Love, Exes, and Ohs (Cactus Creek #4)(4)

“Hey, that’s a damn cute puppy. I’m adding him to my list,” he declared, planting a quick peck on her cheek in greeting, along with an icy cold cup in her hand.

She wasn’t sure which was making her shiver.

“You have over two dozen dogs on that list of yours. Unless your future wife is Mrs. Doolittle, buddy, you’re going to have to start making some cuts to your future white picket fence pet,” she replied in an impressively steady tone.

It had taken awhile after their break-up, but with time, Isaac’s lips on her skin no longer made her punch-drunk with lust.

Not outwardly, at least.

Sipping his piping hot black coffee, he nodded over at the fancy iced mocha drink he’d brought for her—or as he liked to call it, the milk and sugar with a splash of caffeine—and gave her a smug smile as he reached for the bag of doughnuts she’d brought for their breakfast.

The man knew her frighteningly well.

It had begun as a game a while back. He’d guess what she was selecting for their little weekly breakfast picnic, and bring the drinks he knew would pair with it. In the last few months, he’d only been wrong once. And that was only because she’d purposely ordered the exact opposite of what she’d intended just to mess with him.

Of course, they’d ended up having to go out for a second breakfast that morning, but it had been worth it. She really had been craving biscuits and gravy that morning. It was freaky how he always managed to just know.

Isaac munched on a doughnut thoughtfully and watched the puppy in question flopping along next to the departing couple. “Nope, that one’s too cute. He’s staying on the list.” With a half shrug, he concluded, “I guess that means I’ll have to marry Mrs. Doolittle.”

Xoey was just plain shocked at the sharp bolt of pain she felt tearing through her chest over the joke.

“Hey, you okay, sweetie?”

Isaac squeezed her knee, a worried gaze running over her face. And then lower.

To where her hand was pressed hard against her heart.

“Heartburn,” she fibbed, rubbing her chest the way she saw folks on antacid commercials do it.

Instantly, her bag of bacon doughnuts were yanked off her lap. “I knew these things were bad for you. You’re calling your doctor in the morning to get a check-up. Sometimes, heartburn is a symptom of something dangerous.” Reaching into her pocket, he pulled out her phone and entered her password to unlock it.

She peered over and saw him googling something. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if these cups of liquid sugar and caffeine over ice you drink can cause heart problems.” He read through the results for a minute and shook his head. “Apparently not, but better to switch to tea or just plain water to be safe.”

Intense hazel eyes proceeded to x-ray every inch of her body, while gentle, utterly masculine hands that every inch of her body still remembered stroked her back.

She released a jagged breath.

Which of course, he interpreted as her final descent toward the big, bright light at the end of the tunnel.

He gripped her hand. “Do you want me to take you to urgent care or the E.R.?”

“I’m fine, Isaac. Calm down.”

He did not look convinced.

Which was probably why his fingers were now sliding over to her wrist to check her pulse.

Good lord, the man was just too lovable sometimes.

“I lied, I don’t have heartburn,” she admitted, to stop what was clearly going to be a call to 911 in a bit.

A puzzled frown crossed his features, along with marked relief. “What’s going on, Xo?”

“I just…I was holding my heart because I was jealous. Of Mrs. Doolittle.” She snatched back her precious bacon doughnuts. And to make this less of a declaration of the heart, she quickly threw in, “If you go off and have a few dozen puppies with Mrs. Doolittle, who’s going to come to the dog park with me every morning? I’m too old and set in my ways to break in a new weird friend who’ll get me the way you do.”

Silence.

Until warm, calloused fingers reached over and broke a piece of doughnut off of the one she’d been eating.

After a few quiet moments of chewing, Isaac slung his arm on the back of the bench behind her. “Can you imagine the industrial-sized pooper scooper I’d have to buy to pick up after a few dozen dogs?” He shook his head. “I think Mrs. Doolittle and I would be doomed within the first week,” he lamented gravely. “Looks like you’ll be stuck with me for a bit longer, babe.”

Improbable promise coming from a catch like Isaac or not, Xoey held on to it tight like a security blanket.

With no fitting response coming to mind, she simply passed him the chorizo breakfast burrito she’d packed for him this morning—one of his favorite handheld breakfast foods.

Then they sat and watched the dogs running around the park as they ate.

“Hey,” she asked softly when they’d run out of food. “Did you see the paintings of the town that were being sold at the art show over at the town center last week? The ones painted by the traveling artist who’d lost the use of her hands?”

An appreciative smile brightened his expression. “I did. I managed to stop by before it ended. They were good; she really captured Cactus Creek well. And last I heard, the business owners in town bought every single one of her pieces.”