Page 67 of Buckled in Barbwire

Paisley hums, tipping her head left to right. “Want me to be honest?”

“Please,” I grind out.

Her laugh strokes my fraying nerves into submission. “It’s delicious, husband. Much better than I would’ve given you credit for.”

My smile is a slow grower, sprouting under her praise. “That’s what I needed to hear.”

Paisley freezes, her fork hovering in mid-air. Her wide stare is feasting on me rather than the food. It takes a full minute for her to recover, which stretches my grin higher.

“Good grief,” she mumbles and drops her gaze. “Watch where you’re pointing that thing.”

I blindly skewer a bite for myself, unable to take my eyes off her while she stuffs her mouth. “Is my wife flustered?”

“Too hot for your own good.” Paisley blushes, still avoiding my blatant attention.

“I’m all yours, Twinkles. Might as well get your fill.”

“It’s just temporary.” The hushed tone is mostly meant for her ears, along with her resistance.

“We’ll see,” I counter and shove the pasta past my lips.

Her focus flickers to me as I taste my first attempt at homemade macaroni and cheese. She appears to be on the edge of her seat for a change. I’m about to celebrate that accomplishment, but a burst of flavor momentarily distracts me. It’s savory and creamy. Packs an appetizing punch. Definitely passable for the beloved comfort food.

I’m quick to scoop more into my mouth. “Not bad.”

Paisley huffs another laugh. “Are you surprised?”

My nod is absolute. “Figured I’d burn the place down before serving something edible.”

Considering I barely cook for myself, this is unfamiliar territory for me. It seemed fitting that I prepare our last meal together. Luckily, Paisley’s favorite dish isn’t too complicated. She gobbles more pasta, a pleased noise offering compliments to the chef. My gesture seems to be hitting the spot. Come tomorrow, she’ll want nothing to do with me.

I’ve been thinking about coming clean, ripping off the bandage. It felt like a wasted effort. My shot in the dark is focused on showing her what she’s done for me in such a short amount of time. A month ago, I never would’ve seen myself playing house with a woman. The idea was inconceivable. Not until Paisley blinded me with her blingy sunshine. My future is brighter now, but only if she stays in it. Damn, look at me getting caught up in foreign feelings.

“Well, I’m about to burst.” She pats her flat stomach. “Thanks for making dinner. It was very tasty.”

I finish mine before gathering the bowls and utensils. “You’re welcome.”

She gawks when I rise to clean my mess in the kitchen. “And you’re doing the dishes?”

My gaze finds hers while I begin scrubbing at the cheese stuck to the pot. “I’m not worthless, Twinkles.”

Paisley snorts into her cocktail. “Nobody would suggest otherwise.”

“Only care what you think.”

Her exaggerated throat clearing pairs nicely with herlofted glass. “You’re a very rich man, husband. Wealth drips from your pores. I can smell success on you. Money follows in your footsteps, just waiting to be spent. You’re flush with cash and charm. It’s an honor to be a cent in your dollar. Cheers!”

I grunt but raise my beer for her toast. “Clever.”

“What can I say? You inspire me.” She polishes off her beverage in a swig.

My palm rubs at the sudden pang in my chest. “Guess I’ll drink to that.”

Paisley’s attention drifts out the window, dismissing me and my sullen tone. She might believe I’m putting on an act to get what I want. I don’t blame her for assuming my purpose is self-serving. That’s been my motto since setting my sights on her for this scheme. But my position at Benson Farmstead is no longer the only prize at stake.

“Would you like me to make you another espresso martini?” That phrase can get added to the list of things I never thought I’d ask.

Her smile finds me with the shaker already in my hand. “Sure.”

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