One Big Little Secret: A Secret Baby Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 2)

I never thought mentoring would break me after all my years in business.

I’ve organized deals and landed contracts that had the potential to bring the company to its knees in its infancy—and with the Forrest Haute case, it almost did.

I’ll admit, that one was a blunder.

But even that stress hasn’t rubbed me raw half as much as Salem Hopper.

Why is it so damn difficult?

She isn’t the first intern I’ve ever had. The other property managers we have on payroll haven’t caused me an inch of trouble.

It’s a me thing, probably.

It fucking has to be.

It shouldn’t bother me that she’s still standoffish after my latest fuckup. She sent the survey reports to me as promised, finished her other work, and I sent back a handwritten note of thanks.

With anyone else, I would’ve made a call. Only, I know she wouldn’t take me growling in her ear as a sign of gratitude.

That goes double for the note, I guess.

When I went into her office for our weekly meeting, I saw it crumpled up at the top of her trash can.

What the hell ever.

I don’t need her to like me.

Especially when I’m not particularly fond of her.

I just wish our relationship wasn’t so goddamned frayed.

How hard is it to just shut our mouths and be civil?

It’s our pre-work history, obviously. It’s the only explanation.

I’m mulling it over with a scowl that’s starting to hurt my face, staring at the massive floor-to-ceiling aquarium built into my home office.

Usually, it’s my inner sanctum, the place where I can find a little peace from a world that never stops biting my ankles.

The colorful fish and rippling green plants never fail to take me a million miles away from my woes. When the octopus comes out, I imagine what it sees on the other side of the glass.

Is it a man living an easier life without tentacles, free to do whatever his heart desires? Or are we both just as trapped by circumstances beyond our control?

The octopus, countless miles from the sea.

Me, marooned in my world of work and bare-bones social existence, where the only woman I care to obsess over hates my damn guts.

Dark thoughts today.

It’s not just the fact that I slept with her, but the undeniable truth that she represents a different time in my life. Another era when things were simpler, and I really felt free.

When I still had time to chase skirt without worrying about it backfiring on my business or the family name.

Shit, when did it all get so complicated?

When did I start to wonder if the fortune our effort brings in is even worth it?

Knock it off, fool. Before you start thinking like Dex.

Now there’s a terrifying thought.

Snarling, I raid my bar and throw together an Old Fashioned—heavy on the bourbon—one of the drinks I know how to make reasonably well.

I try to relax as the tropical fish dart around. A couple seahorses blow by, fluttering like underwater hummingbirds.

The few times Dex brought Juniper over, she wanted to name them. Even the small cuttlefish that dart around the rocks, changing colors and signaling in their own secret, incomprehensible language.

Yes, my little saltwater menagerie is as mesmerizing as ever.

It’s just not working today.

No matter how exotic, it can’t pull me away from girl trouble with a woman I only fucked once years ago.

Can I get more pathetic?

I know why I’ve never named any of the creatures in my tank, though. I prefer the anonymity.

They have their lives, I have mine.

Sometimes they intersect, like God looking down on his free-will ant farm here. I can watch them from afar without intruding on their fate.

Naming them would change that, making it too personal.

You’d better believe I hate that shit.

Thinking of Junie reminds me of the family, too. Mom and Evelyn Hibbing. Her friend’s been staying a while, trying to ride out the worst of her winter back home.

Damn, I promised her that talk about real estate, didn’t I? Knowing it won’t go anywhere.

Aside from having no interest in expanding that far north, we’re not about to make the mistake of partnering with outsiders again so soon.

Not after Haute. Not even for a family friend.

But I should hear her out as a courtesy. I can at least point her in the right direction, possibly help her find a better partner than Higher Ends if she’s looking to sell.

I finish the last of my drink and push the glass across my desk.

Tomorrow. I’ll talk to Evelyn and let her down easy to keep Mom pleased. Then I’ll be back to brooding in front of my fish, wondering how grey this evil ladybug will make me with her soul-sucking hot and cold shit.

Salem.

My mind pings on something.

The meeting with Evelyn could be a good chance to demonstrate the art of negotiations—if we can stand inhabiting the same room and breathing the same air for that long.

Isn’t that my job as a mentor? To man up and mentor her?

If I’m not careful, Dexter or Archer will get to her first.

