Falling for Your Boss by Emma St. Clair

Chapter Nineteen

Zoey

“You grew up here?”I say, not for the first time as Gavin’s truck bounces over the uneven gravel drive that seems a mile long.

We’d been passing signs for the Brownell Ranch for miles, and though I knew it had to be the one owned by Gavin’s family, seeing it in person was something else. In the distance, a gorgeous white farmhouse sat to the left, a large red barn in the background and what had to be the start of thousands of acres of farmland. I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t see any of the oil rigs, if that was even the right word, that I knew had to be there.

Up ahead to the right, there’s a large gravel lot that still had a dozen or more cars. Another, smaller barn is just beyond the lot and I can see a few smaller pastures with goats, cows, and horses, along with what looks like a giant mountain of hay children are climbing and jumping from. There’s also a massive wooden playground that looked more like a fort, and a few other smaller structures. A tractor pulling smaller cars behind it chugs over a dirt track, with parents and children enjoying the ride.

“I can’t believe this place. It’s incredible.”

Gavin chuckles, glancing at me in the rearview mirror with a warmth in his eyes that I’m still getting used to seeing directed my way. And by getting used to, I mean that every time he looks at me that way, my entire body hums like a plucked string on an instrument. I keep reminding my stupid body that now isn’t the time, but so far, it doesn’t seem to be listening.

“It was different growing up. All of that is new. My mom and dad opened this part of the farm up about ten years ago. They weren’t working the ranch still but wanted to see the place used for more than just oil.” His voice drops to a mutter. “I think it’s also a way of my mama living vicariously since she doesn’t have any grandkids.”

I laugh. “Neither of your brothers have kids?” At some point, he mentioned having two younger brothers, but not much about them. I’m not even sure how close they all are or where the other two live.

“Nope.” He turns his head toward Ella briefly. “She’s the first. Which explains that.” He nods toward the house in front of us.

A woman who must be his mother sprints out of the big farmhouse toward the truck, her white curls bouncing around her head. I can’t help but smile, even though that familiar reminder of missing my own mom starts an ache low in my chest.

Gavin sighs. “Prepare yourself to be overwhelmed.”

He has no idea how overwhelmed I already am, and not for the reasons he might expect.

I try to tell myself that Gavin’s mother is excited about Ella, not me, but the moment I step out of the truck, she’s right there, wrapping her arms around me in a surprisingly tight embrace.

Hugging Gavin’s mother is like being enveloped in a freshly baked loaf of bread. She’s warm and soft and smells so comfortingly familiar, her big smile drawing out one of my own before I can even think to stop it. I can’t say that I mind the unexpected affection a bit. Especially considering the way my nerves have been like piranhas this last stretch of the drive, chewing me down to the bones.

“Mama,” Gavin drawls, his voice already sounding more accented than before. “Let’s not maul our guest, please.”

“Mind your business, boy,” she says in a mocking tone that makes me chuckle.

“Zoey is my business,” Gavin says, and I can’t help but meet his eyes over his mother’s shoulder.

There’s a look in them that makes a shiver travel from my toes up to my head, one that I hope his mother doesn’t feel. Heat flares through me, until the weight of his words sinks in. Business. Keep this to business. Yeah right!

His mother squeezes me even tighter, reminding me of just how futile it is to think that I can keep up any boundaries. I’m locked into what has to be the longest hug between two strangers in the history of the western world. Call me desperate, but I am here for it.

And then she walks me up to the edge of the emotional cliff I’ve been hovering near and shoves me right off.

“I’ve never had a daughter,” she says.

No, she didn’t.

She did not say the kind of words that have the power to flay my heart wide open. Except she did, and I struggle to keep my emotions from erupting like some kind of geological event. Now, I’m clutching her like a lifeline. Because I know if she lets me go now, it will be painfully obvious that I am a complete wreck. So much for distance. I can’t get much more tied up than this.

In my two years of crushing on Gavin, I did not one time imagine meeting his parents. Any time I did indulge in letting my mind consider us together, it was things like a stolen kiss in the elevator or a romantic dinner date.

Not … coming back to his family’s ranch and letting his mother hug the daylights out of me, telling me that she never had a daughter.

