Page 64 of Never Trust the Living (Battle Crows MC 7)

Like the one currently setting my pants on fire at the sight of my husband.

He was wearing dirty work pants, dirty work boots, a clean gray T-shirt that said ‘Dr. Pepper’ on it, and a black ball cap pulled low over his eyes.

His hair was overly long and curling out from around the back of his ball cap, and it was so adorably cute that I wanted nothing more than to run my fingers through each individual curl.

I felt myself smiling as I dropped my head back down to finish my notes.

“That’s him,” I confirmed.

“All those curls,” Marsha whispered. “They’re to die for. I’ll bet you love running your fingers through them.”

Dutch, the other psychologist who’d hired me to work with her for the next six months, came out of her office with a young man in front of her. “I’ll see you next week at two, correct? Don’t be late this time. My hourly rate is still the same whether you show up on time or not.”

My lips were twitching as the young man walked out grumbling a ‘yes.’

Dutch, a thirty-year-old woman that had a shock of red hair and a body to die for, looked at me with exasperation. “I swear, you tell them a time, and they think that you owe it to them to give them whatever they want. When will men learn?”

“Don’t think they ever do, ma’am,” came Bram’s amused reply.

I looked up to find him standing in the waiting room with the glass wall separating our offices, looking from me to Dutch to Marsha and back again.

“And you are?” Dutch asked, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

“Bram Crow, Dory’s husband,” he answered smoothly. “You’re Dr. Panchek?”

“Yes,” she answered. “And it’s nice to meet you. Dory’s spent the entire time singing your praises between patients.”

I felt myself blush as Bram’s eyes came to me.

I gestured for him to come into my office, then stood up.

He dropped the food onto my desk, then put both fisted hands on top of it and leaned into me.

I drew in a breath before closing the distance and pressing my lips to his waiting ones.

“How are you?” he asked when I pulled back.

His bottom lip was still shiny with my kiss. Cherry lip gloss.

“I’m okay,” I admitted. “Various bouts of nausea, but nothing I can’t handle with the medication. What did you bring?”

He pulled out a McRib from McDonald’s.

“It’s sweet,” he said. “And then I got you a milkshake, a cookie, and an extra set of fries if you think you can hack it. Though I left those outside in case the smell got to you.”

Warmth spread in my middle. “I don’t know. But how about we eat this out there? That way you can eat with me, too.”

Because my guess was he’d gotten himself a burger and fries, and we’d already learned the lesson there—don’t bring the smell to where it will stay for hours.

I gathered my haul up and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go eat outside. I think I saw a nice little bench beside the walkway earlier.”

The office that Dutch owned was on a water channel that wound around the office park that we were in. The walkway wound around the offices, and every so often, there was a bench you could sit and sightsee on for a while.

He held out his hand for me, and I didn’t stop myself from sliding my hand into his.

The last week had been perfect. It’d been everything that I’d ever wanted from a marriage with Bram.

He’d been attentive, helpful, and even went out of his way to go above and beyond to prove that he was there to stay.

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