“Knock, knock,” I call out as I step through the already-open front door at the Carson household.

“Hey, Az! I’m so-so-so glad you’re here early,” Myla says as she rushes past me with Brody bundled in her arms. “Help me get ready?”

“That’s what I’m here for, sister-girl. Now, gimme that baby,” I tell her, making grabbing hands at Brody.

She passes him to me and gestures for me to follow her. Once we make it to the master bedroom, I gently lower us into the glider she has in the corner. “So, what all do you have left to do to get ready for your big night, Mama?”

“Uh. Everything!” Myla Rose throws herself back onto her bed, landing with one arm thrown across her eyes.

“Okay, drama queen, be real for a minute.”

Rolling to her side, she tells me, “No, really. Look at me!” So, I do, and on closer inspection, she’s got spit-up in her hair, dark circles under her eyes, and she’s dressed in one of Cash’s shirts with mismatched socks. Holding back my laughter, I nod for her to continue. “I need to pack, get everything set up for you and B-Man, I need to do my hair, my face, and get dressed.” The pitch of her voice rises with each item on her to-do list, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Myles, chill. It’s only four. Y’all aren’t leaving until six. I’ve got Brody. Go shower. And as for setting out stuff for me, I’ve got this. I know your house like the back of my hand, and Brody is the sweetest little man on the planet. We got this!”

Myla Rose cuts her eyes at me, as if she’s unsure whether to believe me, so naturally, I ignore her and direct my words to the sweet little boy who’s happily snoozing against my chest. “Your mama thinks we don’t got this, but we do, don’t we, sugars? We got this on lock, and Mama just needs to worry about herself and Daddy, yes her do.”

“Oh, Lord have mercy, I got it. I’m gonna go wash this rat’s nest on my head.”

“Be sure to shave!” I call after her.

Thirty minutes later, I hear Myla’s hair dryer click on, and that’s my cue. Carefully, I stand from the glider, making sure to keep Little Man’s head supported. After depositing him into his crib, I switch on his white noise machine and make my way back to Myla.

I step into her room just as she steps out of the bathroom. “Want me to curl your hair and do your makeup?”

“Yes, please, and thank you.”

I set to work curling her tresses, wrapping each section of hair around the barrel of the iron and then securing the curls with duckbill clips to set. While it’s cooling, I apply her makeup, keeping it light and dewy. Myla Rose is the very definition of natural beauty, with her freckle-dotted ivory skin, big brown eyes, and long fiery hair.

“Do you trust me to pick out your outfit?”

“Well . . . yeah . . .”

“Puh-lease, don’t sound so hesitant. You know damn good and well that I have phenomenal taste. Need I remind you of the dress I put you in for your first date with your now husband?”

“Hush, nobody likes a gloater.”

“No, but everyone likes to be well-dressed, so c’mon, to the closet we go.” She dutifully follows me to her closet and stands patiently while I flip through the hangers. “No. No. Hell no! Ooh, wait! Yes, this!” I hang the winner on the little antique brass hook she has on the back of the bathroom door before heading over to the armoire in the corner.

“AzzyJo, I think I can pick my own undergarments.”

“I’m sure you can, but I remember this set you bought a while back, and it’s just what you need.” Not to mention, I’m ninety-nine percent positive she’s never worn it. And sure enough, I find it, still in the bag, no less, stuffed in the very back of the top drawer.

“Here ya go,” I tell her, shoving the little pink-striped bag into her hands. “Go get dressed and then we’ll take your hair down.”

A few minutes later, Myla Rose steps out, dressed to kill in a stunning long-sleeved emerald crushed velvet dress. It has a demure neckline and hits her mid-thigh. The back of the dress, however, is all drama, with a deep vee that reaches to just before the swell of her hips. She looks gorgeous, and Cash is going to die. Gah! I wish I had someone to dress up for.

“Well, like always, you’re right. What shoes do I wear with this?”

“Take your curls down, and I’ll go look.” I rummage through the bottom of her closet for a minute or two before finding the most perfect little booties. I bring them to her in the bathroom, and she cocks her head to the side, studying the shoes.

“I don’t recognize those.”

“That’s because they’re mine. No clue how they ended up in your closet, but they’re exactly what this outfit needs, so who cares?” She slips them on and does a little twirl.

“Thank you so much, Azalea. I’d be lost without you.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t be lost. You’d just be frumpy.”

Just as she’s about to throw a comeback my way, we hear the sound of Cash’s truck in the driveway. “Oh, crap! I still need to pack!”

