Page 54 of Lost in the Reins

"Says the man who spent three days pretending not to care that I was sick while simultaneously making sure I stayed hydrated."

"That's just common sense."

"Is that what we're calling it?" She sets down her toast, fixing me with a look that could strip paint. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks a lot like caring."

The morning light streams through the kitchen window, painting everything in soft gold and making it harder to maintain careful distance. She's right here, wearing my clothes and speaking truths I'm not ready to face, and I'm running out of reasons to keep pretending.

"Paisley—" I start, but the screen door creaks.

"Knock knock!" Jake's voice carries through the house, followed by the thunder of Emma's footsteps. "Anyone still dying in here?"

Emma bursts into the kitchen like a small, pigtailed hurricane, immediately wrapping herself around Paisley. Something in my chest constricts at how natural they look together, like this is exactly where they both belong.

"You're alive! Sarah Beth owes me five dollars!"

"Glad my survival was profitable," Paisley laughs, hugging her back with a warmth that makes my chest ache.

Jake appears in the doorway, taking in the scene with too-knowing eyes. "Well, well. Look who's up and functional. And here I was hoping for at least another day of quarantine bonding."

I shoot him a look that would wither less resilient men, but he just grins, unrepentant as ever.

"Uncle Wes!" Emma detaches from Paisley to launch herself at me. "Did you really almost die?"

"No one almost died." I catch her easily, breathing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. "Martha might disagree, given how many pots of soup she sent over."

"That's because she knows you're terrible at taking care of yourself," Emma declares with all the wisdom of her ten years. "Good thing Paisley was here to help."

Jake's grin widens. "Yeah, good thing."

I ignore him, but I can't ignore the way Paisley's watching us, something soft and wanting in her expression before she catches herself and looks away.

And just like that, reality crashes back in. In four weeks, she's supposed to leave. Go back to her life in Manhattan, her deadlines and book tours, and a world that has nothing to do with sick days on my couch or early morning coffee or the way Emma lights up when she walks into a room.

Unless...

Emma tugs on my shirt, pulling me from dangerous thoughts. "Can we have pancakes? The ones Mom taught you to make?"

"Sure, kiddo." I ruffle her hair, grateful for the distraction. "You might want to supervise. Last time Paisley tried to cook, we almost had to call the fire department."

"That was one time!" Paisley protests, but she's laughing, the sound warming me more than any fever. "And in my defense, Bernard was very distracting."

"Bernard's always distracting," Emma says wisely. "That's his whole personality."

Jake settles at the table, clearly having no intention of leaving. "Speaking of personality, Martha wants to know if youtwo are well enough for festival planning tomorrow. Apparently, there's some kind of emergency involving square dance formations."

"Square dance?" Emma perks up. "Are you going to dance together?"

"No," I say, just as Paisley says, "Maybe."

Our eyes meet across the kitchen, and something electric crackles in the air between us. The same something that's been building since she first stepped onto my porch in those ridiculous boots, looking like every dream I wasn't allowed to have.

"Well," Jake drawls, looking entirely too pleased with himself, "this should be interesting."

And isn't that just the understatement of the year?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Paisley

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