Yet, here I am. And I already want it to be something that it’s not. I want to be meeting his parents as his girlfriend, not his surprise daughter’s nanny. I want to be more to him, more to his mom. Why didn’t I just say yes when he asked me to come?

Keep it together, Zo. Keep it together.

But tears burn my eyes as I squeeze them shut. I hate being a cliché—the girl who lost her mother and now is desperate for this kind of motherly embrace.

Who am I kidding? That’s exactly who I am. I squeeze her tighter. Thankfully, she doesn’t let up either, allowing me the time to suck those tears back where they came from.

Is this awkward? I don’t even care.

“It’s so nice to meet you, dear,” his mother says, her words tickling the hairs on the back of my neck.

“You too.”

“We really didn’t expect this.”

I laugh, grateful that I’ve chased my tears away. For now. They’ve been replaced by a bubbling up of giddy joy. “Neither did I.”

Maybe the earth is still spinning just as it did before, but the last few days have changed the orbit of my own small world. I feel like I’m living in some kind of reverse modern fairy tale. One with a murky middle and an ambiguous ending. I’ve followed a trail of breadcrumbs and am standing in front of a house made of candy. I’m sure that somewhere, a witch in the form of a massive reality check is waiting to stuff me in an oven.

When she pulls back, still holding my shoulders with hands that are somehow both soft and calloused, I study her face. Round and lined around her eyes with a wide smile, she’s like the embodiment of welcome. Her eyes are the same rich brown as Gavin’s, but she’s nowhere near his—or even my—height. Her hair is a wild tangle of white curls, framing her face and stopping just above her shoulders.

“You’re the most beautiful woman Gavin’s ever brought home. Even with that shiner. I bet there’s a story there. You’ll have to tell me while I’m fixing supper.”

I swear I hear Gavin choking somewhere behind me, and any minute now, my cheeks are going to go up in flames.

“Don’t listen to my lovely wife. You’re the only woman he’s brought home,” Gavin’s father says in a deep voice with an even deeper accent. “Scoot over, dear. It’s my turn.”

And then I’m enveloped in a second hug by Gavin’s father, my cheek crushed into a soft flannel shirt. Thankfully, he doesn’t hold on to me as long as his mother did.

He steps back, looking every bit the rugged rancher stereotype with his worn jeans, big belt buckle, and scuffed boots. His face is an older, more weather-worn version of Gavin’s, with gray hair just peeking out from under his cowboy hat. His smile is wide, white, and every bit as warm as Gavin’s mother.

His hug distracted me momentarily from his words, but my mind scurries right back. Did he say the only girl to come here? Did Gavin’s ex-wife never visit the ranch and his parents? I bite back my questions, filing them away for another time.

“This girl knows how to hug,” Gavin’s mama says.

Gavin gives me a sideways look. “Good to know,” he murmurs so that only I can hear. At least, I hope only I can hear. My Magic 8-Ball predicts the outlook is good for awkward times ahead.

“I’m glad to see you’re not playing favorites or anything,” Gavin says in a wry voice, giving his mother a hug. “It’s good to see you too, Mama. Daddy.”

“Oh, shut up, you,” his mother says, swatting Gavin’s shoulder before he picks her up, swinging her around and making her squeal.

We’ve been here for five minutes, and it’s like Gavin has shed a weighted blanket of worry. He’s lighter, easier, happier. His accent thicker, his smile wider. It’s not going to do anything good for my crush except give it a swift shot of adrenaline straight to the heart.

Gavin sets his mother down and then he and his father give each other one of those manly hugs punctuated with slaps on the back, like they’re trying to see how hard they can smack each other without being the first to cry uncle.

“Is that your little girl?” Mrs. Brownell peeks in the back windows of the truck, where miraculously, Ella is still curled up against the door, asleep.

Gavin’s face clouds a bit, like he’s unsure of the emotions he should be feeling right now. “That’s Ella,” he says gruffly, shooting me a quick look.

I give him a reassuring smile. His father slings an arm over his shoulder and says something quietly in his ear that has him nodding, a muscle flexing in his handsome jaw.

“Should you carry her inside? It’s almost time for supper, but if she’s tired, you could just put her in bed,” his mother says.

