“You’re seriously going to his house for breakfast?” Darcy repeats for the tenth time.

With an exasperated eye roll, I answer her. “Yes, Darce. And I’m going to be late if I don’t get going.”

“But,” she sputters, “you don’t do that.”

“It’s only breakfast. And the girls will be there. It’s not a big deal.”

“Right.” Her dubious tone sets me on edge. “It’s not at all what a couple does. They never have breakfast together in the morning.”

I set my bag on my motorcycle and place her on speakerphone while I pull on my helmet. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m taking my bike.”

“Be careful.” It sounds like she wants to say more, but she leaves it at that.

“Safe as in church.”

“Call me when you’re done. I want to hear all about this breakfast.”

“Darcy,” I warn.

“What?” she protests. “I’m curious about these granola wraps, too.”

Right.

“Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

Navigating my way along Atlantic Boulevard, I’m grateful for the light early morning traffic. It’s mostly overcast with the sun barely peeking through the clouds. It’s still humid, of course, even though it’s seven thirty. Typical for Florida in August. But the slight breeze as I maneuver the road helps to alleviate the heat.

When I stop and idle my bike at the gated entrance to Becket’s home, I’m suddenly overwhelmed with uncertainty. The ornate walls and wrought iron gates enclosing the neighborhood make me realize just how much I don’t fit in—not with this level of wealth. I hesitate and consider turning around when an older gentleman emerges from the small square building in the center of the gated entrance and exit lanes leading into the neighborhood.

I flip up my helmet visor as he approaches and offers me a friendly smile. “You must be Miss Hayes. Mr. Jones is expecting you.” He draws to a stop a few feet away from me and offers me his hand. “I’m Pete.”

We exchange a brief handshake. “Nice to meet you, Pete. And please call me Ivy.”

He nods and takes a small step back, dropping his gaze to my motorcycle. “She’s a beauty.”

“Thank you.” I beam with pride because I happen to cherish this bike.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” He smiles and walks over to the gate’s keypad, punching in a code. The large iron gates open, and he waves me on. “Have a wonderful day.”

“Thank you, Pete.” I flip my visor down and drive through slowly, adhering to the strict ten miles per hour speed limit sign. When I arrive at the address Becket gave me, an uneasy feeling unfurls in the pit of my stomach. I fight it back and pull into the driveway.

I slide the kickstand in place, slip off my bike, and unfasten my helmet. Running a hand over my hair, I try to ensure it’s not terribly mussed. Then I take a moment to stare up at the beautiful home. Painted a soft shade of gray, the stucco beach home has a large curving set of stairs leading to the front doors. The doors of the triple garage are closed, and I wonder how many vehicles Becket owns.

The sound of the front door opening draws my attention, and I’m faced with the sight of Becket. In a plain white T-shirt, he’s wearing simple nylon workout shorts that peek out from beneath an apron that says, “This uncle has a way with balls.” Embroidered beneath the words is a large football.

I grin up at him. “Nice apron.”

He winks, then gestures for me to climb the stairs. “Come on up. The girls have only asked for you about twelve million times this morning.”

I tuck my helmet beneath one arm and ascend the stairs. As soon as I reach the top, I peer up at him and wonder how it’s possible that he appears even more handsome.

His eyes darken, and he reaches for me. One hand smooths down my hair, and his gaze is unnerving, as though he’s memorizing me at this moment. His regard possesses a hint of reverence shimmering within it.

He dips his head, the dark depths of his eyes mesmerizing me. “You still respect me this morning?” he says in a husky whisper.

I raise a hand to his chest, splaying my palm flat over the center. Heat radiates through the layers of fabric covering his hard-muscled body. I lift to bring my lips barely an inch from his. “I might if you kiss me alread—”

His mouth closes over mine, cutting off my response. Hands delve and thread through my hair as he kisses me as if his life depends upon it.

Becket kisses much like I’m learning how he goes about living his life. With a fervor and an unrivaled enthusiasm. He puts everything into it, and there’s no half-assing. It’s all or nothing.

When his tongue slides in to spar with mine, the hand I have pressed against his chest clenches his apron in my fist. I step closer and wish I wasn’t holding my helmet in my other hand because I want to touch him. I need to feel his body with my bare hands and—

“Uncle Becket!”

