Page 82 of Perfectly Grumpy

“You mean by planning our children’s futures before we’ve even been on a real date?”

“Honestly, you should be honored. Their love is expressedthrough unsolicited life advice. If they weren’t grilling you,thenI’d be worried.”

We walk a few steps in silence as I think about how I’m going to navigate the rest of the week with her family. The pretending is getting to me. Probably because it’s feeling less like pretending every minute.

“So what happens tomorrow? Any more baking competitions I need to prep for?”

“Just a canoe race at the pond. After that, you don’t have to stick around. This is supposed to be your vacation too.”

I shoot her a look. “You realize we’re supposed to be a couple, right?”

She steps over a log in the path, tossing the comment over her shoulder. “I think you already convinced everyone today—with bonus points for wearing the apron.”

Her tone is too casual, almost like she’s brushing me off. I know exactly what she’s doing—creating space.

Truth is, I had planned to work on my book this week, during quiet evenings at the cabin, rereading chapters and making notes. But that plan changed the moment Lauren moved in with her suitcase.

“You sure you want to face Bart alone?” I ask, trying to sound offhand, but the way my chest tightens at the thought of him so much as looking at her puts me on edge.

She stops at the edge of the cabin porch and turns to face me. “You think I can’t handle my ex-boyfriend?”

I stop at the bottom of the steps, keeping a safe distance. “It’s not that I don’t think you can. I just don’t trust him.”

She shrugs before turning to open the door. “I’ve handled worse than Bart.”

“Doesn’t mean you should have to.” I follow her inside. “Especially not when I’m right here.”

Inside, the cabin is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of pine and cedar. Lauren puts Annie in her crate, before droppingonto the bed with a sigh, stretching her legs out, completely at ease.

I force my gaze away from her legs draped across the bed, and look at the floor, which looks about as comfortable as sleeping on a bed of gravel. “You want the bathroom first?”

She glances down at her clothes, then slowly drags herself off the bed. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll just go out on the porch with my iPad.” I shut the door behind me and settle on the steps, my thoughts straying to the lone bed. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep next to her again tonight. Something’s shifted between us, like I’m not just the guy she bosses around for PR, and I can’t say it doesn’t upend my neatly organized plan for this week.

“You can come back in,” I hear her call from inside.

I turn and freeze in my tracks. Lauren’s in a tank top and those distracting flimsy shorts again. Nothing scandalous. Just bare legs and shoulders, soft cotton, and me forgetting how to function.

Yeah,forget sleep.

She pauses, giving me a suspicious look. “What?”

I blink a few times, pulling my gaze away from her. “Nothing.”

Literally nothing. I have no thoughts left. Just the awareness that we are alone, in a cabin, with a single bed.

“Your turn,” she says as she wraps her blanket around her, grabs her pillow to sit on, and slips onto the porch.

I brace my hands on the back of the couch, letting out a long breath.Pull it together, Sheriff.It’s just sleep. But spending the night with her on the sofa bed again isnotan option. Too much snuggling, and too much of Lauren all over me without even realizing it.

I strip off my shirt, then dig through my bag for some kind of pajama bottoms since I wore my shorts to bed last night. That’s when I realize my critical oversight—I didn’t pack pajamas. Whenplanning for a solo writing retreat, sleepwear preferences weren’t exactly a priority.

Either I wear shorts again or boxers. I crack open the door. “Uh, small problem.”

Lauren doesn’t even look up from her phone. “What’s the emergency now?”

“I forgot to pack pajamas,” I admit.

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