“So, pack. I’ll go stall that man of yours.”

I take the stairs two at a time, only to stumble over the last two. But, instead of face-planting onto the landing, I find myself wrapped in strong arms, with my face buried in a strong, familiar chest.

Drake’s chest.

“What’re you doing here?” My tone is snippy and accusing, and I hate it. I hate how he affects me.

“I’m here to babysit, Little Bit. What’re you doin’ here?”

“Uh. I’m here to . . . babysit too?”

His eyes gleam, and his smile widens as he pulls me closer to him. “If it isn’t my lucky day,” he murmurs, low and gritty in my ear, causing me to shiver. I need to pull away. Why haven’t I pulled away? Because these arms feel like home! yells the stupid voice in my head, but I shut her shit down real fast. There’s nothing home about Drake Collins. No, nothing at all.

I bring my hands to his shoulders, and he smirks down at me like he likes where this is going. That smirk drops to a frown when instead of leaning further into him, I shove him away. “You can go. I am perfectly fine watching B-Man by myself.”

“I’m sure you are, but I think I’ll stay.” UGH! This man!

I’m two seconds from tearing into him when Cash walks up. “Oh, hey, Azalea. I didn’t know you’d be here.” Lies. I can hear it in his voice, and his guilty, darting eyes only confirm it. This is a setup, which I guess I deserve, what with how I set him and Myla Rose up. Only, Drake and I will not have the same outcome they did. There’s no “I do” happily ever after bullshit for us. No way, no how.

“Mmmhmm. Nice.”

Drake playfully nudges my shoulder. “C’mon, Azalea, it’ll be fun to play house. Maybe we can even—”

“NOPE!” I cut him off, effectively putting an end to wherever his thoughts were headed, because Lord knows, it was nowhere good.

“Oh, good, you’re both here,” Myla quips as she descends the stairs, and just as predicted, Cash is awestruck when he sees his wife.

“Good God, darlin’.” His voice is hoarse, and it feels like we’re intruding on a private moment, so I grab Drake’s hand and pull him toward the kitchen.

“What was that for?” Drake asks once the happy couple is safely out of view.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.”

“I swear, you’re about clueless. They were having a moment, and we needed to skedaddle, unless voyeurism is your thing.”

“What? Oh! Yeah, good call,” he mutters, sounding sheepish.

“So, look, we need to lay a few ground rules for tonight, okay?”

“Rules? You think we need rules?”

“Yes, Drake. You know what happens every damn time we’re alone together.”

His features transform. His eyes go from confused to hungry, and he licks his lips as he scans my body, from toe to top. “I sure do, Bit.” He draws his bottom lip between his teeth, and damn if I’m not getting hot and bothered and falling right under his spell. This man. With eyes like whiskey, his stare fills me with the same warmth as a good single malt on a cold winter’s night.

“No, sir. Stop that right now!”

He takes a step closer. “Stop what?”

I take a step back. “That,” I tell him, waving a hand in his general direction.

He takes another step forward, and I realize I’m backed into the kitchen island, and I have nowhere to go. He brings his arms up, resting a hand on either side of me on the countertop, caging me. “You don’t mean that,” he whispers as he trails his nose along my neck and up to my ear. “You don’t mean that, not even a little.” I gulp, desperate for air, because he’s so right that it’s not even funny.

He brings his lips down on mine, and it’s game over. I’m once again swept up in the current that is Drake Collins.

Just as our kiss heats up, Drake pulls away. I lean toward him, more than ready to drown in his kisses, but instead, he boops me on the nose and heads back out to Cash and Myla Rose.

I linger in the kitchen, furious that I let him get to me again. I swear that man is like a drug. He’s addicting and yummy and so very bad for my health.

“AzzyJo, you coming?” Myla calls out from the hallway.

Gritting my teeth together, I compose myself and make my way to where everyone is congregated. Myla Rose flits her eyes from Drake to me and back again, but I ignore her. Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about her and Cash.

“I left Brody’s schedule on the chalkboard in the kitchen, as well as our hotel room number in case you need us,” Myla says.

“But, please, don’t need us,” Cash follows, but it’s obvious he’s joking. “We’ll be back sometime tomorrow after lunch. You two . . . try not to kill each other, yeah?” Now, he’s not joking.

“Ha! Funny. Go on now, and have fun. We’ll be just fine, right, D?”

“More than fine,” he tells him, shooting me an indecipherable look. Or maybe it’s not indecipherable. Maybe it’s just that I don’t wanna know, because what I don’t know can’t hurt me. Right?