“I think she’s overwhelmed with the events of the last day or so.” Gavin shifts uncomfortably, looking from his mother to Ella’s car door. When his eyes land on me, I recognize the panic there.

“I’ll get her,” I say, placing my hand on the door handle. “She seems to have gotten used to me.”

I manage to open the door without Ella falling out and unfasten her seat belt, gathering her in my arms. She sighs against me but doesn’t wake. I’m sure the emotional exhaustion has caught up with her, and I don’t know how late she stayed up the night before, watching her tablet.

She’s a little big to carry this way, cradled against my chest, but she’s so light, like she has hollow bird bones rather than the normal human kind. Or maybe I’m simply not used to holding children. I can’t remember the last time I did.

“Follow me,” Gavin says, his voice rough and his eyes flashing with some emotion I can’t name. I wish I could label it desire or affection, but like the rest of what lies between us, it’s much more layered and complicated than that.

He turns to the house, which up close looks even more like the stereotypical farmhouse in every old movie, painted white with a wide porch and complete with a creaky screen door. Gavin’s father holds the door open for us, reaching out a rough, tanned hand and brushes a strand of hair off Ella’s cheek as we pass. A smile spreading slow across his face. The move makes me quiver, as though his hand had touched me instead.

“Are you sure I can’t help?” Gavin asks as we reach the bottom of a set of stairs. “The bedrooms are up there.”

“She’s not so heavy,” I tell him, but he urges me to go ahead of him, placing a big hand on the lower part of my back.

My spine becomes a lit fuse, heat and energy zipping up each vertebra until even the roots of my hair feel electrified. I draw in a breath, trying to remind myself that this isn’t what it feels like, which is a warm domesticity with the guy I’ve liked for years.

His parents aren’t my in-laws. Ella isn’t my daughter. Gavin isn’t my boyfriend. And he certainly won’t be anything more.

So, don’t get any more ideas, I sternly rebuke my errant thoughts and mutinous body, which wants to pause on the stairs, relishing in Gavin’s touch.

Too soon, we’re at the top, and I’m breathless despite my insistence at carrying Ella. Gavin brushes by me, leading the way to a room toward the end of a hallway.

I have to bite back a smile as we enter. The whole room is an explosion of bright pinks and purples, clearly stuffed to the gills with new things that his mother has somehow found the time to buy in the hours while we drove. I can still see the tags on a lot of things.

I set Ella down carefully next to a furry pink body pillow that’s twice as long as she is, then back away, noting the pink and purple plaid curtains, the thick rug, which is a gray and pink chevron pattern. The closet door is slightly ajar, and I can see that it’s stuffed with clothes.

I turn to Gavin with an eyebrow raised. He shrugs sheepishly. “What can I say,” he whispers. “Mom is thrilled.”

“Clearly.”

We both pause before leaving, looking at the girl on the bed, her strawberry blonde hair fanned out over the pillow. She looks younger in sleep, sweeter. All the hard edges have rounded off, and she is just a lost eight-year-old girl. My chest is a flaming ball of emotion between Gavin’s mother and Ella. And Gavin, not that it’s any surprise what he does to my heart.

I follow him out of the room, closing the door softly behind me. His presence fills the hallway, not just the height of him, which suddenly looms so large, but something more. He reaches out, brushing his fingertips down the length of my arm until he’s squeezing my hand. The unexpected touch has me holding my breath, feeling like any minute I’m going to burst like an overripe tomato.

“Come on,” he says, tugging me gently. I follow him over the

groaning wood floors to another doorway, which he pushes open, indicating that I should go in. When he drops my hand, I resist the urge to snatch it back.

“This will be your room while we’re here,” he says, and I walk into what was clearly once Gavin’s bedroom. He clears his throat. “Don’t, um, look too closely at anything.”

Oh, the snooping I’m going to do later.

For now, I pretend to be a polite, decent human being and not one eroded by curiosity, and simply glance around at the framed football jersey on the wall, the array of photographs of a Gavin who must be closer to my age but looks like a baby somehow with his soft cheeks, floppy mess of hair, and bright eyes. He was cute then but has grown more handsome over the years. I much prefer the present-day Gavin, who is watching me carefully.

“It’s nice,” I say, and then my eyes fall on the pillow, where three familiar-looking gold-wrapped candies are lined up in a row.

