Page 35 of Love Me Fierce

I lean close to Mateo. “Take my hand, Matty,” I say softly as I hold it for him to grab.

“Why?” he whispers, setting the grouse saltshaker next to his plate.

“Because it’s nice,” I say with a smile.

Mateo takes my hand and lets June take his other one, his curious eyes fixed on her. Everett offers me his palm. When I slide my hand into his, the contact sends a pulse of energy through my core and goosebumps down the backs of my arms. I try to focus on Sepp’s words but they just swim around in my mind. Everett’s hand might as well be a giant paw compared to mine. I remember watching him work those chains into place so easily that night of the blizzard, like he could do it in his sleep. And then again at the wedding, when he acted so quickly to keep me from falling.

Capable hands. Dependable.

Being touched like this, from Everett of all people, should feel overwhelming and not in a good way. But it’s the opposite. I’m feeling all kinds of things I shouldn’t.

“…also thankful for the company,” Sepp finishes. “And for dessert.”

Mateo whips his head around to watch him like he’s not sure what the heck is going on, then his face breaks out into a massive grin. “I like dessert too.”

Everett gives my hand a soft squeeze before letting go. A little flutter works up my chest, but I turn my attention to helping Matty fill his plate as bowls and platters are passed around. There’s barbecued lemon-thyme chicken, buttermilk rolls, salad, carrot sticks for Matty, and oven-roasted garlicky green beans.

It’s been so long since I sat down to a meal with this many people that keeping track of conversations and monitoring Mateo’s progresswhile making sure to taste and appreciate the good food overloads my capacity but in the best way. Add to that, part of my awareness seems to be locked on Everett. Though our thighs aren’t touching, heat is growing in the space between us, and the faint peppery scent mixed with sage coming off of him is as intoxicating as the food being passed around. Every time he laughs or jokes around with his family, it catches me off guard. Not in a bad way, it’s just… I’ve seen him in a very different light today.

I force myself to focus on the yummy food. When was the last time someone cooked for me? Growing up, my mom worked late most nights, so I usually cooked for me and McKenna. During nursing school, I had roommates, but we were all too busy to orchestrate shared dinners. When Kent and I were together, at first, we cooked together. Over time, he spent less and less time at home in the evenings, so I cooked alone.

“I’m done,” Mateo says, glancing up at me. As I expected, he didn’t eat much.

“Why don’t we take Mateo to the barn?” Sepp asks, popping the last bite of his roll into his mouth. He eyes Logan, who looks to Everett for permission.

“Clear your dishes first,” Everett says.

“Puppies,” Mateo says in a rush, already pushing his chair back. “Can I, Mom?”

“You don’t mind?” I ask Sepp.

He grins. “Nope.”

“Thank you,” I say as Logan and Sepp gather their plates and glasses, then wait for Mateo to gather his. The three of them disappear into the kitchen.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” I say in the lull. “Please let me help clean up.”

Nelson shakes his index finger at me, a playful expression on his face. “Don’t be tryin’ to steal the only reason she keeps me around. Everett, why don’t you show Vivian up to the cabin?”

“Take the quilts, they’re by the door,” June adds.

Everett stands and gathers his dishes, so I follow and bring mine into the kitchen. “You sure we can’t help?”

He grunts. “It’s best not to cross them.”

On our way out the door, Everett hoists two fluffy quilts that June must have set on the bench in the entryway earlier, leaving me with two pillows. Outside, the crisp evening air tastes of sage and sun-warmed earth. Libby and Chip come trotting around the house, tails wagging.

I descend the steps next to Everett.

“We could drive up there, but there’s no easy way to turn around, so it’s better to walk.”

“Walking sounds good,” I say.

We continue across the big turnaround, in front of the house and apartment to the gravel shifting under our shoes, to where a narrow dirt road hugs the hillside out of sight. The dogs trot ahead, like they know our destination.

Along the right side of the road, a little creek trickles over the rocks, nearly invisible beneath the tall, lush grass growing on both sides of the banks.

“You and Linden built the cabin?” I ask.

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