“Okay, jackass. You’ve been sitting over there, smiling like the cat that ate the canary for thirty minutes now. What gives?”

Owen looked across the table at Lane, glad as hell they’d snared the corner booth at Clementine’s so no one could see the smile he was unable to keep from commandeering his mouth. He’d always been a terrible liar, mostly because he never saw the point, but since he’d also never been one to kiss and tell, he went with, “Nothing.”

Hunter laughed, his cheeseburger halfway to his mouth. “Ah, here’s where I call bullshit. I know what he’s smiling about, and her name is Cate McAllister.”

Owen’s heart took a whack at his rib cage, piñata-style. “Really? And what makes you think that?”

“Uh, the fact that her car was at your house from dinnertime Saturday night until five-thirty this morning, and you were late to work for the first time in the history of mankind.”

Lane coughed out a laugh that matched Hunter’s cocky I-dare-you-to-argue expression, and shit, Owen hated them both right now.

“You’ve dragged your ass on plenty of Mondays. Besides, I was only ten minutes late, you dick,” he grumbled, but his smile had too much staying power to stick the words with the proper amount of grit.

“Uh-huh.” Hunter lifted a brow, along with one corner of his mouth. “I told you a man can do a lot of things worthy of making him late in ten minutes.”

Lane’s laugh grew loud enough to make the handful of people having dinner at Clementine’s look in their direction, and, yeah, this conversation needed a kill switch, stat.

“Oh, for the love of…fine. Yes.” Owen dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “Cate spent the weekend at my house. Are you happy now?”

“Not as happy as you, I bet,” Lane said, waggling his light blond brows before shoving a pair of fries into his mouth. But his buddy wasn’t the only one who could ration up some good-natured shit.

“You’re one to talk, Sheriff. I overheard Amber Cassidy telling Billy Masterson at the co-op this morning that you and Daisy are practically attached at the hip now.”

“I doubt that’s where they’re attached,” Hunter said, his smile losing some of its luster a heartbeat later at the warning look Lane shot in his direction.

“Careful, wedding boy.” At Hunter’s lifted hands, Lane continued. “Anyhow, I’m not trying to hide the fact that Daisy and I have been spending time together. I like her.”

“I like Cate, too.” Ah, hell, the words slipped out before Owen could stop them. Not that they weren’t true, but still… “We’re just kind of taking things slow and seeing where they lead.”

It was one hell of an abridged version. After their talk in the kitchen, during which Owen had been alternately furious and heart sore, he and Cate had fallen into a rhythm that had surprised him with its ease. They’d talked and eaten, then talked some more, and when he’d taken her back up to his bedroom for a slower yet just-as-hot round of sex, then she’d stayed all day yesterday and until the tiny hours of this morning for more of the same, Owen had realized the truth. He did like Cate, maybe more than was good for him.

Which meant he had to tread very carefully for both their sakes, because she’d made it wildly clear she wanted no strings attached.

“Taking things easy to start out makes sense,” Hunter said, bringing Owen back to the quiet din of Clementine’s Diner, and, ah, the shot was too good to pass up.

“Says the man who’s getting married in less than a month.”

“Shut up.” His brother’s laugh took all the heat from the directive and sent a weird feeling through Owen’s gut. Yeah, Hunter had always been a goner for Emerson, even in the twelfth grade. But the look on his face right now was nothing short of pure love, and not the sappy, roses-are-red kind, either. This love was real, the kind their old man had had for their mother. The kind that lasted, like family and farm.

The kind that Owen wanted, and Cate wasn’t interested in.

“Speaking of which”—he took a long sip from the sweet tea in front of him in the hopes it would drown the sudden triple-knot in his throat. Talk about putting the cart before the horse. He and Cate hadn’t even been on an official date yet, for Chrissake—“we should probably get to planning some of these wedding logistics.”

Hunter nodded. It was, after all, the main reason they’d decided to meet up on a Monday evening for dinner. “I s’pose you’re right. There’s a lot to get in order.”

“Great,” Owen said, tamping down the last of the strange feeling in his chest. He had plenty of time to get from Point A to Point B, and Cate needed to go slow. Sure, he liked her. But he also couldn’t push her, or she’d shut him out. So, he did what he always did.

He buckled down and got serious about what was in front of him.

“One Cross Creek country wedding, coming right up.”

* * *

Owen shook off the early morning chill in the air, heading into the main house with an empty Thermos and a big ol’ smile on his face. Yeah, he was running on a skimpy five hours of sleep, but after he’d come back from dinner with Hunter and Lane, he’d gotten a text from Cate. That had led to him shamelessly inviting her over, her quickly accepting, and them having incendiary sex on his living room couch because they hadn’t even been able to make it up the stairs to his bedroom. They’d had sex there later, too—good measure, and all. But in between, they’d finished the chocolate cake she’d made over the weekend, laughing and talking about the details for Hunter’s wedding, and, as tired as he felt, Owen couldn’t think of one damn thing he’d rather trade sleep for than Cate McAllister.