I pluck one between two fingers and stare at Gavin, who shifts on his feet. “My mama did some preparatory shopping,” he says.

“How did she know these are my favorite? How did you?”

“I’ve seen you sneaking them out of a desk drawer sometimes during the day.”

Gavin has been spying on me at work. I try not to let that thought send me shooting over the moon.

“Have you never tried one?” I ask.

He shakes his head. I open his hand, dropping the gold ball into his palm. I grab myself another and carefully peel back the foil.

“You’re not allergic to nuts, are you?” I ask, knowing full well that he isn’t.

That’s the sort of thing I know about Gavin. Facts that might be used to fill out a form at work or something. Not real things or true things. I want to know it all. And I definitely plan to find out as much as I can while I’m here from whatever secrets lie in this room and the ones I bet his mother will share.

Before I can tell him it’s too much for one bite, he pops the whole thing into his mouth, and I can hear the crunch as he chews. I bite mine in half, holding back a moan as the smooth filling and crunch of hazelnut and wafer hit my taste buds.

Gavin makes a pleasant humming sound, drawing my attention to his mouth. Delicious.

The candy. The candy is delicious. I force my attention away from his full lips.

“What’s in this?” he asks.

“Hazelnuts and chocolate,” I tell him, not mentioning that this particular confection reminds me of his eyes. But his irises have lighter brown flecks and almost a gold ring toward the center. I realize that I’m staring and drop my gaze to the floor before popping the rest of the chocolate into my mouth.

“Thank you,” I say. “This is a surprising touch. I’m surprised you noticed.”

“I notice more than you know,” Gavin says. “I always have.”

My eyes drift back up to his. I wonder, not for the first time, where we would be if Zane hadn’t said what he’d said at mini golf. If Gavin hadn’t been feverish. If Eleanor hadn’t dropped Ella off on his doorstep, like some kind of deranged, child-delivering stork.

But all those things did happen. Everything’s different now. But does it have to be?

At the moment, the worries and concerns and details seem to have melted away. When I look into Gavin’s warm chocolate eyes, I stop thinking about the girl sleeping down the hallway. When my gaze drops to his lips, I’m not considering our age difference. When he shifts closer to me, I forget all about the fact that I signed a contract to work for him as Ella’s temporary nanny.

The tension between us has the force of the moon’s gravitational pull, and any moment, I’m going to be swept away with the tide and right into Gavin’s arms.

Would that be such a bad thing?

My eyes are just fluttering closed when Gavin steps back. “I forgot something. Wait here,” he says.

Before I can respond, he’s gone, and I hear his heavy footsteps running down the stairs. I’m disappointed yet also relieved. Okay, fine. Mostly disappointed. But I should be relieved. Kissing Gavin right now would only add to the tangled mess of things.

But it would be amazing.

He’s back before I can even move, which is slightly embarrassing, since I’m standing exactly where I was moments ago. Gavin drops my suitcase on the floor and hands me two gift bags.

“I never gave you your birthday present,” he says.

The wattage from my smile could probably power the electricity for a whole city block. I take the bags. “You said present. Singular.”

Looking a bit sheepish, which for the record, is an adorable expression on Gavin, he shrugs. “I got nervous and bought two. Open this one first.”

He tugs on one of the bags. I set the other on the bed behind me. The anticipation is like all of my childhood Christmas mornings rolled into one. Because Gavin bought me two gifts. I wonder if he had them gift-wrapped, because the tissue paper looks artfully arranged inside the gold and turquoise bag. I feel the distinct edge of a paperback book and pull it out.

The cover looks familiar, and I realize why when I read the title. “Franny and Zooey—I’ve been meaning to read this. I loved The Catcher in the Rye when …”

I stop myself before I can say, when I was in high school. Because it wasn’t that long ago. The last thing I want is to ruin this moment with a reminder of my age.

“I know the spelling is different, and the Zooey in the book is a guy, but it just seemed like—”

“Gavin.” I interrupt his rambling. He stops when he sees my smile. “I love it.”

“Look inside,” he says.

I start to flip the pages and find a gift card to Mozart’s, my favorite local coffee shop. I stare down at it. This shouldn’t feel so momentous. But it is.

“How did you know?” I ask, unable to look at Gavin.

