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  “Well then,” Ezra says, clearing his throat and ending the showdown. When I look my brother’s way, his grin is all-knowing. Jax, Matt, and Jase are all bent down, discussing basement measurements, Ezra soon joining them. When I catch Cohen’s eye, his expression is unreadable. With a curt nod, he looks away and zones in on the basement discussion, leaving Bryant and I standing at opposite ends of the table, his gaze so intense it almost takes my breath away.

  “Game on, babycakes,” he mouths. When I simply grin and arch a brow, not giving any indication of the family of butterflies that have made my stomach their home, his eyes narrow. He shakes his head, his lips curving up as he returns his focus to the house plans.

  I give myself a silent fist pump and a pat on the back for winning this one, unable to wipe the smile off my face as I listen to my brother explain the rest of the design.

  If Bry wants to share a room—and a bed—then my plans for initiating the physical side of our relationship might just need to be stepped up. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep next to the man I love—my new husband—without doing all the things married couples do.

  Bryant may not know what he’s just gotten himself into, but I can’t wait to show him.

  Maybe Del was right. I’m just not going to tell her that.

  Not until I know for sure, anyway.

  Bryant

  It’s Saturday morning, and we’re a week into the house demolition, ten days after I married the first and only love of my life. And today, I’m taking my wife out on our first date as a married couple. Talking about doing things backward.

  Faith started her new job this past Monday and has been coming home excited about the work she’s going to be doing, and talking non-stop about it over dinner every night. It’s become almost routine now—a good one—where she gets home around six, has a shower while I cook, then we sit on the couch, eat, and share our day. Hers is about saving the world, one endangered animal at a time, and mine is about demolition, rotten framing, and plans to raise the attic.

  Having gotten up early and gone for a run, I’m showered, dressed, and reading the morning news on my tablet by the time Faith walks into the kitchen. She looks adorably mussed and still half-asleep, proving she’s not a morning person when she doesn’t have to be.

  “I made a fresh pot of coffee for you,” I say, taking a sip from my own cup.

  “Thank you,” she mumbles. She pads across the floor, grabs a mug and pours herself a drink.

  She walks around the table, sitting in the chair next to me and staring off into space for at least five minutes.

  When it becomes apparent she’s not going to initiate conversation, I take the lead.

  “Did you have a good sleep?”

  Her head jerks, as if my voice woke her up all over again.

  “Huh?” she rasps. She clears her throat and after a quick shake of her head, focuses her eyes on mine. “Sorry, I’m not quite awake yet.”

  I chuckle, my lips quirking up. “I can see that.”

  I take her in, her T-shirt and panties bedtime attire now commonplace around the house when we’re alone. I’m definitely counting down the days until we’re forced into close proximity. Matt, Jase, Jax and I have been hard at work all week dealing with other parts of the house, but we’re going to have to get into her room by next weekend.

  She blushes and looks back down to her coffee. “How about you?”

  “Huh?” I ask teasingly. Her tilted head and sharp gaze tell me it’s a bit early for teasing. Good to know. “I’ve already been for a run this morning.”

  She scrunches her forehead. “You run?”

  “I do. I’ve been running every day this week.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” I say with a laugh.

  “Why run?”

  “It clears the brain and sets me up for the day.”

  “Maybe, if you’re weird like that,” she grumbles.

  “I remember a time when you used to work out every day.”

  Her lips twitch. “Then I learned that life’s too short and cheesecake makes my ass look good.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I say before I can filter myself. Her eyes widen, giggling when I simply shrug in response.

  “Nice to know,” she says quietly, averting her gaze. Not liking that, I reach out and cover her hand, getting her attention.

  “Faith, I may not be obvious about it, but there’s not one part of you I don’t remember and haven’t enjoyed looking at since you came back.”

  Her shoulders drop, her lips parting as she lets out a breath.

  “If you want me to be more overt in my appreciation of your body…” My eyes drift down her body before slowly raking their way back to her face. “… especially the parts I really like, just let me know. I’m more than willing to accommodate.”

  Needing some distance—if only to calm down my body’s response—I slide my chair back and stand, taking my coffee with me and moving my tablet into her line of sight. “You’re more than welcome to use this to read the news. I know you used to like doing that.”

  She doesn’t hide her surprise at my memory but simply nods. Moving to the sink, I down my drink and rinse out the mug before leaving it to dry on the countertop.

  “I’m just going to check my e-mails, and I’ll be ready to go whenever you are,” I say to the back of her head.

  Looking over her shoulder, she smiles. “Okay. I just need to have a shower and do some laundry, then we can leave.”

  “Just come get me then.”

  She nods, and I leave the room, contemplating another run to work off a different kind of pent-up energy. Instead, I opt for instant gratification and have a second shower. No doubt it’ll be a quick one, one part of my body now needing an entirely different kind of workout.

  Three hours and four different dealerships later, one thing is glaringly obvious—Faith Baker is still as indecisive as she was when she was younger. She has decided what she wants three times so far before backtracking and test-driving another model.