He was so tangled up in the thought that he didn’t realize the kitchen was occupied until he was a full three steps over the threshold.

“Marley?” He blinked, wondering if he was seeing things. But nope, his sister was definitely standing at the kitchen island with a mixing bowl clutched to the chest of her pajama top and a look of pure shock on her face. “What are you doing down here so early?”

“Nothing! Aren’t you supposed to be working, or something?” Her mouth pursed in a scowl of frustration, and, a second later, Owen realized why.

“Are you baking brownies?”

Marley held the mixing bowl possessively, but didn’t hesitate to look him dead in the eye. “No. Yes.” She huffed out a sigh. “I mean, it’s just some dumb recipe I found online, but…I don’t know, I wanted chocolate and it didn’t look so hard. So I thought, you know. I’d try it.”

“At six thirty in the morning?” he asked, and damn, her frown was at expert levels today.

“It’s the only time I can get any privacy in the kitchen. You guys are always having some family meal or another in here, celebrating another Thursday, or whatever.”

Owen dug deep for his patience and miraculously found some. “If you want to use the kitchen for something, all you have to do is ask.” A beat passed, which Marley surprisingly didn’t fill with a caustic comeback, so he impulsively added, “And if you want to join us for one of those meals, all you have to do is show up.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Marley said. There was a hint of truth beneath the serrated edges of her answer, and it made Owen proceed with care.

He walked to the coffeepot like nothing-doing. “Well, that’s a relief, because you wouldn’t be. Like it or not, you are part of this family.”

Okay, so he still had strides to make in the sense-of-humor department. Still, Marley didn’t chuck the bowl at his head.

But she didn’t look happy, either. “Only half,” she reminded him, putting the bowl on the butcher block and giving it a vigorous stir.

“Not to us, Marley.”

“I know, but I am to me.”

Irritation flashed in Owen’s veins. He wanted to argue, to tell her blood was blood and she was being ridiculous—in fact, he had his mouth halfway open to do exactly that. Then he saw the glint of pain in her eyes, the one he’d bet his last dollar she’d rather die than admit existed, and he clamped his trap shut.

He knew that loss. He missed his mother, too. Only, he’d always had his brothers to remind him how important family really was.

Marley needed a brother, and he needed to give her that. Even if she wasn’t ready to be his sister yet.

“So.” Owen filled his Thermos to the top, the coffeepot softly clanking as he replaced it on the burner. “Does Cate know you’re trying your hand at baking?”

“No! Don’t—” Marley’s chin whipped upward, her eyes bright blue and wide. “Could you please not tell her?” she asked quietly. “I’ll probably suck at it.”

He capped his Thermos with a nod. “I won’t tell her if you don’t want me to. That said, she won’t care if you suck at baking.”

“How do you know?”

It was an honest question with an easy answer. “Because I suck at conversational skills, and, miraculously, she still ends up talking to me. Somehow, I have a feeling she’d be fine with you muddling your way through a batch of brownies. She’d probably even think it was cool that you wanted to try it out.”

Marley paused, long enough that Owen nearly gave up and made his way back out to the greenhouse. But then she asked, “Do you really think so?” and an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah. I really think so.”

A glimmer moved through his sister’s expression, and Owen recognized it as mischief two seconds too late. “Oh, my God, you like her.”

Shit. Shit! “Of course, I like her. She’s”—whip-smart. Totally fucking gorgeous. An insanely good kisser—“uh, nice.”

“You’re going to want to work on that game face,” Marley said with a snort.

Owen frowned. “That obvious, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.” She reached for the bowl, stirring the contents one more time before reaching for one of the two eggs sitting on a dish in the center of the island. “But don’t worry. I won’t blab to Cate that you got all goofy at the mention of her name or anything.”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Sure thing.”

“Well, I guess I’d better let you get to the rest of your recipe,” he said, waiting until he was most of the way across the kitchen floor before turning back around. “And, hey, if you ever change your mind, the invite to family dinner is always open.”

“I know,” Marley replied, just as she always did.

But for the first time since she’d shown up on their doorstep six months ago, she looked like she’d actually consider it.

* * *

Cate hummed a crooked tune under her breath as she entered the last of the payroll data into the system. She hadn’t seen Owen yet today—well, okay, technically, she had seen his silhouette slipping out of bed at 4:45 this morning, and she’d felt the brush of his mouth on her forehead fifteen minutes later when he’d headed out of his bedroom. But she hadn’t seen him face-to-face in the light of what was turning out to be a gorgeous spring day, which meant he was likely up to his elbows, perhaps literally, in work in the greenhouse. She’d slipped in to the main house at a few minutes before eight after a lightning-fast trip home for a shower and change of clothes, and even though she’d still technically been on time, snoozing until the last possible second in Owen’s bed, all warm and soft and smelling of cedar and something that belonged only to Owen himself, had felt nothing short of indulgent.

