Page 40 of Wyatt

It’s kind of adorable, actually. And hot. It’s so hot to be looked at this way that heaviness gathers between my legs with an insistent throb.

His attention makes me feel sexy. Confident.Bingo.

At last, he blinks and clears his throat. “Hey. Hi. Hello, Sally.”

“Hi, Wyatt.”

He holds out a paper-wrapped bouquet of pink and orange zinnias, his eyes flicking appreciatively over my dress yet again. “For you. You look—wow.” He chuckles, and I swear I hear a hint of nervousness in the sound. “Wow, Sally. Beautiful.”

Have I died?

Am I in heaven?

Have I ever felt prettier or happier in my entire life?

Wyatt was speechless.

And he’sput in effort.A lot of effort. There are the flowers. And the only other time I’ve ever seen Wyatt in a suit was at his parents’ funeral.

Wyatt does not get dressed up. Ever.

Except he got dressed up for me.

I expected him to show up in jeans and a cowboy button-up.Nicejeans and anicebutton-up, yes, but nothing that wasn’t part of Wyatt’s ordinary wardrobe.

“Where the fuck did you get a suit?” I blurt, taking the flowers and cradling them against my chest.

Even though I’m a step up from Wyatt and wearing four-inch heels, he still towers over me.

“That’s some language,” Dad pipes up from somewhere behind me.

Wyatt flashes me a wide, white smile, the kind that makes the tan skin at the edges of his eyes crinkle. “Borrowed it from Sawyer. The hat though”—he taps the brim with his fingers—“I drove out to Lubbock earlier today and bought it. Gotta look my best for Sally Powell.”

My stomach dips again. Lubbock is an hour and a half drive from here. Fake boyfriends do not drive three hours round trip to buy a new cowboy hat so they look good for their fake girlfriends.

That’s something real boyfriends do.

My pulse riots. Does Wyatt want to be my real boyfriend?

Absolutely not. And yet?—

“You know what they say about a man and his cowboy hats,” Mom says, appearing at my elbow.

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” Wyatt replies easily. “He only needs two of them—one forhiswedding day, and one for his son’s wedding day.”

Mom turns to Dad and wags her eyebrows. “Or his daughter’s.”

Wyatt’s gaze meets mine, a knowing, slightly teasing glimmer in his eyes.

Yep, he gets that I’m trying very hard not to roll my eyes at my parents’ general ridiculousness. He gets that I love them, just like he gets that they still embarrass the hell out of me.

Wyatt doesn’t care though. It takes a lot to ruffle his feathers.

“Y’all sure you don’t want to bring any food?” Mom asks. “I’m sure I could rummage up something?—”

“Two kegs of Shiner were delivered to the barn this afternoon,” Wyatt replies. “Mrs. Biddle said she’d give me an ass-kicking I’d never forget if we brought anything else.”

Mom laughs. “How generous of you.”

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