“I saw the name on your cups. It’s actually not far from my house if you cut over on Redbud. It’s a pretty drive. Anyway.”

He waves a hand, then clears his throat and shuffles on his feet. When Gavin was sick, I saw him at his most physically vulnerable. But this is something altogether different.

This is Gavin letting me in, revealing an emotional vulnerability. This is a conscious choice. His choice, to be himself with me. Not Gavin, my boss. It’s Gavin, the man I’ve always wanted to know more.

“Open the second one,” Gavin says, nudging the bag. His voice is lower, huskier. It’s not a tone I’ve heard before, and it’s even sexier than his serious alpha voice.

I tuck the gift card inside the book and set it on the bed, feeling my hands tremble.

Pull it together, Zoey.

But as I pull aside the tissue paper in the second bag, revealing a small, square box, the kind meant for jewelry, I’m the furthest thing from pulled together. I feel like Gavin has found a loose string and tugged, pulling me apart at the seams.

I cannot look up at him, holding the navy blue box in one hand and the gift bag in the other. “I can’t,” I say, staring down at my hands, willing them to be still.

Instantly, Gavin’s large hands engulf mine. He first eases the gift bag from my left hand, dropping it to the floor. And then he takes the box from my other hand. I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to hold myself together.

To feel this much over something so small is ridiculous. I’m like a child next to him, all emotions where he’s so steady. How must he see me?

“Zoey.”

Gavin rests a hand on my cheek, and it’s all I can do not to lean into his touch. I have to hold myself in check. He slides two fingers along my jaw and gently lifts my chin until I’m meeting his eyes. I’ve catalogued so many of Gavin’s expressions over the years, but this one is entirely new.

“Why don’t you want to open it?” His tone is gentle, coaxing, yet still with an underlying command I can’t ignore.

“It’s too much. This is all … too much.”

“Or maybe,” Gavin says, pressing the box back into my hands, “maybe it’s just right. New, scary, unknown. But right.”

My mouth goes dry at his words. I want to believe what I see in his eyes, which looks an awful lot like a promise that he hasn’t yet made in words. I want to pinch myself. Can this really be happening? Just days ago, Gavin and I were in the office, being professional. Now, I’ve snuggled with him in bed, running my fingers through his hair while he slept. I introduced him to his daughter. I’ve met his parents.

Let’s not forget that I dragged his unconscious body through his house.

And you know what? It does feel right. On paper, Gavin and I make no sense. We’re a bad idea. In reality? I feel more and more like we are a perfect fit. Not in some fantasy I’m creating in my mind, but in a very messy reality.

Gavin’s fingers drop from my chin, skating along my arm before he steps back, giving me a little space. With a steadying breath, I open the jewelry box. Inside is a delicate silver chain with a deep blue stone at the end. I don’t know my jewelry well, but I think it’s a sapphire. It looks expensive, and beautiful.

“Gavin,” I whisper. “It is too much.”

But he’s already lifting the box from my hand and spinning me. Before I can protest any more, he gently sweeps my hair to the side and lifts the necklace over my head. His fingers brush over the skin at my neck, making me tremble.

“There,” he says, his hands squeezing my shoulders firmly, almost possessively. “I told you. Just right.”

I’m about to turn back around when I feel Gavin’s lips ghost over my shoulder. My breath catches in my chest. His almost kiss becomes a definite kiss, then a series of kisses, I have to wonder if it’s possible to die from holding your breath. Because there is no way I’m going to be able to get oxygen in my lungs while he’s doing that. My eyelids flutter closed.

If this is how I die, I wouldn’t change a thing. RIP, indeed.

Until his mother shouts up the stairs. “Gav! You know our rule about having girls in your bedroom!”

Her laughter knocks the breath out of me in a gasp. Gavin’s hands tighten on my shoulders, and for a brief moment, he drops his forehead to rest there. My face flames and I cover my eyes with my hands.

Forget death by being kissed. I’m going to die of embarrassment, right here, right now.

“I’m so sorry,” Gavin mutters. “There’s not actually a rule. I mean, not since I was in high school. My mother is just … how she is.”

“It’s fine. And she’s right. We should probably get downstairs,” I say.