We jerk apart, both of us breathing heavily. I stare up at him, my lips parted and slick from his kiss. He turns his head toward the open front door. “Be right there, Violet.”

“Is Miss Ivy here?” she calls out.

“Yes, ma’am.” With a smirk, Becket dips his head and dusts a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’m chopped liver now, thanks to you.”

He stealthily snags my helmet from my grasp. At my look of confusion, he gestures to where he now holds my helmet directly in front of his crotch. “I’ll be needing this for the time being.”

Suddenly, I catch the sound of nails gently clicking on hardwood floors. Within a moment, a small dark-haired dog bounds up to me with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.

I drop to a crouch and smile at the adorable pup as it immediately nuzzles my jawline. “Well, hello there.” I pet the impossibly soft mane of hair.

“This is Daisy.” Becket’s eyes meet mine over Daisy’s head. He smiles. “Think it’s clear she’s already joined your fan club.”

“She’s adorable.” With a final affectionate pat, I straighten.

Becket steps aside to let me enter first.

“Such a gentleman,” I tease and step into the foyer of his home.

“Not really. It’s an excuse to check out your ass.”

I laugh, and he closes the door behind us. I remove my boots, unfasten my bag, and then my riding jacket. Becket directs me to set my belongings on one of the large chairs in the massive dining room area off to the left. He settles my helmet carefully upon the cloth table runner.

“Wow.” I take in the impressive size of the room. “Do you actually use this room?” I have to ask because, well…he’s a bachelor. I don’t exactly see him holding dinner parties every night.

He appears amused by my question. “Yes, I actually do. Normally, I use it when it’s my year to host Friendsgiving.”

“Friendsgiving?”

“Instead of Thanksgiving, the guys who don’t have families or places to go get together, and we have a huge feast.” He glances around the room, and the way his eyes crinkle slightly, it’s as though he’s recalling fond memories.

I take in the sight of the large table with more than a dozen chairs around it and imagine the room bustling with life, frequent laughter, and boisterous male voices. “Sounds incredible.” And I mean it. Simultaneously, I hate the tiny seed of yearning he’s planted. Yearning to be a part of something like that.

I’ve always avoided attending get-togethers at other people’s homes for the holidays because it doesn’t matter how much anyone tries to include Darcy and me; we’re still outsiders. There are always inside family jokes or stories that only they know and can appreciate. There’s a connection we’re not a part of.

“Maybe you can join us this year.”

My eyes dart to his and widen with surprise.

He must notice because he rushes on with, “I mean, you probably have a big family and whatnot.”

I shuffle my feet on the sleek cherry hardwood floors. God, this is awkward. Just when I’m about to brave the conversation of, “I don’t actually have a family” and try to make a joke about how I was left by a stork, we’re interrupted.

A little face peers around the corner of the doorway. “Unc Beck? I’m hungry.” Little Emilia meets my gaze and smiles shyly when I wave.

“You’re hungry?” Becket gapes dramatically. When Emilia nods, he rubs his flat stomach. “Actually, I think I’m so hungry I might have to have a quick snack.”

She giggles and holds out a tiny, chubby hand as if to stop him. “Don’t eat me, Unc Beck!”

He rushes to her and scoops her up, pressing his face to her stomach. She giggles uncontrollably as he places dozens of loud, smacking kisses to her abdomen. The noise immediately gathers Daisy’s attention, and she comes rushing around the corner. Her head tilts to the side as she watches, her small body vibrating with energy as if just waiting to join in.

“I’m so hungry, Em!” he mumbles against her while she squirms within his hold. Finally, he gives her a reprieve.

“Again!” she demands, her face flushed with joy.

“After we eat, okay?” He sets her on her feet and scoops up Daisy in his arms, snuggling her to his chest. The mere broadness of his torso makes her appear even tinier. “Let’s go have breakfast, toots.”

Emilia smiles up at Becket. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

God, the way he smiles down at her sends an unfamiliar sensation of longing through me.

She scampers off, and he looks at me. Extending a hand, he smiles. Daisy turns her head, her blue eyes staring at me as if to say, Isn’t my dad the best? “Ready for breakfast?”

I slide my hand in his large one and ignore my inner taunt of warning that I’m in dangerous waters.