Then I’ll never hear the end of it. Her, talking about how wonderfully generous my jackass brothers are, and them ribbing me until the heat death of the universe about why I couldn’t handle a young, energetic woman.

Fuck that entirely.

I pick up my phone and dial her contact.

It’s late, and I idly wonder if she’s out, taking advantage of the babysitter to have a night off. Does she ever get out for a date?

Or maybe she’s passed out in bed because she doesn’t have a workaholic problem that follows her home like yours truly.

“Hello?” Her voice is slightly breathy. “Can you just hang on one second?”

Oh, hell.

My blood heats.

What if I’ve interrupted her in the middle of something scandalous after all?

I hate that the thought of her having a normal sex life sends jealousy streaking through my blood.

It was six years ago, you deranged baboon.

Six. Years.

You have no right to her.

Yeah, but my dick doesn’t know how to tell time, and neither does that little part of my monkey brain that thinks the only man she ought to have in bed is me.

She makes a raspy breath again.

The odds of this going well just plummeted to zero.

I’m half tempted to disconnect and text her instead when I hear her say, “Arlo, if you don’t knock it off and get your pj’s on in sixty seconds, I’ll put them on for you. Don’t be a baby.”

I am the world’s biggest idiot.

Of course, she’s mothering the hellspawn.

I throw together a quick, simple martini from the bar, pouring vermouth while I wait.

When she comes back, she’s just as breathy and apologetic as I’ve come to expect.

“Sorry about that. I usually have him in bed by now, but I got home late.”

“It’s after nine,” I say, failing to hide the surprise in my voice.

“There was a lot to do at the office. All of those expenses and receipts you wanted me to get to accounting don’t organize themselves.”

My lip curls, knowing it could’ve waited for a few days.

So maybe I’m not the only one with a workaholic problem.

“I’m sorry for calling you this late, but a new learning opportunity came up and I’d like to bring you along.”

“Learning opportunity?” she asks warily.

“Mentoring. I’m delivering some practical advice to an old family friend, and I thought you might want to sit in on the meeting to observe. It’s a good chance to see how I work one-on-one with clients.”

“Tomorrow?” She hesitates and I hear her whisper, “I’ll say good night in a second, okay, big guy? Read your picture book.” Then her voice gets stronger again. “Patton, I don’t know if I can do Saturday. I promised Arlo we’d go sledding by the river while we still have enough snow from that last storm. You know it doesn’t always last around here.”

“It won’t take all day. I can give you a ride, before and after. Or, if you prefer, the sitter could take him sledding while you’re at the meeting.”

“No. You don’t owe me any special favors,” she says sharply. “I know we have a history, but I’m over it. And I’m even more over obsessing about it…”

Like I’m not? Is that what she’s implying?

“So am I,” I bite off. Goddamn. “I don’t ask any of my employees to work unnecessary weekends on short notice without making accommodations for them.”

There’s a silence.

I sip my martini, wishing I’d just poured straight vodka. A cocktail feels too lightweight for dealing with this impossible woman.

“Okay, fine,” she says. “If there’s something for Arlo to do during the meeting, I guess it could work. If you’re willing, it would be great if you could pick us up and drop us off by the river later…”

If Mom has anything to do with it, there’ll be plenty for him to do.

“I promise you he’ll be entertained,” I say. “My mom loves kids.”

“Your mom?”

“The meeting’s at her house. Like I said, a close friend of the family. That’s what makes the stakes higher, and I want you to sit in and watch how I handle them. So, I’ll pick you up around eleven. Hopefully that’s a reasonable time?”

“Sure. Eleven’s great.”

Without giving her a chance to say anything more, I hang up.

Rude, maybe, but the less chance we have at leaping into another shitfight, the better.

I know we have a history, but I’m over it. And I’m even more over obsessing about it…

Her words float back to me, just like the way I lied to cut her off.

There’s no reason this shouldn’t be true. It was six years ago and there’s no reason to cling to it.

But if it was all so easily said and done, this wouldn’t be so difficult.

I wouldn’t be jumping to conclusions about her sex life or fuming with unwarranted jealousy when she tells me she’s over what happened.

As I settle in for a long night alone, the ugly truth stains my world, brighter than the yellow angelfish swarming by.

I’m still not over Lady Bug. Not by far.

And I’m deathly afraid I don’t fucking know how to be.

