Page 62 of Tempting Wyatt
My jaw flexes as I pick up Isaac’s barn coat. Why it’s here, I don’t know, but I can guess. And knowing he’s been here, with her, lights parts of me on fire that I’d thought were long dead.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ivy
IWAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING feeling more rested than I ever have. The delicious memory of Wyatt’s hand between my legs has me smiling like a lunatic but also nervous about seeing him again.
Before I can decide if I’m going to seek him out and give him a proper thank-you for last night, there’s a knock at the cabin door.
Rushing to freshen up in case it’s him, I brush my teeth at top speed. I smile at my reflection in the mirror when I see that my hair isn’t a wild mess.
Because Wyatt combed and braided it.
I’m breathless when I open the door to see Isaac on the porch. I’m disappointed he isn’t his brother, but I smile at him all the same.
“Good morning.”
“Mornin’,” he drawls. “Mom wanted me to let you know that she and Sutton are doing some baking today if you wanted to join. Making your favorite apple cake, I think she said.”
Excitement swells in my chest. “Um, yes, I want to join. I just need to get changed.”
He nods. “I’ll wait and drive you up in the truck. I’ve got some work to do up at the house.”
He parks himself on the porch swing, so I run inside and slip on some jeans and an older T-shirt that I don’t mind getting flour and eggs on. Feeling giddier than I should, I join Isaac on the porch and let him know I’m ready.
“Hey, have you seen my jacket?” He glances at the empty swing as he vacates it. “Could’ve sworn I left it here.”
I try to recall the last time I noticed it but can’t. “It was here. I remember taking it off inside. But I haven’t seen it.”
He shrugs. “It’ll turn up. You ready?”
“Definitely.”
He grins. “Let’s hit it then, Betty Crocker.”
AN HOUR LATER,I’VE BAKED ONE hell of an amazing apple cake. Sutton cuts out early, saying she needs to get in touch with her friends about a party tonight, so it’s mostly me and Laurel baking and chatting.
When she pulls out a family heirloom cookbook so I can snap a picture of the apple cake recipe, my mouth drops open.
“Oh my gosh,” I say, taking the overstuffed photo album–style scrapbook from her. It’s thick. Andheavy.“This is beautiful. How many recipes are in here?” I stare at the gorgeous handwritten recipes. A few printed ones with notes scrawled in the margins fall out, and I slide them back into place.
She laughs softly. “I don’t actually know. But it’s been in my family for generations.”
She flips a few pages. A picture of her and Willow canning jam faces upward. Willow is standing on a chair and looks to be five or six.
“This is amazing. A work of art,” I tell her.
My heart thuds heavily in my chest. The love this family has passed down in this recipe book alone is more than I’ve felt in my entire life.
We sit at the table and flip through the pages. Laurel tells me she’s been selling her pies and jams at the general store and diner in town. When she mentions that she’s considered adding custom cake orders, she points out pictures of birthday cakes baked for the Logan siblings over the years.
My eyes lands on a little boy with a headful of dark, messy hair and a serious expression on his face despite a chocolate frosting mustache. I know exactly who he is. He’s tiny, but the eyes haven’t changed much.
“Is this Wyatt?”
She grins at the photo. “It is. How could you tell?”
“The eyes,” I say softly, running my fingers gently across the image.
