Page 33 of The Cupcake Cottage

“Excellent.”

“What’s Friday?” Maverick asked.

“We’re doing Thanksgiving.”

“We are?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. She turned to Daisy-Mae, who’d been standing a few feet away. “Are you busy Friday?”

“No?” She looked at Maverick, and he hated she had to check in with him about family events. He wished it was assumed that she would be there, at his side.

“Of course she’ll be there,” he said. Catching himself, he added, “Won’t you?”

“At your place?” she asked, again hesitating.

“Yeah.” What was the holdup? Was she suddenly nervous about their masquerade in front of his mom? Was sharing holidays going too far?

His mom squeezed his arm. “Your woman-free zone?” She gave Maverick a pointed look like he’d wiped his nose with the back of his hand rather than used a tissue. Or forgotten to say thank you. Or, in this case, hadn’t yet invited his girlfriend over to his house. His sanctuary. A place where he could be himself with no one there to muddy the waters and twist him into something he wasn’t.

“It’s Thanksgiving. It’s an everyone zone,” he said, hoping he didn’t regret his words.

His mom smiled in approval. “Great. There will be nine of us, so we need to round up another chair. I think I saw one similar to these in that store back in…” She snapped her fingers, trying to recall. “Daisy-Mae, what was the store with that funny rooster statue Maverick hated?”

Daisy-Mae tossed out possibilities until his mom nodded. “That’s the place. There next. After we load up. Then we’ll take this all back to Maverick’s barn so we’ll have room to go grab your desk.” She patted the counter. “Pay the man, hon.”

As Maverick opened his wallet, he figured he should be annoyed by the way his mom had taken over today, as well as invited Daisy-Mae into his woman-free zone. And yet, somehow, he couldn’t quite seem to get there.

Same with his boredom. While he hadn’t been interested in the items being considered in the various stores, he’d enjoyed watching his mom and Daisy-Mae connect and become what he thought of as friends.

He smiled as he took his receipt, not even minding that Daisy-Mae would be invading his home. In fact, he could already picture her working in one of the upstairs bedrooms on Mrs. Fisher’s old desk. That was, if she didn’t just curl up on a couch by the old brick fireplace in the living room. He’d have to make sure he bought a suitable couch for working on—not too soft. She’d definitely spend some time working there before they’d have to build an addition onto the house when they needed to turn her office into a nursery.

** *

Daisy-Mae was nervous.

She ran her hands down her skirt again before retrieving the cupcakes from the passenger seat. She noted the heaves and cracks in Maverick’s front walk as she navigated her way closer to his woman-free zone. He wasn’t that far outside Sweetheart Creek, and his hundred acres were off the beaten path enough that nobody had discovered him out here. His homestead was small by Texas standards, but she could tell by the way he talked that he liked it.

There was a modest barn behind the house where they had unloaded his furniture purchases last Sunday and where he parked his Mustang. The old structure had been pressured by gravity for decades and had a slight lean to it, as though it mayeventually decide to lie down for a rest if Maverick didn’t do something about it. Beyond that was pasture and a small herd of cattle, which she knew was his. And in front of her was the cutest, shabbiest looking farmhouse she’d ever seen.

She stopped, taking in the house. On the weekend, they’d zipped past it in the truck and she hadn’t had a chance to give it a proper assessment. It had a wide porch along the front, complete with a swing. The dusty windows had fake shutters with design cutouts that matched the gingerbread carvings at the roof’s peak and the corners of the porch pillars. During its prime the home had probably graced the covers of magazines, and it warmed her heart to know that a man like Maverick had bought it and would restore it to its former glory.

The front door swung open, then the screen door, which twisted wildly as one of its hinges let go. Maverick grabbed the door before it fell, unhooking it so he could lean it against the home’s faded yellow wall.

“I guess Mom’s right—Dak and I should have fixed the screen door when we were fixing the main one.”

“Your house is adorable,” Daisy-Mae said, still taking it in. It needed paint and a little TLC, but she could see its potential and exactly why he’d bought it. She hadn’t even stepped inside, and she was smitten. As neglected as this home was, it made her own look like an uninspired rectangle plunked down in the hot, dry scrubland.

She wanted to live here. Even though the screen door lacked the ability to keep out bugs and critters.

“Adorable. Just what every man wants to hear,” Maverick said, coming to join her. “Whatever happened to calling homes manly or stately?”

She curled into his side, lifting her cheek for a kiss. “Are you going to keep it yellow? Because pink would be cute.” Shegrinned up at him and he landed a light kiss on her lips, then quickly came back to land a second, slower, deeper one.

With a hand on her lower back, he gazed up at his house. “No pink.”

She inhaled gleefully as her mind made a connection. “The cupcake cottage.”

“Sorry?”

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