Page 58 of Wrangled Love

“Caleb was kind enough to share a bite of his, and I couldn’t resist.”

He’s now on the bench beside me, busy demolishing his cotton candy, his face buried in it as the sugary strands stick to his lips.

I can’t resist stealing another glance at Jensen. He’s wearing Wranglers, a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of cowboy boots that showed up on the doorstep this morning with a scribbled handwritten note.

Better start breaking these in now, pretty boy. We can’t have you bailing on your first day of hard labor. – Walker.

I’ll have to thank him, because Jensen in these boots—looking all rugged and giving off a cowboy-next-door-vibe—is dangerous to my control, which was already hanging by a thread. Since our conversation on the porch, things between us have, unfortunately, been strictly G-rated—mostly time with Caleb and chatting outside for a few minutes before I crash for the night.

These days, I start my mornings diving into research and planning for my nonprofit. Taking care of Caleb has been the push I needed to take real steps toward launching it. Even if it’ll be a while before I have a dedicated space built, that doesn’t mean I can’t start making an impact now.

Jensen takes the spot next to me, passing over the deep-fried Oreo.

“Thank you. I’ve been waiting for this moment since last year’s fair.”

“You’re braver than me.” He laughs. “That thing should come with a warning label.”

“Says the guy about to scarf down a deep-fried cholesterol bomb.” I gesture toward his funnel cake topped with chocolate syrup, whipped cream, caramel, and powdered sugar.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” he says with a grin.

I watch him warily as he pulls a piece of the funnel cake off with his fingers, my eyes widening when he lifts it to my mouth, cupping his other hand beneath to keep it from dripping on me.

“You want me to try it now?”

He arches a brow, his lip twitching with amusement. “Yeah, I do.”

I try not to overthink it as I lean in and take a bite. It’s warm and crispy around the edges. He was right. This thing is good.

My stomach flutters when I find his eyes fixed on my mouth.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?”

His eyes twinkle under the county fair lights. “You do,” he says, moving closer. “Lucky me.”

He wipes the corner of my mouth, slow and deliberate, a sprinkle of powdered sugar and chocolate syrup on the tip of his finger when he pulls back. Without looking away, he slips his finger into his mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Delicious,” he drawls.

Nothing should be remotely sexy about sharing greasy food, but the way Jensen watches me like I’m next on the menu has me blushing.

“Hey, y’all. You kids having fun?” Mama Julie hollers.

She and Samuel are heading over from the pavilion, where the pie and jam contests are being set up. Judging starts tomorrow, and Julie refuses to leave her entries out of sight longer than necessary—there’s been sabotage before, and folks around here treat those contests like high-stakes poker.

“Yeah. Caleb went on the merry-go-round and the kiddie roller coaster.” Jensen glances at Caleb, smiling with pride.

He has taken a million photos to document every second of Caleb’s first fair.

“How about you?” I ask Mama Julie. “Everything set for the competitions tomorrow?”

“Your mother insisted on sealing the jar lids with wax andmarked them with our initials, and left a pointed note by her pies warning against sticky fingers and sabotage,” Pops interjects with a smirk.

Julie folds her arms and sends him a warning glance. “You laugh now, but I’m not risking another fiasco like the Great Peach Debacle of ’02.”

Pops moves to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You’re right. We wouldn’t want Missy Daniels getting another blue ribbon she didn’t earn. She’s never used a crust that didn’t come frozen.”

“Oh look, you can be sweet on occasion,” Mama Julie teases, kissing Pops on the cheek.

---