  By one p.m., I’m hungry, and I make the executive decision that we need food and a break from upgrades and safety features. When I usher her out of the crosshairs of a rather forward car salesman, she looks at me questionably but thankfully, bites her tongue, and waits until we’re in my truck and pulling away from the curb before talking.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “You’re hungry…” she says slowly as if trying to find some hidden meaning in my seemingly straightforward statement.

  “Yep. It’s past lunchtime. We’ve been looking and not deciding on a car for hours. I figured a change of scenery was needed to clear your mind.”

  She falls quiet, so much so that I sneak a side-glance at her to try and read her mood, but I can’t work it out because she has turned to look out the window.

  “Burgers okay?” I ask, choosing to not make all of the decisions for her. I’ve never been the kind of guy who wants that level of control, and I don’t want her thinking that’s the kind of man I am now.

  “Yeah, sure,” she says quietly.

  I almost wish I wasn’t driving so I’d be able to watch her. I used to be able to tell so much about what she was thinking and feeling just by watching her. Before we got together, we were just two kids—young teenagers—who knew each other better than anyone else.

  I leave her to ruminate and ten minutes later, pull into the parking lot of my favorite gourmet burger place. I hop out of the truck and ’round the back, open her door and help her down before she’s even had a chance to argue.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Opening the door for you.”

  That makes her look even more confused. “But—”

  “But nothing. My father taught me to be a gentleman when taking a woman out on a date, something you know all too well since he used to always grill you after we got home.”

  Her gaze widens before she covers her mou
th to hide a giggle.

  “And since this is my first lunch date with my wife, I wanted to see whether I still remembered how to do it.”

  Her smile falters a bit when my admission sinks in, her eyes widening. “You haven’t—”

  “Dated? Sure,” I say, locking the truck behind us. I press my hand to the small of her back and lead us toward the front of the restaurant. “Cared enough to make sure I didn’t earn the wrath of my father or yours? No.”

  Her lips part, but I don’t acknowledge my admission. Instead, I hold the restaurant door open and usher her inside.

  It’s not until we’re seated and the waitress has taken our drink and food order, that Faith brings it up again.

  “So… dating life,” she says.

  Leaning back in my seat, I watch her. “Yes. I have had one,” I reply, nonchalantly.

  She rests her arms on the table, her body language anything but comfortable.

  I fight against getting distracted by her olive-brown skin, and the sun-kissed highlights through her dark chocolate hair. I focus on her bright green eyes rather than let my gaze drift to the low V of her white shirt and the yellow bra she’s wearing underneath.

  I suppose we need to have this conversation about dating, the twelve years we’ve been apart, and why she left me after rejecting my proposal. Those kinds of things.

  So far we’ve been dancing around each other’s past anything, including our own history. It’s unhealthy, but it’s also a self-preservation measure, not just for ourselves, but likely for our current marital status. I can see Mom’s Christmas card letter now. “This year, our sons Jamie and Jaxon got married, Cohen worked too much, Abi had twins, and Bryant lost his mind and married his childhood love, who he divorced a few weeks later.”

  “So…” she says slowly, playing with her fingers on the table. “Anyone significant?”

  I pour myself a glass of water, lifting the cup to my lips before meeting her questioning gaze. “Nothing lasting longer than a few months.”

  Her brows rise. “Wow. I thought for sure I’d have a heartbroken ex or two to deal with.”

  My mouth twists up. “Sorry to disappoint. I may have shared my bed with women but…” I swallow, weighing up whether to show her a card or two. I look over her shoulder before making my decision. Open book, remember? “I’ve never gotten over the eight-year-old who stole my heart and never gave it back.”

  Her lips part, her eyes widening. “Bry…” There’s too much emotion and history in that one word.

  “And how about you?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.

  “I’ve dated here and there. There was one guy I was with for about eight months.”

  I nod, not liking the idea, but twelve years is too long for her not to have met anyone. Who even knows what kind of guys there are in Australia? The few I’ve met have been confident and outgoing, and have oozed testosterone like they pour it on their cereal for breakfast. “And what happened?”

  “We worked together at the zoo in Sydney. He looked after the giraffes.”

  I snort, unable to stop myself.

  She lifts her brows, her own lips curving up. “What’s so funny?”

  “Giraffes? What, was the lion tamer taken?” I muse.

  She giggles, shaking her head. “No, the lion tamer was already living with the male hippo curator.”

  We both crack up laughing.

  “So, Mr. Giraffe Keeper. What happened?”

  She shrugs. “He wanted to take things to the next level and I—”

  I arch a brow, trying to ignore the tight feeling in my chest. “The next level?”

  “He asked me to move in with him, and I couldn’t do it.”

  “Can I ask why?” My throat goes dry, my fingers gripping my glass. I take a gulp of water and lower it back to the table.

  A small smile appears, and her muscles relax, her shoulders losing their tension. “Because—news flash, Bryant Cook—I’ve only ever lived with one man in my life who wasn’t a family member and I always held out hope he’d be the only one.”

  “I…” I dip my chin, unable to stop my own wry grin. “I don’t know why that makes me feel better. But it does.”