I show up at her modest apartment at eleven on the dot to find Salem and Arlo waiting for me, bundled up in thick winter coats with hats and gloves.

The boy holds his large plastic sled by a rope. I grab it and stow it in the trunk while she gets his car seat set up in the back before we set off.

Surprisingly, they’re both pretty quiet.

Arlo keeps himself busy, looking at all the buttons on my dashboard from his place in the back. Besides a restrained smile and a few murmured words, Salem hasn’t said boo.

The silent treatment works for me.

I switch on the radio, only to find it’s on the same eighties station that had her caterwauling. Only, unlike before, when she did her damnedest to annoy me, she doesn’t burst into song.

Oddly, I’d almost prefer it if she did.

It’s ten minutes of awkward silence until we get to Mom’s place.

Arlo makes a small noise as we pull through the gates. By the time we stop, he’s in awe.

“Wowee,” he says, his eyes like marbles. “This place is a castle! Are you like Batman?”

For a second, I pause.

“Yes. We went to school together, me and old Bats himself.”

“Oh my God!” The little boy squeals and covers his mouth.

I glance at Salem, but for once she doesn’t seem to find her son funny.

“Where’s the harm in indulging him? A boy needs heroes,” I whisper.

“You… Patton Rory? You really think you’re cape material?”

I snort.

“So I’m a little more low-key than the guys in the comics. I’m retired from the whole crime fighting scene. My brother kind of stole the show with that one and he can have the limelight,” I say as Salem steps out and wrangles her son.

I usher them both inside.

Predictably, Mom’s waiting for us, draped in her usual vibrant red scarves and a wide smile.

“Miss Hopper,” she says, giving Salem a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much for accompanying my son today. I know how precious your time is as a mom.”

Salem’s cheeks go pink. “Oh, um, thanks, Mrs. Rory. It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you, all good things with your art contributions.”

She nods warmly. “Please, call me Delly. And this must be your son?”

“Arlo,” he says shyly. “I’m going sledding after this boring meeting.”

“How exciting! Young man, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you bored while the adults talk. Come with me.” Mom takes his hand.

After glancing back at Salem, who nods her consent, Arlo heads down the hall with her.

“Evelyn’s in the library, Patton,” Mom says over her shoulder. “She’s very excited about her property. Please be gentle.”

“I will.”

Salem still doesn’t say anything, staring after Arlo, her face tight.

All things considered, the introductions have gone about as well as I could hope—the kid hasn’t kicked my mom in the knee, which is something—so I don’t know why she’s so uptight. Nerves, maybe?

“Can I get you anything? Water?” I ask. She looks at me like she forgot I was there.

“No, I’m fine,” she rushes out. “Ready for the big meeting.”

“Don’t stress. Evelyn Hibbing’s a perfectly pleasant woman and a longtime family friend,” I assure her, putting a hand on her back to move her forward. When she moves against my palm, I can feel the heat in her blood.

“I’m sure she’s great,” Salem says, folding her arms. “I’m sorry, I just—I’m not normally in houses like this one. This place is spectacular.”

One long look around shows me what she means.

When you grew up in this house, it’s easy to forget.

My parents inherited this house from my grandparents, and Mom did everything in her power to retain its history and keep it fresh, which means the décor fuses the traditional—old-style gilded mirrors, heavy furniture, thick carpets—with modern touches. Paintings by local artists on the wall and geometric sculptures that look like a cross between five different animals. Healthy potted plants and touches of gold.

Light shines through the massive windows, highlighting the art like a proper museum.

“My mother’s not a minimalist at heart,” I say. An understatement.

“Wait.” Salem stops next to a wall of photos. “Is that… Harry Truman?”

Of course, with all the extravagance displayed here, she’d find the one thing I don’t want to talk about.

Family history.

If we’re not careful, it always defines us Rorys.

It’s too easy to become the local aristocrats, born with silver spoons in our mouths, rather than individuals who’ve lived and loved and suffered across generations.

“The one and only. Hell of a president, right?” I stop beside her. The same black-and-white photo has been replicated all over the place. Anyone who’s lived in Kansas City has seen it on the walls of restaurants or hanging in schoolrooms.

For us, it’s different.

Mom doesn’t want to forget where we came from. Archer’s the same way, proud to a fault, and Dex—well, fuck if I know what Dex thinks about anything when he’s so tight-lipped.

