Luke stands, pulling her up with him. “Go shower.”
Gripping his shoulder, Sal stands on tiptoes and kisses him hungrily. Her heart sparks, beats double time. A shiver runs through her as Luke caresses a hand along the arc of her spine.
Finally, they pull away. Sal grins. “You should come join me, country boy. Make sure I don’t slip.”
Luke’s eyes flash, the smile spreading across his face feral and sly. With a wild hoot, he rushes her. Sal lets out a delighted giggle as he sweeps her into his arms and carries her into the bathroom.
The morning passes in a lazy haze and by the time Sal and Luke come downstairs, it’s noon. She groans when she sees the kitchen. The wine bottle toppled like a bowling pin, the box of pizza with crusty crusts, the slumped afghan. Sal’s pants. Her torn uniform top.
Luke raises a brow as if suddenly remembering last night. “Think we got carried away.”
An amused laugh escapes her lips. “Oh, you think?” She heads straight for the coffeepot, flicking on the radio as she does so. “This requires coffee,” she tells Luke.
Luke, in the process of sandwiching the wine bottle and Sal’s top inside the pizza box, wiggles his eyebrows at her. “Or we skip the coffee and go back upstairs.”
She laughs. “Rope it in, country boy.”
Together, she and Luke work to tidy up the kitchen. He runs a quick mop around the room while Sal puts away the dishes, every so often stopping to pick up a button from her top. Soon there’s a small pile of them on the counter. Finally, when the trash is bagged, the curtains open to let in the breeze, Luke pulls Sal into a quick two-step. He dances her around the kitchen, singing along with George Strait in a goofy old cowboy warble. He gives her a twirl, dips her down, and then Sal finds herself staring at the upside-down figure of Seth.
Her brother-in-law stands in the entrance of the kitchen, a hand hooked on his belt loops, a grin on his face, six-pack tucked against his side. “Coffee in the afternoon,” he says, the deep rumble of his voice filling the airy space. “Must’ve been a late night.”
Luke straightens Sal up. She’s hit with a head rush as the blood rushes back to her face.
“You’re one to talk,” she says, crossing her arms as she takes in Seth’s scruffy appearance. Black T-shirt, torn blue jeans, sandy blond hair standing on end.
Seth just laughs, stepping into the kitchen and setting the six-pack on the counter. He gives Sal a warm look and a big hug.
She hugs him back, just as hard.
In that second, their connection snaps taut. Familial, platonic. Better than a brother. A best friend. The second she met him, the second time, there was an instant camaraderie. A feeling of connection that’s never left them. He’s done so much for her and Luke; she doesn’t know how they’d survive without him.
“What can I say?” Seth says, releasing Sal. “Really ripped up the town last night.”
Looking past his brother, Luke lifts a brow. “Then where’s the date?”
“She’ll be right in.”
Luke looks impressed. “Really?”
“Nah.” Seth shrugs, gives a knowing grin. “Couldn’t make it.”
Luke snorts. “You ain’t foolin’ me. We both she never got an invite anyway.” His eyes drift to the window, his jovial tone turning concerned. “I thought you said it was a dirt bike.”
Sal joins Luke at the window. Seth’s vintage Bronco is hooked up to a trailer that holds a brand-new sparkling ATV.
“Dirt bike, ATV, big difference,” Seth drawls.
Luke’s face, dark and serious, says there is, in fact, a big difference.
After a quick squeeze of Luke’s arm, telling him to relax, Sal goes to the fridge, bringing out a bowl covered with tinfoil.
“Wait. You ain’t cookin’, are you?” Mock fear tinges Seth’s voice.
Sal rolls her eyes.
She’ll never escape it. She can’t cook. Even her memory loss couldn’t save her there. She once burned a lasagna so bad the neighbors a few farms over called the fire department. Hence the reason for potluck.
“I am gonna kick your ass,” Sal says, and Seth dodges her shoulder punch to lift the lid on the bowl.