The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(93)

I can’t imagine Jo not being with Lindy. This is where she belongs. It would be wrong to move her to another city where she’d be living with strangers, even if it’s a process that happens slowly. Sheet Cake is her home. Lindy is her home. And I want to be a part of that home too. I already am far more invested in this little girl than I have a right to be for this short stretch of time.

And though I don’t want to be selfish, I can’t stop wondering what this might mean for me and Lindy. If the courts keep Jo with her, I’ve basically outlived my usefulness to her. While we seem to have progressed, I’m also scared she’s making decisions in a heightened emotional state.

I meant to have an actual discussion with her about where we stand before kissing her again. But I screwed up being a jerk with the whole Neighborly thing, and then I started to kiss her again in the classroom. I don’t have a playbook for how to deal with my particular set of circumstances.

I turn the water to freezing cold for a few minutes, though my thoughts of the hearing have already significantly cooled me down. I shove all the worries into that dark cave of my mind where they belong.

Be gone, darkness! Head toward the light. That’s better.

I get out and wrap a towel around my hips, examining my red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. I’ve never been so grateful for an eye-washing station. I can safely say having glitter blown into my eyeballs is one of the least pleasant things I’ve experienced. And having shattered my ankle, that’s saying something.

Was it worth it though? Totally.

I step into the hallway and run right into Lindy. I grab her arms to keep her upright. Her skin is damp, and it takes me a minute to realize that like me, she’s also in just a towel.

“Sorry,” I say, telling my eyeballs they had better not stray from her face OR ELSE, despite their very strong urge to trace a path downward to see just where her towel starts and ends.

Her eyes are wide. “I forgot to bring a change of clothes downstairs with me.”

“It’s okay. Were you able to get all the glitter off?” Even as I ask this, I see a sparkle in her eyebrow. Best not to mention it.

“Probably not. I’m going to be covered in glitter forever. Just call me Sparkles McGee.”

“Okay, Sparkles.”

Her eyes drop down to my bare chest, and her eyes narrow. “You’ve got to stop walking around shirtless. I know why you’re doing it.”

“Why am I doing it, Sparkles?”

“To get a reaction out of me.”

Lindy says this like we didn’t share an epic kiss just last night. And that we didn’t just get caught almost repeating it at the elementary school.

I keep my expression as innocent as a little baby lamb leaping through a spring meadow. “And why would me shirtless get a reaction out of you?”

Lindy sputters, and I can’t help the lazy grin spreading across my face. “You know why,” she says.

I cross my arms over my chest, not because it makes all my muscles flex. Just because it’s comfortable, and I’m all about the comfort. “You realize I’m not the only one in a towel, right?”

Lindy’s hands fly to the knot holding up her thin towel, and she backs toward her room. “Stop looking!”

“I’m not. But this is one area where I’m okay with double standards. You can look all you want, Lindybird.”

I stretch my arms wide, hoping my towel stays in place. It does, and for a moment, Lindy does look. And look and look. Her eyes take a quick perusal of my abs and chest, a nice, little gazing tour of Patrick Graham.

Take your time, Lindybird. Make a map if you need too. All of this is yours, wife.

A little too soon for my taste, she slips inside her room and slams the door. “Put some clothes on!” she yells.

“You first!” I call back, just as thunder rumbles through the sky.

I noticed the dark clouds on the drive back from the elementary school, but I was too distracted by the pain in my eyes, and the reality that my truck will now be covered in glitter forever to pay much attention to the weather.

As I pull on jeans and a clean shirt, wind howls over the eaves. The whole house seems to creak and shudder. Thunder crashes again, this time followed by a flash of lightning and the sound of the first raindrops hitting the roof.

I hear Lindy’s door slam open, and she yells, “Pat! The laundry!”

Her feet are already pounding down the stairs by the time I get with the program. We washed clothes yesterday and it’s all hanging across the line to dry. Most notably, all the bed sheets. I’ve ordered a dryer Lindy doesn’t know about, but the only model that will fit in the tiny laundry space is on back order.

By the time I make it out of the back door, the rain is falling in earnest. Big, fat, stinging drops pelt my bare arms and feet. The dogs, clearly not scared of storms, push outside with me and run in circles, barking at the sky before taking shelter in the barn.

“It’s already soaked! Let’s just leave it!” I yell over the storm, but Lindy only shakes her head.

I’m not about to leave her out here alone, so I join Lindy at the line, unable to miss the way her T-shirt is plastered to her, clinging to every curve. I know I just saw her in a towel, but there’s something even more alluring about the wet shirt and the hints it gives.

Focus, Patty. I start tearing at the clothespins, keeping my eyes to the task at hand. But with the thunder crashing and lightning seeming to be all around us, the process is difficult. The wind whips the wet fabric around us. Have the sheets gotten bigger? It feels like acres of material, unwieldy and stubborn in the wind and rain.