All I know is I hate it when our family gets looked at like an artifact. An extension of a distant president my great-grandfather helped up the political ladder with his old connections in the Kansas City political machine.

If people focus too much on our family’s past, they don’t appreciate the present.

They look at Higher Ends as a sure thing running off old money, and not the scrappy start-up that’s had to fight with teeth and claws for every success.

What we’re doing now has nothing to do with Truman or my grandparents.

“And your grandparents?” she guesses.

“Great-grandparents, yes. They were thick as thieves back in the day.”

“Wow. It must be kinda nice, having so much history you can look back on. I’m sure it grounds you.”

“Don’t you?” I ask before I can help myself. “Have history, I mean.”

“I mean, my family history isn’t anything like yours… Your family left a mark. A huge one that’ll always be there for the city,” she says dryly, reaching out and touching the corner of the frame like it could transport her back to the 1930s when Truman was first elected senator.

“That’s what it looks like, I guess. Still, we built Higher Ends from the ground up. None of us ever wanted to take the family name or the money for granted.” I turn to face her, and this time she doesn’t flinch. “My family history is insane. This house is insane. Hell, my house is pretty decent. But we’re not just that, Salem. We’re not bottom-feeders running off the past.”

There’s a flash of understanding in her eyes as she looks up at me.

“You’re carving your own path. That means a lot to you, huh?”

“Damn right,” I grind out. For the first time, I appreciate how good she looks with the coat and winter gear gone.

She’s dressed casually in a textured sweater tucked into the waistband of jeans that hug the curve of her hips.

Shit, what hips.

I don’t remember a lot from that night, but there’s no forgetting her lush little ass.

I remember it in glorious detail, my knuckles turning white as I held on for dear life, railing her soul out from behind…

I shake my head until my brain rattles.

Bad idea, checking her out like this.

I definitely shouldn’t wonder how much she’s changed under those clothes now that she’s had a kid, let alone whether she still has any fun that doesn’t involve trips to toy stores and G-rated movies.

Whether she still makes the same noises as she did that night.

And shit, I absolutely should not wonder who the boy’s father is, and why the hell he isn’t in their life.

That’s not my concern. Not my problem. Not my business.

Even if the thought of some sperm donor ghosting them pisses me off royally.

There’s also a familiar stabbing in my gut.

Jealousy again, I realize, and I move back before it gets caught in my head.

Your one-night stand wasn’t as special to her as it was to you.

Get over it already.

“Come on,” I say. “We should get moving.”

Evelyn’s waiting in the library with tea, practically bouncing with excitement as we enter.

I’m almost glad to have Salem along, posing as my ‘assistant.’ It’ll make this feel more like a real meeting and set the tone I need to let her down easy.

Hopefully, she won’t be too disappointed.

“Hi, Evelyn,” I say, accepting her kiss on my cheek this time. “This is Salem Hopper, my assistant with our flagship property, The Cardinal. Hope you don’t mind her joining us today?”

“Not at all.” Evelyn pours us both some tea, orange with rosehips, judging by the smell. “Here you go, dearie. Goodness! It’s so nice to be here this time of year. It’s positively balmy compared to Minnesota.”

“That bad? Even with the last snowstorm?” Salem accepts the tea and sits.

“Bless your heart, no. That wasn’t anything like back home. There, you can step outside and watch your breath freeze before you lose it in the blizzard.” She laughs and sips her tea. “But where were we, anyway?”

“Wherever you’d like to start. Take us away,” I urge, slurping my own tea.

We all gather our thoughts and drink for a moment. It’s good to let the air settle first, and Salem clearly has the right idea. She’s more composed than she has been all morning as she enjoys the tea.

“Now,” Evelyn starts, her tone changing slightly, “coming here does help break up the winter. It’s my third since Walt—my late husband, dearie—passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Salem says.

Evelyn’s eyes drift to the succulents in the corner.

“You are such a sweetheart. He was such an avid gardener. He spent his whole life running a chain of gardening stores. Why, I’d have to pry him away sometimes for a nice spring trip to Vegas. The miracles he worked in our home garden—we’d have vegetables all winter—oh, and the greenhouse! You should have seen it. All those bright flowers and fruits and herbs. I miss them dearly.”

Salem’s fingers tighten around her mug. “But I’m sure his memory lives on in the flowers.”

