Page 6 of Burly and Possessive

“Oh, please,” she interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “Trust me, it’s no big deal. I’ve got way more clothes than I need. Plus, I had to meet the woman he saved.” Her grin is infectious, and before I can muster another protest, she holds up the clothes in front of me.

Andrea tilts her head and gives me a long look when I don’t immediately say anything. “Let me guess,” she says, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. “Jax didn’t mention me at all, did he?”

I shrug, not sure how to answer without offending her. “He said he had a couple of sisters, but he didn’t say more than that.”

She throws up her hands in exasperation. “Of course he didn’t! That man wouldn’t volunteer information if his life depended on it. Even before the Army, he was never one to say more than wasabsolutely necessary. Drove me and my sister Olivia nuts. He said we did enough talking for the three of us and didn’t need to say anything because we always did.”

The warmth in her voice softens something in my chest. Andrea’s relentless cheer makes it hard to hold on to my gloom. I would never tell Clara this, but meeting Andrea is like meeting a best friend. She’s vivacious and welcoming, making me feel like I haven’t taken the express train to Hell.

Andrea grabs one of the flannel shirts from the pile she laid out earlier and tosses it my way. “Okay, here’s the deal,” she says, her tone taking on a no-nonsense edge. “We’re getting out of here.”

I catch the shirt, my brow furrowing. “What?”

“You heard me. We’re going to town. You like pie? Tell me you like pie.”

“Pie?” I echo, still trying to catch up with her rapid-fire energy.

She nods, her expression deadly serious. “Pie is the answer to everything. Sad? Pie. Happy? Pie. Confused about your entire life trajectory? Pie. Trust me on this one.”

I hesitate, the idea of stepping out into the world making my chest tighten. “I don’t have any money.” I wince as I tell her about having left my purse behind, but Andrea cuts me off with another wave of her hand.

“That is not a problem. You need real food, and the diner has the best pie this side of the mountain. Plus, small-town charm works wonders for the soul. You’ll see.”

Her determination is relentless, and I realize there’s no point in arguing. She’s not giving me a choice, and honestly, maybe that’s for the best.

“Fine,” I say, pulling on the flannel shirt she handed me. “But if the pie isn’t life-changing, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Andrea grins, grabbing her keys. “Deal. Now, let’s go. The world—and pie—awaits.”

The diner is a small,cheerful building with sunny yellow walls and a wide front porch. As soon as we step inside, the warm scent of coffee and baked goods wraps around me like a comforting hug.

Andrea walks in like she owns the place. “Morning, May!” she calls out, waving to a waitress balancing a tray of mugs.

“Morning, Andrea,” May replies, her smile wide and knowing. “What can I get you today?”

“Two coffees and a menu,” Andrea says, pointing to a booth by the window. “And save us two slices of pie.”

May nods, already heading for the coffee pot.

The diner is bustling, the low hum of chatter mixing with the clink of dishes. Andrea greets nearly everyone we pass, her energy infectiously bright.

I feel out of place, hyper-aware of the curious glances cast my way, but Andrea’s confidence eases my worry.

She slides into the booth. “Have a seat. And don’t worry about not having your purse. This is on me. We take care of each other here. Besides if my brother had more than crackers and beans to offer you, I’d be shocked.”

At this, I chuckle. “He actually had a great lasagna.”

“Ah, that means our sister is still bringing food to him,” she laughs.

I follow her lead, trying to focus on the cozy atmosphere instead of my nerves. Andrea chats easily with May when she returns, with a familiarity that is clearly built on a lifetime of knowing each other.

Andrea leans back in the booth, her coffee cup cradled in her hands. “You know Jax served in the Army, right?”

I nod, though the details are fuzzy. “He mentioned it briefly. We didn’t talk a lot about him.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him. He never talks about himself unless you pry.” Andrea’s gaze softens, pride and something deeper flickering in her expression. “He was a leader, even back when we were kids. You’d never guess he’s a middle child. He’s always been the one you call when everything’s falling apart.”

I stare at her, unsure how to respond. It’s hard to reconcile the quiet, gruff man I met with the picture that Andrea’s painting. Jax has an air of authority but seems more closed off than you’d expect a leader to be.

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