Page 90 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
And right now, I’m standing in a home that smells delicious and welcoming, with three cowboys who have nothing but open arms for me.
I drift into the open kitchen doorway, the scent smothering me in the best possible way. Rich, buttery, savory, and my stomach practically growls in response.
“That smells incredible,” I breathe, stepping in farther.
Walker is pulling out a massive roast from the oven, arms braced as he sets it gently on the stovetop.
“Wait ’til you try it.”
The kitchen is chaos, though. Steam curling up from mashed potatoes glistening with pools of butter. Green beans sautéed with almonds. Fresh cornbread stacked high. Roasted vegetables, two kinds of salad, and mac and cheese that definitely isn’t from a box.
“Holy shit,” I say, eyes wide. “Did you cook for the entire county?”
He wipes his hands on a towel and glances up at me, a little color rising to his cheekbones. “Didn’t know what you liked,” he says, shrugging. “Figured I’d make a little of everything. Cover my bases.”
“Alittleof everything?” I arch a brow.
His mouth tips in a lopsided smile. “Used to watch my mom make Sunday roasts. Every damn week, like clockwork. She’d hum while she worked, made it look easy. Taught me all her tricks before I hit high school.”
I step closer, unable to stop myself from inhaling again. “If this tastes half as good as it smells, I might propose.”
That gets a real smile. “Careful what you promise.”
“Still a better offer than my last relationship.”
That earns me a low, amused sound from his throat. Then he tilts his head toward the counter. “Want to help carry things out?”
“Sure.”
We load our arms with dishes, moving around each other. Our hands brush once. Then again. The third time, my fingers linger too long on a bowl of roasted carrots, and I glance up to find Cash and Ridge watching us. Something warm and electric crackles between us.
“Sit here,” Cash says, pulling out a chair between him and Ridge at the round table.
“Not even letting me pick my spot?”
“Strategic placement,” Walker calls as he brings in the roast. “Keeps the conversation interesting.”
“Or keeps the flirting even,” I mutter under my breath, only half joking.
Before I can even lift a serving spoon, Cash and Ridge are already loading up my plate. Mashed potatoes, cornbread, salad, vegetables, generous portions of everything. I watch in amused horror as the mountain grows.
“I can’t eat all this,” I protest.
“Try,” Walker suggests, sliding in across the table with his own plate. “You need your strength.”
“For what?” I ask, too late in realizing the trap.
Three sets of eyes lock on mine. The air thickens with something darker, heavier, and a not-so-innocent smile tugs at Cash’s mouth.
Ridge just grins my way, that tempting, impossible-to-resist smile that gets me every time.
I take a bite of the mashed potatoes and groan. “Okay, that’s ridiculous.”
Walker glances over, clearly trying not to smile. “Too much salt?”
“Too muchperfect,” I mumble around another forkful. “Like, I’m offended. Why does it taste this good?”
Cash snorts. “Because he’s a show-off. Did you count how many side dishes he made? He’s compensating.”