Cate couldn’t remember the last time her alarm had woken her. She’d thought it would be weird at first, sleeping in the same bed with someone else after so long. It had ended up being the opposite of weird, though, with Owen just gathering her up in that quiet way of his and the two of them simply slipping off to sleep. No fanfare, no big deal.

Mmm hmm. Unfettered bliss will do that to a girl.

Her chin hiked, and she spun a brisk gaze around the office as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t, then rolled her eyes at herself two seconds later. Cate wasn’t naïve enough to think that what was happening between her and Owen was truly just sex—if that had been the case, she wouldn’t have spent the last three nights drifting off to dreamland next to him in his bed. But it wasn’t anything to get all panicky about, either. They weren’t picking out china patterns or those cutesy coffee mugs labeled “Mr.” and “Mrs.”. Sure, they enjoyed spending time together, but he’d promised things were casual. Just for now.

She couldn’t give him the life he ultimately wanted, the family he deserved to have. So, yes. Things had to stay commitment-free in the long run, for both their sakes.

“Hey.”

Cate’s heart bolted against her sternum, bumping off no less than four of her ribs before settling back into place. Jeez! Had she really been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard Owen open the back door and head down the hallway? And, seriously, how could anyone who had just done five hours of manual labor look so freaking sexy?

“Hey,” she said, her resolve locking into place as Owen crossed the room to drop a kiss over the top of her head. “Owen. We’re at work.”

Somewhere between thought and action, her protest grew weak. Cate couldn’t blame herself, really. Just the outline of those biceps against his T-shirt sleeves was enough to make her want to swallow her tongue—or, at the very least, do very naughty things to said biceps with it.

He didn’t help her cause by grinning. “Take a break,” he said, the flash in his eyes all suggestion.

She knew all three Cross men respected the work she did for them, and, since she respected it, too, she said, “Nope. We agreed.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” Owen straightened, taking a step back with a deferent nod. “When we’re at work, we work. Speaking of which, I have a proposition for you.”

“That doesn’t sound like work.” Cate let a smile play on her lips as she pushed back in her desk chair to arch a brow at him.

A bolt of heat moved through her when he arched a brow right back. “Get your mind out of the gutter, sweetheart. This proposition is all business.”

God, that slow and sexy half-smile should be illegal. Or, at the very least, come with a sternly worded warning label. “Okay. What’s on your mind?”

“I sat down with Hunter and my old man yesterday, and after looking at the numbers, we’d like to offer you a weekly contract to sell your baked goods in our tent at the farmers’ market until we can offer you a permanent placement in our storefront.”

“You…” The words swirled through Cate’s head on wings, each of them flying just out of her comprehension’s reach. “You don’t want to wait until the storefront opens at the end of the summer?”

“Nope. We don’t.”

At her continued silence and the look of pure whaaa that must be slathered all over her face, Owen added, “I know it’s a bit of an unexpected ask, but it wouldn’t be anything we haven’t already done, to both of our success. All we’d do is write up a short-term contract to repeat everything from last weekend until the storefront opens. Cross Creek would take a percentage of your profits to cover the produce used and a portion of the rental fee for the space. We’d also ask that you work the farmers’ market every other Saturday to help with setup and sales since that worked out so well last weekend, but otherwise, that’s pretty much it.”

Finally, a thought grew clear in her crowded brain. “I’d have to quit working at Clementine’s and The Bar.” She didn’t mind the work, but not even she could be in two places at once.

“That’s probably true, yes,” Owen said. “We’re happy to pay you competitively.”

He gave up some numbers that made her knees weak, and she was already sitting down. “That’s”—crazy. Unbelievable. Enough to take a massive chunk out of my debt by the end of the summer—“reasonable. What sort of timetable were you thinking?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but…well, now.”

“Now? As in, today?”

He nodded, his handsome face perfectly calm. “If we’re going to make this weekend’s farmers’ market, then yes, we’d ideally sign the contract today.”

Cate’s pulse whooshed in her ears. She’d spent so long thinking her dream was more of a fantasy, the big, out-of-reach kind like winning the lottery or living on your own island. The thought of getting paid to bake, to do what she truly, purely loved…

A dream like that isn’t for you.

Owen looked at her, his expression all business. “I know this is more of a commitment than you’re used to, and that you might be hesitant to bake on a regular basis. If you need some time to think about it—”

“I don’t.”

Her words startled her a little, but, oh, they felt so good in her mouth, the way she imagined a French truffle would, decadent and delicious.

“You don’t.” Owen’s answer wasn’t a question, but Cate nodded anyway. Yes, she was here when Brian and Lily weren’t, and, no, that ache probably wouldn’t ever ease all the way. But a dream like this was for her. It always had been. She owed it to her daughter’s memory to be strong and go after the goals she’d pushed aside for far too long.

Starting right now.

“I don’t need to think about it,” she said with a smile. “I’d love to accept your offer.”