Page 82 of Sweet Like Whiskey

“I changed your diapers when you were a baby, young man.”

“Oh, God,” I mutter, nodding to another employee who’s getting out of their vehicle. “Morning,” I call.

Louise clearly isn’t done. “I think wiping your ass gives me some right to—”

“Wonder why my mom didn’t think to mention it,” I say loudly, closing the back of my truck.

Louise stops still, eyes narrowing.Bingo. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” she threatens, wagging a finger at me before stomping back toward the sandwich shop. “Don’t think this means you’re getting off scot-free!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmur, knowing I’ve just incurred my mother’s wrath by poking at her dearest friendship. Honestly, the woman deserves it now and again.

Having delivered the last of the milk, I climb into my truck and get on the road. It doesn’t take long to arrive back at the ranch. Our workers are out and about, a steady drum of activity I find soothing most days. It means the cogs are functioning.

Although I can’t see the man, I’m guessing Ash is inside the house getting lunch ready. After parking, I head that way. It’s not that I have extra minutes to spare—not on a day where I’m filling in for an absent employee—but it doesn’t seem to matter. My feet know where they want to go, and I let them take me there.

As expected, Ash is inside the kitchen. I can hear him singing as soon as I step through the door, and the simple force of it hits me in the strongest way. It feels cliché to say something was missing before Ash arrived, but having him here, filling this house with life and energy, makes me realize just how quiet my existence had become. Not in a literal sense. Lord knows my family is a mouthy bunch.

But my days had become mundane. The same quiet, steady routine that led me from dawn to dusk. I wasn’t…depressed. I truly don’t think so. But I’m not sure I was all that happy, either.

Then this damn ball of sunshine showed up, andfuck. The man upended my life. And now I’msmilingand happy, and I almost don’t know what to do with it. But I know I don’t want tolet this feeling go. I want to keep it—keephim—for as long as I possibly can.

Ash’s singing stutters a beat when I step into the kitchen. He gives me a swift smile before continuing to croon softly about searching for that heart of gold. I step close and sink my face into his neck, where he’s warm and soft and smells like baking bread. I inhale him down, my arms curling around his stomach.

He chuckles, turning his face slightly. “Have I become your comfort item?” he teases. “Did you have one of those as a kid? A plushie or a blanket or anything?”

I hum, not wanting to admit to Ash that mycomfort item, as he called it, was an old, ratty horse head that fell off a stick. I used to pretend to ride it when I was a kid, until the plush head fell off. Then it came with me everywhere until it was so worn my mom couldn’t sew it back together anymore.

“Just wanted to say hello,” I tell him, giving his neck a quick kiss before stepping back.

He turns enough to look at me, an amused lilt to his lips. “You said hello this morning.”

I grunt. “Was a while ago.”

He full-out grins, shaking his head. “So sweet. You busy this weekend?”

I lean on the small kitchen table as I think that over. Ash goes back to rolling dough out on the counter. Once done, he starts cutting rounds out of it. Biscuits, I’m guessing.

“Don’t think so,” I finally say. I have a few small tasks to take care of, but not much. “Why?”

“Save an evening for me?” he asks, arms flexing as he finishes cutting the rounds.

“Do I get to ask what for?” I question, trying my best not to focus too hard on those arms. Or any piece of Ash. Not when I have work to get back to.

He looks over his shoulder again, grinning. “You can ask if you want to. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you.”

I grunt, and Ash laughs.

“Like you’ll say no to me,” he says, wiping some hair out of his eye with his wrist. A little flour transfers onto his cheek.

Clearing my throat, I mutter, “No, not sure I can. And that’s the problem with you, sunshine.”

Ash’s smile tells me he doesn’t think that’s a problem at all. I have to look elsewhere, his eyes far too transparent. Pretty sure I could see right to the heart of him if I wanted to.

“Needa get back to work,” I say, pushing away from the table.

“Thanks for saying hello,” Ash says, loading the biscuits onto trays to go into the oven. “See you again in”—he checks the clock—“an hour?”

“Mhm,” I grunt.

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