Ignite (Cloverleigh Farms #6)(73)

“I don’t love you.” His voice was low and raw, straining with urgency. “I don’t love you.”

And he crushed his mouth to mine before I could say it back.





Afterward, he rolled out of bed quickly and yanked his jeans on. “I have to work tomorrow, and I pick up the girls on Sunday. Will you be around?”

I tried to keep things light, even though the intensity of our last round had me uneasy. “If you’re lucky. So do I have to walk the ogre out?”

“No. That’s another good thing about ogres.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “We are very self-sufficient. I’ll lock the door. I can’t have anyone else messing with my princess.”

“Thank you.”

He came over and kissed the top of my head. “Night.”

“Night.”

When I heard the door shut downstairs, I flopped onto my back and lay there for a moment starfish-style. My heart continued to pound in a way that scared me, every beat telling me that this was something special, this was something different, this was what love songs were written about.

This was it.

I bolted upright.

“No, it’s not,” I said quickly, scrambling to the edge of my bed and hopping off. “I’m not listening to you, heartbeat. This is not it.”

I hurried into the bathroom and drowned out my heart with running water while I washed my face, then the buzz of my electric toothbrush. Back in my room, I sang “Yankee Doodle” loudly and off-key while I put my pajamas on, because it was the only song I could think of that wasn’t about love.

Then I jumped into bed and buried my head under the pillow.

On my nightstand, my phone vibrated, and I sat up to reach for it. When I saw the text, I started to laugh.

What the hell is going on over there?

That’s my singing voice.





Jesus.

My choir teachers used to ask me to mouth the words at concerts.





Can’t say I blame them. Should I put some earplugs in or is the concert over tonight?

I guess it’s over. Unless you have a request.





My request is that you stop singing.

I’m done.





Thank God. Night.

Laughing to myself, I set my alarm and put my phone back on the charger. Wrapping my arms around my pillow and hugging it close, I took a few deep breaths.

Hello, heart? This is brain. We’d like to remind you of the rules on this ride.

In order to stay safe, you must keep your hands, feet, and feelings inside the cart at all times. We cannot be responsible for items that are lost or stolen. In case of an emergency, please use the nearest exit.

But my heart refused to listen.





Late Sunday afternoon, there was a knock on my front door. When I opened it, I saw Hallie and Luna standing on my porch. They wore nice clothes, as if they’d been to church, and Hallie’s two French braids were perfect and even—pretty, but I sort of liked Dex’s lopsided pigtails better.

“Hi, girls! How are you?”

“Good.” Luna beamed. “Daddy painted our room. Pink and purple.”

“I heard. Do you love it?”

“Yes!”

“But we came to tell you something even better,” Hallie said.

“What’s that?”

“We’re getting a cat!” Luna said excitedly. “We went to the adoption place right after church today and picked him out.”

“Yay!” I clapped my hands. “Come in and tell me about him. Does your dad know you’re here?”

“Yes,” Hallie said as they followed me to the kitchen. They climbed onto the stools at my island. “He said we could knock on your door, but if you weren’t home we had to come right back.”

“I’ll send him a quick text.” I grabbed my phone and sent Dex a note letting him know the girls were with me, then set it aside. “Okay, tell me everything.”

“He’s black with white feet,” gushed Luna.

“And he’s so soft,” added Hallie. “He loves to be petted.”

“I can’t wait to meet him. When can you bring him home?”

“Tomorrow after school,” said Hallie. “So after we change clothes, we’re going to the pet store to get food and a bed and some toys for him.”

“What are you going to name him?” I asked.

The girls looked at each other. Hallie sighed. “That’s a problem.”

“Why?”

“Daddy said since we picked the cat, he gets to name him.”

I laughed. “What does he want to name him?”

“Here are the choices.” Hallie pulled a piece of paper from her skirt pocket and read it solemnly. “Steven Tyler, Freddie Mercury, or Eddie Van Halen.”

I covered my mouth with one hand. “Which one do you like best?”

Hallie looked at me like I was nuts. “None of them. Those aren’t cat names. Those are man names.”

“I like Freddie,” said Luna.

“I do too,” I told her. “And what if you called him Freddie Purrcury?”

Hallie perked right up. “That’s perfect! I mean—purrfect.”