I don’t panic easily, but I struggle to keep my shit together once I tell Hayes I’m staying in White Horse with Cricket. She gets emotional, clearly relieved to have me stick around. I’m happy to see her happy.

Except this town is a stranger’s home, not mine. Am I really ready to give up my trailer? What about Jimmy? Can he handle the other dogs? Will they hate him? Are four dogs too many? Is that last question even a real question? Obviously, four dogs are too fricking many.

What about my family? Yes, Cricket’s people are cool, and I don’t necessarily feel like an outsider while eating at the family’s restaurant. Her hand on my thigh helps a lot with any jitters, but these people aren’t my people. They’re her people.

I think about what my people are doing right now. Dad and Grandpa Jared are likely drinking beer at The Rock Tavern. My brother, Otto, might be hanging with them, but he is probably texting his wife. Their love remains obnoxious to even someone as obnoxiously in love as me.

Soon, the family will all arrive home from work, school, and club business. They’ll sit outside and talk about their days. The conversation will morph into something stupid about toothpaste in their hair or the worst scab they’ve ever ripped off a wound. The women will make dinner while the men watch the younger kids outside. All the while, Henrietta likely sits away from the others, bitching in her head about how her life is the worst ever because she’s smart enough to know how dumb the world is. If any real arguments break out between family members, everyone will grab their water guns and go to town on each other.

“Are you okay?” Cricket asks, leaning against me.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Cricket studies my face, likely sensing the lie. She doesn’t call me on it. Instead, we order dinner, and Chipper talks about how fat goes straight to his ass whenever he gains weight.

“You’ll work that fat off tomorrow at the courts,” Cricket tells him.

“You shouldn’t play tennis when you’re pregnant,” Hayes announces. “Only moderate exercise for a woman of your laziness.”

“I don’t get it. Why can’t I play tennis? I’m pretty sure Serena Williams played the fuck out of the tennis court when she was preggers.”

“You always use Serena,” Chipper mutters. “Do you seriously not know any other tennis players?”

“Her sister.”

“Whose name is?”

“Something Williams?” Cricket replies, fighting a grin.

Chipper gives her a wink before Hayes clear his throat to regain their attention.

“You sit on your ass nearly twenty-four seven. Then you play tennis and spend three days afterward complaining you’re in pain from working out too much. If you’re that out of shape before you’re pregnant, you shouldn’t work out while you are pregnant.”

“That seems wrong,” Cricket says. “I feel like you wouldn’t know the right answer, but even if you did seem like the kind of person who would know it, I don’t think that’s the right answer. It just sounds wrong.”

“Why take the chance?”

Cricket looks to Candy who shrugs. “He occasionally locked me in the house when I was pregnant with Cap.”

“That was more about fucking you than protecting you,” Hayes claims.

“Swimming is good exercise,” Candy tells Cricket. “Walking too. Um... that’s all I got.”

“I don’t want to exercise,” Cricket pouts. “I want to play tennis.”

“And it’s not as if we play hard like the Williams sisters,” Chipper says. “We hit the ball back and forth while yelling ‘Marco Polo’ until we’re asked to stop by the staff or some uppity bourgee club member.”

Hayes chuckles. “I do love when you annoy those tight-ass fat cats.”

“So, I can play tennis then?”

I frown at Cricket, not buying for a second that her question is genuine. She’s a grown woman, and stubborn as all get-out. Can Hayes really order her not to play tennis?

“No,” he growls.

“What if I just stand perfectly still on my side of the court while Chipper hits balls at me?”

“No.”

“What if I sit in a chair on my side of the court while Chipper sits in a chair on his and throws balls at me?”

“No.”

“What if—?”

Hayes levels a fearsome frown at Cricket. “Knock it the fuck off.”

“But I haven’t gotten my way yet, and I’m very certain we can find a compromise. What if Chipper and I play ping-pong on the tennis court?”

“Candy,” Hayes growls while pulling out his phone. “Turn her off.”

“Cricket, you can play Marco Polo with Chipper one more time. Then you’re on bed rest for the next two years.”

“Or how about I play four more times and then I’m on bed rest for seventeen years?”

“How are you planning to raise a kid while in bed?” Hayes asks, and the women laugh in unison. “Fucking uterus fuckers.”

“I’ll be careful. Chipper will make sure of it.”

Her brother doesn’t answer, and I assume he’s deep in thought since falling asleep in a loud restaurant seems unlikely.

“Your mother made an appointment at the best OB in the area,” Hayes tells Cricket once our food arrives. “It’s in two days.”

“Will you go with me?” Cricket asks while moving her hand from my thigh to my hand. “I hate doctors and have been known to get rude with them from time to time. You could play good cop.”

“Or we can both be bad cops.”

Cricket’s dark eyes study my face, stealing away my breath. There’s such warmth in her gaze beyond the animal heat I’ve known since our first night together. This new warmth is a deeper emotion I hope is love because, despite my assurances to Cricket and myself, I’m panicking at the permanency of my current situation.

Even worse, I’ve been away from Tumbling Rock for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already awash in homesickness.