Page 89 of Imperfect Arrangement
Raymond shakes his head, slow and deliberate. There’s a sharpness in his eyes as if he’s silently asking me to be very careful of what I ask next. Because this man does not lie and he wants me to be sure that I’m ready to hear the truth.
“And he won’t come back claiming ownership of the land or the wedding estate?” My voice wobbles. Dammit.
He shakes his head again, firmer this time. “The land is yours, Willow, and so is the wedding estate.”
I blink, trying to process his words, but my heart is already thundering. “I thought it was ours.”
His smile is lazy but warm, like I just said something that delighted him. “I like the sound of that.”
I stare at him, silently hoping for more, for some kind of explanation that will make sense. But he doesn’t offer anything more. Instead, Raymond turns toward the fridge, his movements unhurried, and pulls out Quill’s juice box like it’s been sitting there in plain sight all along. He places it neatly onto the tray next to the glasses of water and hands it to me.
“I think they’re waiting for you outside.”
But I can’t move. My feet feel glued to the tile, and my grip on the tray is so tight my knuckles ache. The weight of my questions is too much. I glance down at the tray, then back up at him. “Raymond, Gio?—”
He doesn’t let me finish. “Willow, the land belongs to its rightful owner. If you really want to talk about it, we’ll do that tonight.”
Rightful owner. The words sink into me, heavy and strange.
Raymond isn’t denying answers, Wills. He’s asking you to wait and maybe it’s better to talk later, when there’s no chance of being interrupted by anyone.
I nod, more to myself than him, forcing my feet to move. I shift toward the door but pause, turning back one last time. “You came into the kitchen for what?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps forward, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. His hand grazes the edge of the tray, steadying it, before he leans down. He brushes his stubble against my cheek, warm and deliberate.
“For that,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
Holy. Heck.
A HEART AND A PAINTED MARK
WILLOW
The house falls into a tranquil silence after everyone leaves. Quill and I stroll down the hallway, Captain Lick trailing beside us, ready for his nightly pee walk. Just as we reach the steps where the new ramp has been installed, we spot Raymond. He’s standing there, hands on his hips, his brow furrowed like he’s solving the world’s greatest mystery.
“Admiring your handiwork, Teager?” I tease, leaning against the doorway.
Raymond glances up, his gaze shifting from Quill to Captain Lick before settling on me. A small smile tugs at his lips, and his eyes light up as if us all being here is the most precious thing to him.
“I think it’s missing something. But since you’re all here, why don’t we give it a test run?” He walks to the edge of the ramp and beckons my dog. Captain Lick looks down at the freshly oiled ramp with one curious look, his ears twitching, but then, like he’s in a dog show, he walks down to Ray.
Quill claps her hands, and I can’t stop my smile.
“Test run successful,” Raymond declares, scooping Captain Lick into his arms, and then, without hesitation, he plants a kiss on my dog’s head.
The image of him nuzzling his stubble against my chin earlier flashes in my mind, uninvited and making my stomach flip. I shove it aside—again. This is becoming a freaking full-time job these days.
When Raymond sets Captain Lick down, my dog trots off toward the lawn, now fully acquainted with the new routine in this house. Meanwhile, Raymond strides toward a stack of paint cans I hadn’t noticed before.
“Did you guys buy out the entire hardware store?” I ask, crossing my arms.
He grins, ruffling his hair in a way that makes him look boyish and entirely too irresistible. “I guess we went a little overboard.” Returning with a set of paintbrushes and a can of white paint, he kneels on the ramp, pencil in hand.
“What are you doing, Dad?” Quill signs, her curiosity matching mine.
Raymond winks at her—a wink, for heaven’s sake. My ovaries practically implode.
“Just finishing the look.” He sketches two small outlines on the ramp with a pencil before dipping the brush into the paint, and within minutes, two tiny paw prints come to life. He finishes by writing Captain Lick in neat, careful letters around the prints.