“Oh, yes, it certainly does.” She clears her throat and looks back at me. “But you’re here for a reason, and I won’t waste more of your time. The thing is—frankly, I read about Higher Ends taking off. I really admire what you boys have done, and in such a short time, too. It’s a credit to the good head on your shoulders. Delly never gets tired of mentioning it, shameless brag that she is.”

I smile.

“Thanks. We try,” I say.

Honestly, the compliments aren’t much different from the usual spiel I get with everyone else looking to work with us. Lofty praise first, then demands.

“I’ve wondered for some time—although you understand I’ve been very taken up since my sweet Walt passed away—if you could strike gold in the Minnesota market. Luxury rentals could make a killing on the lakes, especially in the summer. The property values are unbelievable. Just imagine, cabins with all the convenience of a hotel, but fully independent, leaving you free to entertain yourself as you wish. Boating and barbecuing and walking. You pick your poison.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have to live it up while it’s warm with the winters you’ve got,” I tell her. “I’d guess everything shuts down in the colder months?”

“Ah, but winter is livelier than you’d think. You’ve heard about the ski towns up north? Lutsen and Grand Marais and such? God, they get buried every winter, but the young, adventurous types do love it. I know my skiers, Patton. They adore luxury and convenience without anything too fussy or crowded. They want what you could offer.”

My gut twists, momentarily lost for words.

I have to admit, on paper, it doesn’t sound terrible.

“Not to mention the fact that these towns are such tourist traps,” she continues. “The market is enormous if you target the right areas. And as a native, I know precisely where you could focus your attention. When Walt was around, we used to spend so much of our offseason tromping around up there in small towns. Summers were too busy to do anything with the seasonal business, you see, so we lived like winter birds. The choice was bundle up and explore, or spend half the winter in casinos, losing our money.”

Salem glances at me.

I know she’s thinking the same thing I am—there’s unexpected potential here.

But right now, it’s just potential.

We can’t get carried away.

“If this all sounds crazy, tell me this instant. You know I won’t take offense,” she rushes out. “But is it, Patton? Could you ever dream of committing to a new market far from home?”

“It’s not as simple as purely committing,” I say slowly. “There may be something here, but we have a process for market research. We need to cross-check competition, explore the history, the tourism traffic reports, for this sort of offering. Especially when it’s, as you say, a little far flung from our home turf.”

“Of course, of course.” She nods her head briskly. “I wouldn’t dare expect you to sign away your life at this little meeting. You’re a businessman, after all, the same with all of you talented boys.”

I try not to smile at the unintended patronizing note in her voice.

That’s what happens when you’re dealing with a woman who’s known you since you were born.

“I’ll speak to Dexter and Archer. If they’re willing and the research looks promising, it might be worthwhile to pilot a single property or two. However, I can’t make any definite promises today.”

“Yes, I understand! Well, dearie, if that’s even in the cards…” Evelyn lets her voice trail away and sets her mug down firmly. “Truth be told, my lovely Walt inherited several gorgeous lake properties I simply haven’t had the heart to sell.”

I stare at her. Several properties? I was expecting one, an old ramshackle cabin she’d like to unload for more money in retirement.

I don’t follow Evelyn’s life that closely, but I’m surprised.

“What condition are they in?”

She waves a hand. “Truthfully, they’ll need some refurbishing. I won’t lie to you. To bring them up to your immaculate standards, it would take some elbow grease. But with a little investment up front to pay the contractors, I’d be so happy to volunteer them as test cases for Higher Ends.”

“I’ll give it some consideration,” I tell her slowly, wondering how I’ve shifted from a sure no to this. When did this little old lady turn into a master saleswoman? “We’ll try to do our research promptly and get back to you.” I glance at Salem and see she’s taking notes.

Good.

I appreciate the fact that she still does it with an old-school pen and paper, which helps drive details into memory better than anything electronic.

“Thank you so much, Patton!” Evelyn spreads her arms and walks over. I submit to another crushing hug. Definitely not how these meetings normally end. “To even have this opportunity—oh, I appreciate this so much. You can’t fathom how proud Walt would be.”

“We’ll do you both right, whatever we decide,” I say.

“And you!” Evelyn turns to Salem. “You’re so lucky to be working with one of Delly’s boys. I hope you’re learning your pretty head off.”

Salem flushes again, the redness creeping up her neck to her cheeks. She doesn’t meet my gaze.

