Chipper’s schedule consists of driving from one restaurant to another. We stop at a four-table shop called Pot Pie Palace first. Then we go to a claustrophobia-inducing narrow place called Sal’s Meat Emporium which is a specialty sandwich shop. Next, we’re at the boxy Sunday’s Best Buffet with a back room for special occasions.

At every location, Chipper asks to see their books, wants to know the names of any new employees, and finally insists on checking their menus. Apparently, he has veto power over food he doesn’t like at the family-owned businesses. Interesting job for him. Boring as heck for me.

Sitting at a coffee shop, we share a cinnamon bun and talk about our work day.

“What am I supposed to write in this?” I ask, gesturing toward the notebook Chipper gave me earlier.

“Any changes I make to each location. We’ll add them to a document I have back at the office.”

“But there are no changes.”

Chipper smiles, reaching for my shirt collar. “Hayes didn’t check in with each restaurant on a regular basis, and they were pulling all sorts of fucking high jinks. Then he’d find out and have to put a shit ton of effort to get problems cleaned up. This way, nothing gets fucked beyond simple repair. Besides, what else am I going to do all day?”

“I have no idea what rich people do with their time.”

“Mostly golf and fucking maids. For the men anyway. The women usually screw their tennis instructors. Oh, and every few months, they throw a benefit for some disease. Last time, we raised money to help kids with cowlicks,” Chipper says and then sighs. “No, it was for cleft lips. Eradicating cowlicks was what Cricket kept telling people she thought the money should go to.”

When I frown, he adds, “Cricket and the benefit organizer don’t get along. Shelli thinks Cricket is a loud-mouthed whore while Cricket thinks Shelli is a succubus who sucks the life out of people through boredom.”

“Who’s right?”

“They both are, though Cricket’s whoring took a real hit when she got knocked up by the dirty biker. Shelli’s boring succubus bullshit continues unabated.”

Doodling on my notepad, I ask, “Will I have to meet Shelli at some point?”

“Oh, yes. My world is full of losers you’ll learn to loathe, but those benefit galas are fucking cool. You eat, drink, and dance guilt-free because it’s for charity.”

After writing the words “Tatum ღ Chipper” on the notepad, I sigh loudly and startle myself by how much I sound like Cricket when she makes an announcement. “I feel useless following you around like this all day.”

“Don’t you like spending time with me?” he asks as his full lips pucker into a pout. “What would you rather be doing?”

“Are you going to cry?” I balk, leaning away from him. “Grody.” When Chipper’s brown eyes widen, he looks genuinely hurt. I only smile, though. “You always mess with me. It’s not so fun, huh, big boy?”

“Is that my nickname now?”

Rolling my eyes at his quick rebound into cocky man mode, I take my coffee outside and enjoy the semi-warm afternoon. We’re on a particularly busy street. I’ve noticed White Horse is filled with boutiques and small restaurants. Unlike Hickory Creek, this town feels both small town and trendy.

“I feel underdressed,” I say, noticing women in heels walking past.

“Really? I was just thinking you were overdressed. I’d dig you in a bikini if the weather wasn’t so frigid.”

Smiling at how his fingers tug at my shirt, I bravely reach up and cup his face. “I want to be your girlfriend, not your assistant.”

“But you need a job that’ll allow the endlessly abundant free time necessary to make me a happy boyfriend.”

“I think I should get a real job and help out by paying rent.”

Chipper slams his eyes shut, and I worry he’s having some kind of attack. Then his lips curl into a smile, and I realize he’s fighting laughter. I cross my arms and glare at him.

“My money isn’t good enough?”

Chipper opens his eyes and grins at me. “I don’t want your money. I want you. All the time. even if you were making a shit ton of money, I don’t want you somewhere else working. I want you with me. The only reason you’d have a hard time understanding this fact is that you don’t want to be with me every minute.”

Rolling my eyes, I walk toward the SUV. “Stop trying to make me feel guilty.”

“I’m not trying anything. If you feel guilty, that’s on you.”

“Fine, then I feel guilty for you looking sad, but I still feel useless following you around.”

Chipper stands close enough to pin me to the SUV. A sly grin warms his face.

“Give it two weeks. If you still feel useless, we’ll talk again so I can convince you to give it another few weeks.”

