“I’m barely home since I have to be at the bakery by 4 a.m. six days a week and we’re open until four in the afternoon.”
“Just stay with him. You know you want to,” Aspen goads.
I narrow my eyes at her, and she smirks. I don’t know what she thinks she’s doing. My sisters – okay fine probably every resident in the entire town – know I’ve crushed on Rowan since I was sixteen. They also know Rowan’s not interested in me. Do they think us being in close proximity is going to change his mind?
It won’t. If stopping by his bakery every dang day for a year hasn’t changed his mind yet, nothing will. I rub a hand over my chest when it starts to ache.
“Fine.”
The word is barely out of my mouth before Rowan’s stomping across the living room and picking me up. I slap his chest. Ugh. Bad idea. Now I know how hard and strong his chest muscles feel. This is the worst idea ever.
“What are you doing?” I manage to sound indignant and not all breathy. Go me!
“I’m carrying you to my golf cart.”
“I can walk. I have two perfectly good legs.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me.
“Amendment. One perfectly good leg and a pair of crutches.”
“I’m not making you hobble around on those crutches a few hours after you passed out from the pain.”
Geez. I am never going to hear the end of it for passing out.
“Here we go.” He sets me on the back of the golf cart, making certain my leg is elevated, before returning to the house to grab my bag and crutches.
I glance over my shoulder and notice my entire family is standing at the front window watching the interaction. They’re enjoying the situation entirely too much. I avert my gaze before the temptation to flip them off becomes too much. As Mom has reminded me on too many occasions to count, she’s not too old to ground me.
“Gee, Ash. What do you have in this bag? It’s heavy as hell.”
I’m not answering his question. I assume Juniper – aka the sister secret keeper – packed my necessities. I hope I can find a quiet place to do my work at Rowan’s house because I’ll be relying on the income from my business for the next month or two.
“Hold on tight,” Rowan orders as he switches on the golf cart.
Nope. No more holding on tight. I’ve been holding on to the sexy former football player entirely too tightly for too long. But how am I going to let go when I’m living in his house? I wish I could order a container to encase my heart in for its protection because I’m going to need it.