“For sure,” she says. “It’s an amazing opportunity and a lot to take in. I’m super grateful.”

Then the door bursts open and Arlo comes rushing in.

“Mommy!” he says excitedly. “Delly took me to the kitchen. We made cinnamon buns and cocoa.”

Yeah, that’s Mom, all right. I’m sure it took her five seconds to suss out the kid’s favorite snacks.

“Did you now?” Salem plops him down on her knee where he can’t do any damage.

“Is this your son?” Evelyn asks breathlessly, her face lighting up. “What a delightful little boy. And what’s your name, pumpkin?”

“Arlo,” he informs her.

The second Mom walks in, shutting the door behind her, Arlo grins at her.

Damn. At least he likes someone in this family.

“We had a lovely time, didn’t we?” She takes a seat beside Evelyn. Salem stiffens. “I hope we’re not intruding. Poor Arlo didn’t want to be away from his mommy any longer.”

“No, we were just wrapping up. And I’m sorry if he started getting restless, he’s very attached,” Salem says carefully. “Hopefully he behaved himself?”

“A delight,” Mom gushes.

Of course, she’d say that. She’s so desperate for more grandkids, she’ll practically adopt someone else’s munchkins. She loves Colt to death, but I think she’d like ten more just like him. Don’t know how Junie and Dex show their faces around here and survive all the hints she keeps dropping.

The sooner they get around to making babies, the better for all of us.

Arlo looks at me with his beady little eyes.

“Your mommy makes good chocolate. Way better than yours,” he says matter-of-factly. There’s a dark smear around his mouth.

Salem notices it just as I do, wetting her thumb and rubbing it away.

“Arlo!” Salem hisses. “What have I told you about being nice? Mind your manners, big guy.”

“But Mommy, he’s not nice to you.”

Aw, hell.

I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Salem’s face burst into flames. Mom and Evelyn both look at us like we’re the center of attention.

Goddammit, here we go.

It would be so easy to say something about Salem giving me the cold shoulder, but that wouldn’t get us anywhere.

“Kid, I’m learning. I’m thirty, not a hundred years old. That isn’t too far gone to grow a little empathy, right?” I keep my tone light while Mom gives me an epic frown. Salem glances at me in surprise, then looks away. “Mom, don’t look at me like that.”

If we were alone, she’d be wagging a finger with some choice words.

I glare at Arlo, trying like hell not to let on how annoyed I am.

Way to go, little man. You think I got you into trouble with your mama, and now you’re paying me back.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“But Mommy makes the best hot chocolate,” Arlo says, throwing his sticky arms around her neck.

Thankfully, even a future Machiavelli still has the attention span of a bug when he’s only five.

“Boys that age are such a handful,” Mom says, giving Salem a smile that says she’s seen it all before. “He said you were going sledding, yes? Give me a moment and I’ll bring you a thermos for the road.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense. Everyone needs more cocoa. Even Patton.” She eyes me with a look that says, shut your mouth. Be nice. Drink up.

“Thank you so much,” Salem says.

“We’ll meet you by the front door.” I decide it’s in our best interests to get out of here before Arlo has a chance to demolish my reputation more. “I’ll give you that ride to the river I promised.”

“That’s so kind of you,” Evelyn whispers. “You remind me of Walt. He was always so good with his employees, he never failed to treat everyone like family.”

Salem blanches.

Her goodbye feels stilted as she practically runs from the room with Arlo bouncing along next to her.

I hold in a snort.

Real sweet, Lady Bug. Next time, let’s make it more obvious how much you hate me.

“Take care, Evelyn. Always a pleasure,” I say, giving her a quick hug.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate you meeting me like this, and I adore the opportunity to work out a new venture.” She beams at me. “Enjoy your sledding! And say, if she’s single—”

“Not my type.” I back away. “Sorry.”

Shit, I need to go.

I don’t bother telling her I have no intention of sledding myself, and I join the others at the front door. Mom hands us a tall thermos and cups, and we head for the vehicle.

Salem straps Arlo in while I put everything in the front. The boy grins at me like he knows he’s my personal inquisitor.

Yeah, fuck spending a second in the snow with them. I’m not trusting him anywhere near a sled and my balls.

I just need excuses to stay in the car.

Preferably before he has a chance to plow into me and put me in the hospital.