  She shrugs. “It is what it is. I never said I stopped loving you. Some habits are hard to break.”

  “Okay,” I say, leaning forward. “Did you date to try and move on?”

  “No. I just didn’t stop living my life when I was never sure I’d get another chance with you.” She reaches across the table and covers my free hand with hers. “I know I totally screwed this all up, and this isn’t a great lunch conversation, but I don’t want to hide anything from you. I was always going to come back for you. I never expected to end up married two days after seeing you again, but I’m stubborn and pig-headed enough to see this through, whatever the outcome may be.”

  My head jerks back. “So even though you said ‘’til death do us part,’ you did it with the thought this may not end well?”

  Her eyes widen, and she slides her hand back. “You proposed to me within ten minutes of seeing me again. If that was the only way to get a chance at being with you again—at finding out whether I was right in thinking I made the biggest mistake of my life in leaving you—then you can bet your ass I wasn’t going to turn you down.”

  “I just can’t… I mean…” I’m lost for words, and that never happens. She quirks a brow, an unspoken challenge to express my thoughts on what she just said. I open my mouth to say something—anything—when I see Cohen and his EMT partner, Skye, walking toward us.

  I meet his bright eyes, his smile turning to a confused frown as he obviously reads my mood. Never have I been happier to see one of my brothers.

  “Hey,” he says, reaching the table and coming to stand beside me. “Hi, Faith.”

  She smiles up at him. “Hey, Co,” she says softly. “How are you?”

  “I’m good,” he replies, clapping me on the shoulder. “You guys here for the double cheeseburger too?”

  I chuckle and spot the waitress heading toward us. “Yep. Thought I’d treat Faith to the best burger in Chicago.”

  “I dunno. There are a few places that give it a good run for its money,” my brother says.

  “You’d know.”

  Faith turns to Skye, holding out her arm. “Hi. We haven’t met. I’m Faith, Bryant’s…” She bites her lip, her eyes sliding my way.

  “Wife,” I say, enjoying the ownership of the word and Faith’s soft expression when I say it.

  Skye shakes Faith’s hand, her gaze switching between us. “I’m Skye, Cohen’s work wife.”

  “We’re on our lunch break and were in the area, so thought we’d swing by and grab something before we get another call out,” Cohen says. He moves to the other side of the table, looking over at his partner. “Should we sit down for a bit?” he asks Skye, just as the waitress reaches us.

  She nods and once the waitress has put our plates down, takes the chair next to Faith.

  “Damn, that smells so good,” Skye says, eyeing our food.

  Co looks at Skye. “I’ll put our order in. What would you like, brat?”

  She purses her lips before a grin appears. “Just the usual. Thanks, Cass.”

  “Waffle fries?”

  She shoots him a ‘duh’ look. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

  “And a chocolate milkshake?” he asks.

  “Is the Pope a Catholic?”

  “You’d know,” he muses, earning a smirk, before walking away to order.

  I stare at the back of him wondering where my brother has gone and who is the imposter left in his place with a nickname I haven’t heard before.

  “Cass?” I ask, arching a brow at Skye.

  She giggles and shakes her head. “Short for Casanova. He’s earned himself a bit of a rep at the firehouse.” My head jerks back and my eyes dart to my wife.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t wait.” Faith grabs the burger and lifts it to her mouth, taking a hu
ge bite. Her eyes close as a quiet moan escapes her. Totally going to ignore what that sound does to me.

  I push my basket of fries towards Skye. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks,” she replies cheerfully, plopping one in her mouth. “God, I love these. They’re even better with liquid cheese on them. And bacon bits… oooh and guac.”

  “I take it you come here a lot?” I say with a chuckle.

  “Just a bit,” she replies around a mouthful of fries. Her cheeriness is refreshing and a little infectious. It’s also the complete opposite of Cohen, which is probably why I’m finding their work partnership so amusing.

  “This burger is so good,” Faith says. I nod as I chew my own mouthful.

  “How’s work going, Skye? I hope my brother isn’t riding you too hard.”

  The woman chokes, her eyes watering as she splutters and tries to recover. I’m starting to think young Skye has a dirty mind.

  My gaze meets Faith’s amused one. “Oops,” she mouths. To Skye’s credit, she recovers quickly.

  “He wishes. Cohen is a pushover when it comes to a woman who doesn’t swoon when he brings out the dimple.” I sense there’s a bit of a story there that I’ll need to question Co about later. What I do know is that my brother lives with our parents—which means no sleepovers—and he works as many hours as he can. So his work/life/love life balance is severely skewed, but it’s not like I’m in a position to judge.

  “How about you guys? What have you been up to?” She turns to Faith. “You haven’t been back in town long, right? Cohen said something about you coming back for Jamie’s wedding and ending up getting married yourself?” Her eyes dart between the two of us. “Do I have that right?”

  My lips twitch. Skye is a rambler, which is hilarious, considering Co isn’t a man of many words. I imagine she talks his ear off whenever they’re between call-outs.

  “Yeah. I moved back a few days before the wedding and this guy,” she says, nodding my way, “decided to sweep me off my feet and take me off the market the first chance he got.”