Page 58 of Playing Dirty
“Rhett,” she started, catching up to me, “you don’t have to?—”
“Remember, if you like it, we’re buying it,” I cut in, dropping the whole pile onto the counter. “No arguments.”
She put a hand on her hip, shooting me one of those looks. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re gorgeous,” I countered, nodding to the bewildered cashier. “Ring it all up.”
The kid behind the counter started scanning tags, trying not to stare at us too hard. Every time Callie opened her mouth, I caught the protest before it got momentum. Jeans, boots, that little black dress I was still picturing crumpled on my bedroom floor—didn’t matter what it cost, it went in the bag.
When the last tag beeped, I slid my card across the counter. Callie was watching me then, quiet, something softer in her eyes than I’d ever seen before.
Her smile—it wasn’t flashy, just small and real, and it hit me harder than any punch I’d ever taken.
The cashier cleared her throat awkwardly, sliding the bags toward me. I took them in one hand, reached for hers with the other, and laced our fingers together.
“Come on,” I murmured, giving her hand a squeeze. “Let’s get out of here before I buy the whole damn store.”
The sun was dropping low by the time we turned into my drive, the sky burning orange over the tree line. I wasn’t expecting company, but there they were—Tessa and Colt by their SUV, juggling the twins out of their car seats, Sawyer’s truck rumbling up behind them.
Hell.
“I’d forgotten to tell everyone dinner’s off,” I muttered.
Callie laughed, her hand warm on my thigh. “Guess that’s what happens when you have a big day.”
Big day was an understatement.
I pulled up beside Colt, leaning out my window. “Change of plans—Callie already knows the truth. I just helped speed up the process.”
Colt grinned, Tessa’s smile matching his. “So…we’re still eating, right?”
Instead of sending them packing, I waved them toward the house. “Get inside. We’ll make it a party.”
Within the hour, the great room smelled like Ropers’ kitchen had moved in—ribs, brisket, cornbread, the works. I’d raided my wine cellar, and Sawyer was already holding the most expensive bottle I owned up to the light like it was a damn trophy.
“You know these were meant for a special occasion, right?” I said, stepping up beside him.
Sawyer’s grin was pure mischief. “This not special enough?”
I thought about Callie across the room, down on the rug with the twins, letting them drool on her new jeans without a care in the world. Yeah, this was special enough.
“Pop it,” I said. “Today counts.”
The cork went flying, and glasses started clinking. Colt turned on some old George Strait, Tessa passed around plates, and for a while, it was just food, laughter, and that easy kind of noise that makes a house feel like home.
Callie blended seamlessly into the chaos of the evening. She chuckled at Sawyer’s corny jokes, allowing Tessa to pull her into the delightful challenge of feeding both twins mashed potatoes simultaneously.
At one point, Tessa leaned in and, with a wicked grin, told her she wasn’t getting Pickles back—the twins adored that cat, and lately, she’d taken to curling up in their crib at night like she’d appointed herself as their babysitter.
Callie laughed, shaking her head, but I could see she secretly loved the idea. Every now and then, she would catch my gaze, a spark of disbelief dancing in her eyes, as if she couldn’t quite grasp how far we had come together.
And I couldn’t either.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, wine glass in hand, watching Callie and Tessa catch up on old times, when Sawyer eased up beside me.
“You’re quiet,” I said.
“Thinking,” he answered, low enough no one else would catch it.