Gavin smooths my hair back in place over my shoulders, covering the places where he kissed. Hopefully, I don’t have any marks. Because that’s the only thing that would be more embarrassing.

“Take a moment to settle in if you’d like,” Gavin says, and then he’s gone before I can even thank him for my gifts.

* * *

“So, Zoey, tell me about yourself,”Mrs. Brownell says with a smile. I’m thankful that I have potatoes to peel in front of me so I can focus on something while answering what feels like a very girlfriend-like question. “And please, call me Norah.”

Though after what happened upstairs, I’m feeling a lot more like a girlfriend.

The pan sizzles as she browns a roast in a cast iron skillet. The delicious scent of butter, garlic, and cooking beef fills the air. My stomach rumbles and I realize the last time I ate was this morning with Delilah. That seems like a lifetime ago.

“I’m not all that interesting,” I say, realizing even as I say it that it’s true. “I graduated from UT. I live with my four best friends in a house in South Austin, and for the past two years I worked—I work—as Gavin’s executive assistant.” I clear my throat, hoping she doesn’t catch the slip-up. I definitely don’t want to talk about quitting. “And now, I’m helping him as his temporary nanny.”

“So, you just work for him?” She raises one white eyebrow at me, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Officially? Yes.”

“Unofficially?” she presses.

The woman is relentless, but I kind of love it. I shrug. “I guess we’ll see.”

She hums, and for a moment, we work in a comfortable silence. I used to help Mom like this in the kitchen, typically grumbling about it the whole time. I’d give anything to be able to cook alongside her now.

As if somehow following the path my thoughts took, Gavin’s mom asks, “Is your family from Austin?”

“I grew up there,” I say, hedging around the details. Gavin doesn’t even know I lost my mom, and I certainly don’t want to start in on that whole conversation now. Not in the midst of this already emotionally charged situation.

Let’s stick to the shallow water in the pool, please. No adult swim.

“And when exactly did you fall in love with Gavin?”

Her voice is so even, like she’s asking what my major was. It takes me a moment to really hear her question. I drop the potato in my hands, and it rolls to the edge of the counter and off, finally coming to rest against her bare foot.

My eyes meet hers with complete shock. Hers are glowing with amusement.

“What—I—how did you … No. I mean, I don’t—ugh.” I put my face in my hands, smelling the starchy, earthy smell of potato on my skin.

Her laugh shouldn’t soothe me, but it does. It’s warm and kind and overrun with joy. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Gavin will send me out back with the cattle if he knows. And don’t worry; I won’t tell him.”

I retrieve the potato from the floor, give it a good rinse, and then go back to my job, trying to keep my hands steady. Am I in love with Gavin? My reaction to her words had more to do with my shock than her actual wording.

But honestly? I’m not sure she’s wrong. Not that I have anything to compare it to. My relationships have been sparse. Thin. I’ve never had a boyfriend who made me feel a fraction of what I feel for Gavin.

That doesn’t mean it’s love. I mean, come on. Can you fall in love with someone while watching them from a professional distance? Can you fall in love without being on a real, official date that didn’t end abruptly? Can you fall in love without having a conversation to define the relationship, without a kiss on the lips?

I close my eyes, pausing for a moment so I don’t peel my fingers instead. Because the more questions I ask myself, the more firm my suspicion becomes.

Yes. Yes, you can fall in love like this. I think I already have.

Gavin’s mother wipes her hands on a dish towel and pats my bottom, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “No need to panic, dear. It was a mother’s intuition. Confirmed by your response.”

“Oh, great.” I shake my head, feeling the burn in my cheeks.

“Trust me—Gavin is probably clueless,” she says, moving the meat to a silver pressure-cooker on the counter. “About relationships anyway. Give him a business, and he can fix it. Give him a good woman, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.” She clucks her tongue. “It’s a shame.”

My mouth is the Sahara and my thoughts are like scattered clouds, skimming across the desert horizon.

“But we’ll see what we can do about that,” she says with a wink, before grabbing the peeled potatoes and tossing them in with the meat. “Grab the baby carrots, will you? They’re in the drawer of the fridge.”

I do as she asks, thankful for something to do that will keep me from doing something, saying something, or just looking stupid.

