“SHIT!”

GRAHAM DASHES AROUND THE corner and only throws me more off balance. I grab the top of the ladder as it sways to the side and brace for impact. I’m saved as he levels it back out right before it hits the point of no return. “Get down,” he orders in a way only Graham can.

“I’m just seeing if this picture will look good here.”

“Where the hell is Linc?”

“Right here,” Linc bellows, coming down the hallway.

I look over my shoulder as I climb down and he takes my breath away. Bare-chested and in a pair of low hanging jeans with rips in both knees. He’s spattered with white paint and is holding a screwdriver in one hand and a bottle of squirt cheese in the other.

“What are you doing?” he asks, taking in the situation. “You didn’t climb that ladder, did you?”

“Will you two stop it?” I laugh. “I’m just seeing if this is the right place for this.”

“Didn’t I tell you to wait on me?”

“I’m excited, all right?”

“I am too. I’ve never hung my own fucking pictures in my house before, but that doesn’t mean you can be stupid.” He gives me a warning glance. The same one I see Graham giving me from the side.

I throw my hands in the air, sitting the picture on the floor, and head to my drink in my pink mug sitting by the stairs. Sitting on the bottom step, I watch the two brothers talk.

We’ve been in Savannah for two weeks. Our little house is bright and airy and overlooks a big field that quiets my soul. It’s so different from anywhere I’ve ever lived. It’s perfect. It feels like home. It’s loud and messy and the Landry’s are in and out. It’s amazing.

“Mallory starts tomorrow?” Lincoln asks Graham.

“Yeah.” He sticks one hand in a pocket of his jeans and looks at me. “I don’t know why you just won’t work for me. You’re unemployed and all.”

“She’s not working for you,” Lincoln barks, making Graham and I laugh.

“Who’s Mallory?” I ask.

“A girl Sienna went to school with. The fact I’m trusting Sienna’s judgement is not lost on me, but I really am at my wit’s end. I’ve gone through three temps. One couldn’t handle the workload, so they sent another to help, and she was worse than the first. The second came in, gave me a lecture that I need to switch to decaf at noon, and I sent her home.” He rubs his hands down his face. “The applications are horrible. Awful. Is there anyone out there that has a brain?”

I shrug. “Maybe this will work.”

He shrugs too. “I need it to. I’m getting behind, working twenty-hour days. I need help.”

“Want me to come in?” Lincoln asks with a wink. “I don’t need to fix any more of your fuck-ups.”

Standing, I take a spot next to Lincoln. Resting my head on his shoulder, I smile at Graham. “Thank you for helping us get relocated.”

“It was just a few calls. And I didn’t even call about the coaching job. When the college heard Lincoln was retiring, they called me. It really happened on its own. No big deal.”

“It is to me,” I say. “Your family has been incredible about this whole thing—Lincoln’s retirement, our moving here, starting the children’s charity. I still can’t believe it.”

“It’s the way it’s supposed to be,” Lincoln says. “When things go the way they’re meant to, they just line up. This is where we’re meant to be. It’s obvious.”

Graham watches us both and tries to hide a laugh. I still haven’t figured him out all the way, but I like him. I just don’t know what makes him tick.

“I’ll leave you two alone. You coming to the Farm for Sunday dinner?” he asks as he opens the door.

“We’ll be there,” Lincoln tells him.

They whisper back and forth, and I’m curious, but don’t push. It’s something I’m still learning, the dynamics between siblings.

“I’ll see you later,” Graham says with a little wave and then disappears.

Lincoln stalks across the floor to me, stopping right in front of me. “Want to come inspect my work?”

“I’d like to inspect you,” I tease.

He takes my hand and leads me down the hall and into our bedroom. Boxes are still stacked everywhere and our bed is a mess because we can’t stay out of it. It’s perfect.

He sets the screwdriver on the floor and stands, looking at me wickedly. He holds up a can of squirt cheese.

“What are you doing?” I laugh. “You like this stuff ?”

“No. It’s fake cheese, Landry.”

“I never knew this existed until yesterday when Huxley threw it in the cart at the store.” He squirts some into his mouth and grins. “See? It’s great.”

“Your abs are great,” I say, running my finger down the bumps lining his stomach. They tighten as I stroke them.

“Want to lick cheese off them?”

“No,” I laugh.

“Come on. You know you want to. It’s okay.”

“Cheese isn’t sexy, Landry.”

“This isn’t technically cheese. It’s fake cheese.”

“Same thing.”

He backs me up until my knees hit the back of the bed and I collapse on the mattress. “Fine,” he says, reaching down and pulling his Wrecked tour t-shirt up. “But I like it and can eat all I want now that I’m not training for baseball.”

“Don’t get anything on this,” I gasp. “Stone Lockhart touched this. Breathed on it. Maybe his sweat touched it.”

“I’ve washed it a thousand times, Dani. Don’t get all sentimental.”

“Let’s not risk it. He’s so gorgeous. I might just live in this t-shirt forever.”

“First, you’re going to grow out of it soon. Second, what about my Arrows jerseys? Don’t you want to get all sentimental about those?”

I sigh and flutter my eyelashes. “When I saw him live in Nashville, I swear to you Stone looked right at me. Right at me, Landry.”

“You and your damned rock stars.”

Before I know it, I’m in a fit of giggles as he sprays a line of fake cheese down my stomach. He bends down and his tongue strokes my skin from just under my swollen breasts to right above my navel. He pauses, looking at me and I at him. We exchange a sweet smile and he presses a kiss to my belly.

“One down. Nine to go,” he whispers.

“Let’s get through the first one before we go counting more,” I giggle.

“You’re the one that wanted ten kids. I’m just giving you what you want. And,” he says, his fingers working against the button of my jeans, “I can’t keep my fucking hands off you.”

I lift my hips so he can slide them down. Once they’re on the floor, he hovers over me.

“Whatcha doing, Landry?”

“Gearing up to hit a homerun.”

And he does.