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296 pages, Paperback
First published February 23, 2021
"Do me a favor and stay out of trouble," he called over his shoulder.
"I can't promise that."
An unbidden laugh slipped out of me, and she softened at the sound. Her eyes traced the lines of my face with an unfamiliar emotion behind them. It was a sort of fondness, an admiration.
“I love it when you laugh. You never laugh. Or smile. Has anyone ever told you you have nice teeth?”
“Wouldn’t you know—that’s the first thing anyone says about me,” I teased.
With a laugh of her own, she tried to bump me with her hip, but because she was drunk, she just sort of fell right into me. For the second time in ten minutes, Olivia’s body was flush against mine.
But this time it wasn’t just the sweet scent of her that I noticed. It was the length of her dark lashes, the endless depth of her eyes. It was that smart little nose and the valley that connected it to her lips. Those lips were full and wide, with a bow so deep and sharp, it looked like it’d been carved there by a sculptor. I could have counted the smattering of freckles on her cheeks or the creases in those plump, rosy lips, which parted just a little. Just enough for me to capture one if I tried.
“You said you’d stay out of my way.”
He took a step closer. “And I have. But I said no goats.”
“What’s your problem with them?”
“You gonna clip their hooves? How about mend all the fences when they bust out, because they’re a pack of brainless Houdinis. How about deworming? And you’ve gotta breed. You ever smelled a goat buck? Tell me, smartass—have you ever seen goats mate?”
I shook my head.
“Let’s just say there’s a reason the devil has goat horns, and you’re gonna have a front-row seat to the horror shop. If you knew anything about anything, you’d never have started all this.”
Another step, his arms folding across his expansive chest, which was covered. And thank God. I couldn’t think when he was shirtless.
Part of me thought he knew it too.
“Lemme tell you something, Olivia. It’s gonna be me who deals with the fucking goats, not you. And I told you no.”
“Fine. I hereby take all responsibility for the goats. All hoof clipping, fence mending, and deworming will be done by me.”
He stared me down for a second, and whatever he was thinking tugged at one corner of his lips for that whisper of a smile. He stuck his hand out for a shake.
I took it, aware of every nerve touching his skin. The rough of his calluses. The warmth in his palms. The odd sensation of my hand being almost completely enveloped by his.
I squeezed and pumped our hands once.
“Just promise me one thing,” he said, still holding my hand.
“What?”
“Let me know when you’re clipping their hooves so I can make popcorn.”