The One Who Loves You (Tickled Pink #1)(72)

“Goats won’t milk themselves.”

“That’s why you have—”

She cuts herself off with a glance at me.

“What?” I ask. “What does he have?”

“Teenage labor,” he replies. “Lightly. Ass up off the floor. I’m not carrying you back to the school, and you’re not staying here tonight.”

“Why not? I’m a very quiet sleeper. You wouldn’t even know I was here.”

“He doesn’t have sleepovers with girls while I’m staying the night,” Bridget says. “And you’re, like, way too old to have a sleepover with a teenager without being creepy. I mean, even twenty would be too old, but you’re like forty-mmph!”

For the record, that’s not me clamping a hand over her mouth.

That’s her father.

And her eyes are sparkling like she’s enjoying this more than she enjoyed watching my entire family fall in sawdust all night and then kicking my ass in every game we’ve played since they got home and invited me in, and his eyes are tired but equally amused, like the two of them like each other, and he’s very much looking forward to the day when she’s old enough that he doesn’t have to chastise her for being mouthy anymore.

She says something unintelligible behind his hand, and the next thing I know, he’s released her so she can tap my halo. “Night, Phoebe. Sleep well so that we don’t have to do algebra homework all weekend when you get it wrong the first time.” She swings around to the ladder in the corner and scurries up it while Teague gestures me to the door.

“I can walk myself—” I start, but I get the eyeball of doom, and I shut up.

But not without another unexpected snort of laughter slipping out of my mouth.

“No more root beer for you,” he mutters before looking over at the ladder and raising his voice. “Bridget. Teeth and bed. Not kidding. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, Your Holy Emperor-ness,” she calls from upstairs.

Teague puts his hand on my lower back and guides me to the door.

I wonder how slowly I can walk back to the high school.

Or how quickly, if he knows any good dark alleys to slip into in Tickled Pink. There’s a nice dark alley behind the café, isn’t there? Or maybe one near the Ferris wheel?

I’m really starting to like the Ferris wheel.

It has potential.

Like me.

“Feeling better?” Teague asks me as he guides me out of the door, his hand on the small of my back.

“Since you went all po-po and broke up my party? Depends on if you’re offering another kind of party.” I bump his hip.

“Are you drunk? Were you slipping my kid vodka while I was sleeping?”

“No, Mr. Rules. She was getting me high on root beer. Am I old if I say I’ll be feeling this tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Once again, I crack up.

I don’t know if it’s funny because it’s late and I should be sleeping, too, or if it’s funny because it’s funny, but I do know one thing without a doubt. “I don’t laugh like this in New York.”

He pauses and glances at me in the soft yellow light, and before I can question what he’s doing, he’s grabbed my hand and is tugging me up the exterior stairwell.

“Why are your stairs outside? And why is your foyer—”

He pulls me against him and clamps a hand over my mouth. “Shh.”

Oh.

Right.

Bridget can hear us, and if I’m getting booty call time, I need to be quiet.

I giggle again.

“Are you slaphappy?” he whispers.

“I’m free,” I whisper back. Wow. It’s odd to say that out loud.

And he’s gazing at me in the dim light as though it’s even odder than I think it is.

I open my mouth to expand on that, but he taps a finger to my lips again and then tugs me along, up all four flights of steps, all the way to—“Oh, wow.”

His tree house has a rooftop terrace, and it’s so high in the trees there aren’t any branches blocking the view.

“Where did the stars go?” I whisper as I lean into his solid body, my face aimed at the heavens.

There are a few, but not as many as the night they were glittering the sky. Yes, glittering the sky.

“Moon’s too bright,” he murmurs in my ear.

I shiver.

Not because it’s chilly outside but because I have a feeling being up on this rooftop terrace with my grumpy lumberjack will make tonight even better.

I inhale deeply, and there it is again—that subtle whiff of chocolate.

It’s one more bit of hidden goodness in this town that I thought I’d hate.

I’d still sacrifice a small child for an hour with my massage therapist, and I miss wearing Armani, and I would willingly starve myself for four days if the reward were a night out at any of the city’s Michelin-starred restaurants.

I wouldn’t be picky.

But I’m also happy to be here.

I shift to look at Teague, and something else catches my eye. “You can see the Ferris wheel from here.”

“You can see the whole town from here.” His large hands slide over my belly, and he pulls my back against him while I turn to take in the rest of the view.