Page 52 of You Complicate Me

She could honestly say that was the first sexual fantasy she’d ever had in a Cracker Barrel. Not sure if that was necessarily a good thing, but there was no denying it was kind of fun.

Gage grumbled, “Now you’re just being smug about it. That kind of joy this early in the morning is just gratuitous, really.”

“Jealous?” Nick asked mildly, snagging a piece of bacon off the plate in front of Grace. Seeing as he’d given her more orgasms than she’d ever had in her life over the course of one night, Grace decided she wouldn’t stab Nick’s hand with her fork for daring to touch her bacon. A lesser man would’ve been hospital-bound for fork-removal by now.

Gage glanced up as Sadie approached their table. “Totally,” he said quietly, his eyes not leaving her face.

Sadie flushed a deep red, and shrugged out of her jacket, taking a seat next to Nick. “Sorry we’re late,” she said, slightly out of breath.

Michael came in behind her and threw himself down in the chair next to Grace. “Pass the coffee and keep it coming,” he muttered.

“Sure thing, princess,” Gage said, shoving the decanter to Grace, who passed it over to Michael.

Michael glared at him. “Really? The princess thing again?”

He shrugged. “If the tiara fits.”

Sadie quickly turned a giggle into a cough when Michael leveled her with a sharp glare. When she grabbed a plate and reached for the platter of pancakes, Michael cleared his throat pointedly and said, “I thought you were worried about fitting into that wedding dress.”

Sadie drew her hand back from the platter as if it had scalded her. “Oh. Yeah. You’re right. Maybe I’ll just have some coffee, too,” she said quietly.

Grace wanted to shake her. No! Don’t let anyone talk to you like that! Tell him to go fuck himself while you shovel pancakes down your throat, if that’s what you want to do!

And she wanted to smack her little brother upside the head. What was the matter with him? This wasn’t the sweet kid she’d helped raise. When had Michael turned into such a monumental douchecanoe? Was it just the stress of the wedding that was causing him to turn into a groomzilla, or was there more to it than that?

Not that it really mattered at this point. She’d promised Nick she would stay out of Sadie and Michael’s relationship. So, here she was, quietly (with gritted teeth) staying out of it.

And it really kind of sucked this time.

One look at Nick and she knew it sucked for him, too. He was looking at Michael with an expression only slightly friendlier than the one he usually gave Brad.

But Gage, who hadn’t made any promises to stay out of anyone’s business, swore under his breath and reached forward to stab a stack of pancakes with his fork. He dumped them on Sadie’s plate without ceremony. “You should eat what you want. And a few pancakes today aren’t going to keep you from fitting into a dress tomorrow.” Then he jabbed his fork in Michael’s direction and added, “And it’s none of your damn business what anyone eats.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed on Gage. “It’s not any of your business, either. She’s not any of your business.”

Well, well, Grace thought, it looked like her formerly clueless little brother was finally noticing that something weird was going on with Sadie and Gage. Good for him. But the breakfast table was hardly the place for such a discussion, so she tried to lighten the mood by saying, “I think I’m going to have T-shirts made up that say, ‘It’s none of your damn business what anyone eats.’ I’d wear mine every time I went to a restaurant.”

Nick grinned at her, but there was still tension in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but whatever it was got swallowed whole by the sound of trinkets, wooden checkers sets, and jars of BBQ sauce hitting the floor in the little general store in front of the restaurant. The sounds of heated debate followed.

“What on earth is that all about?” Grace asked.

Gage raised a brow at her. “I’ll give you three guesses,” he began dryly, “and the first two don’t count.”

Right on cue, Ruthie rolled around the corner, looking fairly pleased with herself, with Brad behind her, pushing her wheelchair. Brad looked more embarrassed than Grace had ever seen him, which, childishly, brightened her mood considerably.

“Grace,” Ruthie said as Brad parked her chair at the head of the table, “isn’t it against the law to have an entryway in a public place that’s so filled with crap you can’t fit a wheelchair through?”

“I’m not helping you sue Cracker Barrel,” Grace said with an eye roll.

Ruthie scowled at her. “Well, what good are you, then?”

“Ask Nick,” Gage said mildly. “He knows what good Grace is.”

Grace resisted the childish urge to flip him off, instead saying, “Who’s a grumpy bastard?”

“Of course I’m a grumpy bastard. I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Technically, neither did I,” Grace muttered.

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