Page 47 of All I Need

I’m screwed.

Hopefully.

I quickly throw on the oldest pair of yoga pants I can find in my dresser. They possibly have a tiny hole in the butt. I don’t really care. They’re so perfect at this point that I could wear them every single day. I also pull on my thickest pair of socks I normally reserve for wintertime because it turns out that Willow is a full size bigger than me. But the boots are strangely cute for being made of rubber and I’ll definitely be ordering a pair for myself soon.

The problem comes when I put on the t-shirt Walker handed me right after I parked my car. Why the problem? Because it’s obviously one of his. And smells like him and that’s far from a bad thing but as I stand in my bedroom smelling the shirt for a stupid amount of time before I realize what I’m doing, I have to fight back the desire to moan. It’s the perfect combination of man and whatever body wash or laundry detergent he uses. There’s not even a hint of expensive cologne, which is what I’m used to, and I can’t believe I’ve been missing this my entire life.

I tie a knot in the side because it’s swimming on me, but the well-worn material is incredibly soft and I’m positive I’m never giving it back to him. Unless, of course, it’s covered in cow poo at the end of the night. Which it sounds is quite possible. In that case, I’ll have to wrangle another one from him somehow because this shirt is cotton heaven.

I allow myself one more good sniff then toss my hair in a messy bun and make my way back downstairs.

“I’ll be back later, Miss Polly,” I tell her as I bend down to kiss her cheek. When I came home a few minutes ago I promised her I’d tell her all about my first day later but that Walker was waiting for me so I needed to hurry. This was done very strategically. I knew that using him as an excuse would be the only way she would allow me to pass by her without giving her a full report.

“Have a good evening with Walker.”

“And pregnant cows.”

“Pardon?”

“He’s taking me to some farm with pregnant cows.”

“He’s so romantic.”

“Right? I swooned the whole way home,” I joke. Even though I really did. After him practically burning a hole in the material of my dress from resting his strong hand against my back, and just being in his presence all day long, I could have skipped home.

Her voice stops me in my tracks when I turn around. “Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“To him, it is.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the tears from forming because just a few weeks ago I was preparing to marry another man. Today I can’t even think of anyone but Walker and feel butterflies over going to see pregnant cows with him, cow poo or no cow poo. And now I’m living in this woman’s house who I adore and feel like I’ve known my entire life. Life is so damn strange.

“Go. Have fun,” she says. Her eyes soften before she looks back down at whatever she’s knitting in her lap.

“Do you need me to bring you anything for dinner tonight?”

“Oh shush. I can handle feeding myself. Besides, your lasagna is going to be even better the second time around.”

I grin at her and kiss the top of her head then make my way back outside.

Walker is sitting on the front porch and when I step through the door he stands and smiles.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He chuckles lightly then we make our way to his pickup. He opens my door and another glaringly obvious difference between the before and after slams into me. No one has ever opened my door for me. In all honesty, I thought it was something you only read about or saw in movies and it never bothered me to open my own door. It wasn’t as if I was incapable of doing so and it seemed so old fashioned.

But standing next to Walker with his hand on the open-door frame while he holds it open so I can climb in his pickup, I understand why it’s one of the simplest but most adored actions in romance.

Old fashioned or not, it’s sexy as hell.

“You know I can open my own door.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

I roll my eyes but can’t deny he speaks the truth.

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