Brushing her hands off on her apron, Norah gestures to the long wooden table. “Sit, dear. I’m just going to roll out some biscuits. Thank goodness for Pinterest and instant pots. I tend to forget about dinner until about five o’clock every night. Just pop something in that magical contraption, and voila! Dinner in under an hour. Makes me look like I’m a planner, even though my husband very well knows that I am not.”

I take a seat, and a moment later, she places a glass of ice water in front of me with a smile.

“Thank you,” I say, taking a long swallow. “So, are you and your husband opposites, then?”

She laughs, a sound that resembles the honking of a goose, and I find myself grinning.

“You could say that. Polar opposites. Moon and sun. Dark and light. Sweet and savory. Even how we look. Tall and short. Lean and … not so lean.”

She gives her hips a little shimmy, and I giggle. “And have you always lived here at the ranch?”

“Since our early marriage days, yes. Though it was a working ranch then. We lived in one of the staff houses out back.” She gestures toward the barn where Gavin and his father disappeared to a while ago. She shakes her head. “Those were long days. Filled with longer nights.”

Her wink makes me laugh. Her openness and honesty are a bit shocking compared to Gavin, who hides a world behind his eyes. It’s refreshing, especially given the heaviness of the past few days. If things never work out with Gavin and me, I wonder if I could still keep his mom.

“Did you work on the land as well? I don’t even know if that’s the right way to say it.”

She laughs. “You sound like me when I first met Charles. I was a city girl, falling for the country boy. I couldn’t tell the front end from the back end of a cow.”

I know she’s joking about that, but my mind has swirled away, thinking about Gavin’s parents, about Zane and Abby. It seems that the old adage about opposites attracting is a real thing. While Gavin and I are perhaps too much alike.

Norah thankfully doesn’t notice me drifting away, and she continues. “It was his family’s place, and not long after we were married, they won the Texas lottery, so to speak.”

“The lottery?”

She grins. “Oil. And unlike many of the ranchers, his parents owned the mineral rights. So, the cattle part of the ranching faded out a bit, which was fine. It’s a lot of hard work for diminishing returns these days. Once his parents were gone, we moved into the big house”—she gestures around the room with the wooden spoon in her hand—“and about ten years ago, we decided to turn it into more of an exhibit than a working ranch. It’s delightful.”

“I’m excited to see it tomorrow.” Is it weird that I want to get my hands on a baby goat? Maybe stuff one in my suitcase when we leave?

“I’m sure Gavin will be more than happy to give you a tour.” Her face grows serious and she looks up toward the ceiling. “How do you think she’s doing? I can only imagine, knowing what little I do about Gavin’s ex. You met her, right?”

“I did.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t understand what kind of mother can do that. I don’t even want kids, and I can understand that.”

Her eyes widen for a moment, and I realize what I said.

“Oh, I mean …”

She waves a hand before turning back to the biscuit dough she’s cutting. “That’s quite alright. You don’t need to explain.”

But I feel like I’ve committed the ultimate faux pas, and I’m backpedaling now, needing to explain. For reasons that I don’t want to really admit, I need Gavin’s mother to approve of me. And the thing is, if I want Gavin, Ella is a part of the package. It means rethinking my stance on motherhood.

“It’s just … my mother died.”

Her chin tips up and her eyes are filled with sadness. “Oh, sweetie.”

“My dad is very strict. Always has been. He’s a great man,” I hurry to add. “I just don’t feel like I know how to do this.” I point between the two of us. “I’m not maternal. Or soft. Kids hate me.”

Dusting the flour off her hands, Norah blows a stray curl from her face. “Now don’t you give me that. I could see the way you care for that girl the same way I saw that you’re in love with my son.”

“Who’s in love with our son?”

Gavin’s father steps through the back door, Gavin right on his heels.

I am dead. Maybe I look like I’m alive, sitting at this table, clamping my jaw shut and attempting to arrange my face into the picture of casualness, but I am DOA. I can only hope and pray that he did not hear what his mother just said.

Thankfully, his mama is quick on her feet. “I was just saying how much I love my son, especially when he makes the effort to come home.” Norah gives her husband and then Gavin kisses on the cheek, winking at me over their shoulders.

They seem to have bought that, and I relax, but only a fraction. Because even if Gavin didn’t hear it, I know it, and that changes everything.