Page 33 of Just My Luck

SLOANE

Three days livingin Abel’s house and I already felt spoiled.

In that time, I’d learned that despite his size, Abel was unnaturally quiet. He moved through the house as though he were a ghost—the shell of a man I rarely caught glimmers of. Abel was tidy, but he also seemed unaffected by Ben’s discarded socks or the pieces of artwork that Tillie hung on his refrigerator.

Jared had never stepped up to be an involved parent, which meant all the responsibility had landed on me. Groceries, laundry, meals, nighttime tuck-ins—everything had been my responsibility from the beginning.

It was odd getting used to Abel clearing the table or sweeping up at the end of the night. More than once I caught myself standing around, wondering what to do once the kids were tucked in for the night and there wasn’t a mountain of laundry to be folded.

I still felt completely guilty that the kids and I had taken over every bedroom in his house. I didn’t even see Abel sleeping on the couch—I turned in early and he was up before the sun.

Still in bed, I checked my email and was thrilled to see I’d gotten confirmation from the bank that they’d received all the required paperwork. To their shock, I presented theofficial documents declaring Abel King and me legally married. Given the language in the trust fund documentation, I met the minimum requirements for a significant life event. I wasn’t completely draining the trust, but my withdrawal request was still more money than I ever could have imagined, and it would be deposited into my account within a few business days.

A giddy squeal ripped through me.

Once that money was freed up, I could officially invest in Abel’s Brewery and begin the hunt for a reputable contractor to assess my grandfather’s house and begin reconstruction. With any luck, I’d even have some leftover money to squirrel away into my savings account.

Staring at the large, unused half of Abel’s king-size bed, I let my mind wonder how much of that space his frame would consume. I curled into the pillow, and a tiny part of me wished it smelled like him—rich and warm and safe. Something had shifted inside me when we’d kissed at the courthouse. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined kissing Abel once or twice before.

Fine . . . maybe several hundred times. Sue me.

With lips like his, I figured he would be a decent kisser, but I never expected his mouth to be so assertive, yet soft.

Commanding.

Hungry.

I groaned and rolled to my back, hoping to forget just how much I enjoyed that kiss. The comforting smells of coffee and cinnamon seeped into the bedroom. I quickly dressed and walked out to see Abel in the kitchen and the kids plopped in front of the television.

“Whoa. What’s all this?” I asked.

Tillie grinned. “Abel is making cinnamon rolls.”

“And not from the can like yours,” Ben added. I ruffled his hair as I walked past and playfully stuck out my tongue.

My eyebrow shot up as I glanced into the kitchen. “Is that so?”

Abel’s gaze flicked to me before returning to the rectangle of homemade dough in front of him. He was barefoot but dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. A comically small black apron was tied around his waist and dusted in flour.

A tiny pull to my heart pinched in my chest. “Morning, boss. What do we have here?”

Abel tipped his chin toward the coffee maker. “There’s coffee if you want it. Breakfast should be ready in about twenty minutes.”

I glanced at the clock, noting the time. “Chickens,” I called affectionately to the twins. “Granddad asked if you would like to visit the marina today. Are you up for it?”

“Yes!” they called without looking up from their cartoon.

I moved into the kitchen, giving Abel a wide berth as I reached for a coffee mug. He grumbled behind me as he smeared the dough with softened butter.

I peered around his massive shoulder. “Cinnamon rolls, huh?”

He didn’t stop, but generously sprinkled sugar and cinnamon on top of the butter. “I asked Ben and Tillie if they wanted eggs, pancakes, or cinnamon rolls, and this is what they chose.”

“Well, boss”—I hopped onto the island counter next to Abel to get a better view of him working—“color me impressed.”

He grunted and continued to work while I watched. Abel carefully rolled the rectangle into a log and used a sharp knife to cut equal-size disks. An energy buzzed around him as he worked, and his shoulders bunched. I couldn’t help but feel as though something was...off.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you okay?”

---