“Two weeks feels like a lifetime from now.”

“In two weeks, you’ll be so head over fucking heels in love with me that you’ll swoon whenever we share a room.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then you’re suffering from a mental breakdown, and we’ll get you the necessary medical help to allow you to properly swoon.”

I can’t avoid laughing at how he always has a response. “Are you going to kiss me or is that not allowed?”

“Not out here with people looking. I’m shy,” he says before planting a very demanding kiss on my very willing lips.

Chipper wraps me in his arms and plants the kind of kiss that leaves me swooning—just as he wants. I try to meet his intensity with my own, but he’s too much, and I only hold on for the ride.

My complaints about my job end once Chipper kisses me so fiercely. I’m admittedly very agreeable on the drive back to his house. Every time my worries return, I caress my lips and think of Chipper’s unflinching swagger. If we keep kissing that way, his confidence is bound to infect me.

Arriving at the house, Chipper decides to take me on a tour. He claims a bunker is built in the backyard, but the dropping temperatures keep him from taking me outside to see.

Instead, we stop in his home theater where I run my fingers over the stone back wall. I can’t believe how every inch of the house feels like it stepped out of a ski lodge. When I imagine Chipper designing the room and picking the material, the process overwhelms me. I don’t know how he did it without pulling out his hair.

Next, he shows me the indoor pool.

“Cricket should have built an indoor pool,” he says, leaning my back against his chest. “She said it wouldn’t fit the aesthetic of her house. Such a lame reason to give up swimming for months out of the year. No doubt she knew she could drop by here whenever she wanted. She brings the mini-twins over a few times a week to practice swimming.”

I study the high wooden ceiling with the thick dark beams. Even the pool area feels as if it belongs in a magazine or one of those especially decadent episodes of “House Hunters.”

“It’s a big house,” I mumble once we return to the kitchen. “As your assistant, am I in charge of cleaning? That would take up half my day right there.”

Chipper grins at my comment, likely thinking it’s dumb. “The maid comes every other day starting on Monday and skipping Sunday,” he says, pulling out a schedule. “Gina has a list of cleaning to do each day. If you want her to work on something else, you’ll need to let her know. Don’t get freaked if you turn a corner one day and she’s just there. I often can’t tell when Gina’s in the house. She’s as quiet as a fucking mouse except when vacuuming.”

He taps the next name and number on a list stapled to the schedule. “Albie is my head landscaper. He won’t be around as much during the colder months. In spring, he comes every two weeks. In summer, it’s every week. If you want something cut down or planted, you let him know what and where.”

Chipper opens the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of what smells like lemonade. “There’s a delivery grocery service. If you want something from any restaurant we own, they’ll deliver even if it’s not the policy for other customers. I also have a guy that I can call in the middle of the night who will run to Walmart to pick up anything I need.”

When I frown at that concept, Chipper’s smile grows wider. “Like if you were sick with vomiting or the shits. He’ll bring meds, soup, whatever you want. It’s great in a pinch. He does the same for Cricket. Last year, the mini-twins got a stomach bug, and everyone in the house was down within twenty-four hours. Isaac kept them supplied until they stopped puking. Nothing nefarious about having a guy like that. Plus, Isaac makes a couple extra bucks for his family.”

Running my hands through my hair, I shake out the strands in the same aggravated way as when the daycare kids were having an especially crappy day.

“Why do you look so jittery?” he asks, leaning against the counter with the glass of lemonade he poured. “This could help.”

I shake my head at the drink he offers. “This place is too much.”

“How so?”

“It’s too big and needs too much upkeep. It feels more like a hotel than a home.”

“I’ll sell it, and we’ll find something else,” he says without hesitation.

Despite my growing tension, I can’t help smiling at the certainty in his voice. “Can you imagine how pissed you’d be if I wanted you to sell your house?”

“No, I’d be cool with it.”

“Liar.”

“Oh, I’d miss the old homestead for sure, but your happiness matters more than a fucking house.”

My heart hurts at how much he craves to take care of me. “I don’t want you to give up your home. I just can’t imagine it feeling like a home to me.”

“Well, you’ve been here less than two days. I can see why you’d write off the place.”

I smile at his comment. “I’ve only known one house. One neighborhood. One kind of life. I’m not a cool, flexible person, and this house is too grand.”

