Page 27 of Stuck with Me

ME

Are you fucking serious?

And now I hate you!

CAMMIE

No you don’t. You love me.

ME

Fine. I love you. I need you here to play defense.

CAMMIE

They’re predicting a storm tomorrow afternoon so we’re planning on leaving in the morning before it hits.

ME

Hurry! S.O.S.

“You wanna check out my work and see if you approve?” Nico calls over his shoulder.

I go back into the kitchen and inspect his progress. “It looks good. Time to spread the butter and sprinkle on the filling.”

“You need help with that?”

I set the bag of frozen veggies on the counter behind me and pick up the spatula. “I think I got it covered, Mr. Cocky.”

“Maybe when the week is done, you’ll have a nickname narrowed down to just one.”

“Why? You don’t like that one?” I spread the butter across the dough.

“Actually, that one might be my favorite.” He flashes me a sly grin.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Jury’s still out.”

He backs up until he reaches the counter behind him and leans against it. “Anything’s gotta be better than Mr. Cabin-Stealer.”

I shoot a glare at him. “But that one might be the most fitting.”

His sigh is audible.

We’re quiet for a few moments and the low hum of Zach Bryan’s voice can be heard from the Bluetooth in the corner of the kitchen. I pick up the bowl of brown sugar and cinnamon and spread it across the buttered dough. For a second or two, my mind shifts to a memory of Gigi impatiently waiting for a batch of my cinnamon rolls to cool so she could devour them. She loved my cinnamon rolls. And not just because it’s the only thing I can bake.

“You know that’s not my intention?” Nico says, jolting me from my memories. “If I had it my way, this cabin wouldn’t even exist. You, your grandmother, none of y’all would exist.”

The alcohol is already working its magic. It’s not only numbing the pain in my throbbing wrist, but it’s also giving me liquid courage I hadn’t realized I needed.

“Then what is your intention?”

He pushes a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he finally says.

I don’t believe him. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” Emotions stick in my throat.

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