and if I could fist bump the air—or Steve—without looking suspicious, I would. We go through the motions of trading her old car in. Unfortunately, with her having to switch her plates to Montana and no current address, she’s looking at a hold-up on the deal.

“You can use my address,” I tell her when Steve walks away to check with someone about her out-of-state driver’s license.

“Are you sure?” she asks, scrunching her nose in the way I adore.

I throw my arm behind her chair and jerk her closer. “Yes,” I say, kissing her possessively. It takes me a moment to get a grip and realize we’re in a public place. But Maci doesn’t miss a beat or question my actions, she falls into me, kissing me back with just as much heat.

We part, and she leans into me with a smile. “Thank you.”

After Maci signs on the dotted line and we make plans to pick up her new car tomorrow afternoon. Hand in hand we walk to my truck when she gets a phone call. “Hello?” I hold the door for her to climb in, unable to help myself from smacking her ass as she does. Her swat back at me has me chuckling before I jog around to get in the driver’s seat. “Really? When? Yes, I’ll be there. Thank you so much, Cassidy. I will. Bye.”

“What’d she say?” I ask when she hangs up.

“Peggy Cup, the owner of Cup O’ Joe, asked if I could come in to meet her tomorrow morning,” she says, checking her email for the third time in the last hour.

I pull out and head toward the shop so we can clear out her car. “That’s a good thing, right?”

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