“I’m a cool guy, and this is a cool house, but it’s not grand. It’s comfy. It’s just big. See the couch right there in the living room? Well, that’s a comfy couch meant for watching TV or reading a book or making out with a sexy blonde.”

“You’re the only man who’s ever called me sexy.”

“To your face, but I bet plenty of them said it to their friends while checking you out. They just didn’t have the good luck to catch you at the right time.”

“You mean when I’m drunk and planning to kill a man?”

“Exactly.”

Grinning, I take the glass in his hand and sip the lemonade. “This has booze in it.”

“Sure, why not? It’s after five.”

“This is your house and your life. If I build mine around yours and you change your mind about me, what then?”

“Where’s all this sensible shit coming from?” he asks, nearly laughing. “A few days ago, you were stoked for a kamikaze mission to kill a stranger you believe to be your father.”

“Believe?”

“It’s not like you had a DNA positively IDing him as your dad.”

“Are you calling my mom a liar or a slut?” I ask, outraged.

“I’m saying you couldn’t be a hundred percent certain that the old man at the bar was the guy who threatened your mother. I mean, did you have a picture or something?”

“No, I asked the waitress.”

“In a biker-run bar? How did you survive before me?”

Shrugging, I roll my eyes. “I didn’t have a great plan, but whatever.”

“Exactly, but you rolled the dice on that mission. So why can’t you roll it with me and this house? Just for a few weeks. Then if you still feel uncomfortable here, we can get another place.”

“I don’t want you to give up anything for me.”

“That’s dumb, Tatum. People always give up something for those they love. Do you think my mother has any fucking interest in watching war movies or that she wanted a giant dog when she’s much more of a cat person? Of course not, but Dad came with his own needs, and she had to bend so they could both be happy. He bends too. He’s just a whiner about it.”

“So am I the Hayes in this situation?”

“Oh, so very much.”

Chipper’s willingness to give up so much for me feels wrong. Who am I to warrant his loyalty and sacrifice? I’m an unemployed, depressed, average-looking woman with no great qualities, goals, or accomplishments. There’s a reason my mother was the only person to value me all my life.

I exhale unsteadily, fighting the heat growing in my eyes and that sorrow-filled pressure in my chest.

“Mom would have thought your house was so cool.”

“I wish I got to meet her,” Chipper says in a low, warm voice that wraps around me like a hug.

“I know she would have liked you.”

“Now you’re lying.”

Smiling grudgingly, I nod. “She would have been wary because of what happened with Howler. She didn’t trust men. Mom would have warned me that you were too handsome and rich to be a good man. I’d tell her to be patient and get to know you. She would, and then she’d have liked you because you’re a good man.”

“Am I, though?” he asks with a sly grin.

“You are to me.”

Caressing my cheek, Chipper considers my words and then nods. “I remember how people whispered about Hayes being a violent monster. To me, he was a big fucking teddy bear, and they were delusional. It’s all about perception, so I guess I could be seen as a good man.”

“I hate how Mom will never know you,” I whisper, fighting tears. “If we had come back here together, maybe you and I would have met. Mom could be a part of all this.”

Chipper wraps his arms around me, and I swear I want to climb inside him where the world must be beautiful with endless possibilities. I rest my head against his chest and smile at how steady his heartbeat is compared to how frazzled I always am.

“I want you to go upstairs to the guest room and cry out the pain I see in your eyes,” he says as his hand repeatedly caresses from my scalp down to my back. “I’d have you stay here with me and cry, but you seem to hold back when I’m around. So you go get that cry out and then come down here where I’ll be waiting. We’ll talk or cuddle or make out or watch TV. Whatever you need.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” I say, wiping my eyes.

“It’s not healthy to hold that shit in, and it’s not fair to your mom to pretend as if losing her didn’t kill a little part of you. Go do what you need to do. Face what you need to face. I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t need you to put on a brave smile for my account.”

“Okay,” I say, stepping back and out of his reach. “I’ll get myself under control and return to have a drama-free evening.”

“You do that, and I’ll remain here and think of you naked.”

Grinning, I plan to think of him naked too. Of course, I got an eyeful this morning while he’ll need to use his imagination. For once, I’m a step ahead of Mister Wilburn.