Page 37 of Dump Tackle My Heart
“They’remashed, aren’t they?” Tank grins, scooping the potato back up and tossing it into the sink.
I choke on my laugh.
“You’re a menace.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re trying not to laugh, Sweetheart.”
Oh, hell.
There goes my professionalism.
I duck behind the camera, pretending to check the focus so he can’t see my smile.
But he knows.
Tankalwaysknows.
And honestly?
I’m not sure I mind.
Not today.
Not in this little snowy bubble of a holiday with a human golden retriever who worships my body like it’s his job and makes me smile without even trying.
“Ready for the next clip, Sweetheart?”
God help me, I nod.
But I’m not sure that I am ready.
Not really.
I adjust the angle of the video camera and grab my smartphone, then I just take him in.
Hudson—Tank—is standing there in that ridiculous apron with all his ridiculous muscles and tattoos, and that bad boy grin of his inside of Mitchell Knight’s million dollar cabin—and he looks perfect.
It should be absurd.
Itisabsurd.
I meannothingshould look that good on a man who spent the morning trying to figure out the difference between sweet potatoes and white potatoes while sneakily touching my lower back every time he passed behind me.
Still, we have a timeline to keep.
Thanksgiving dinner is already half-plated, and I need to grab these last clips before we lose the golden hour lighting coming through the cabin windows.
Plus, I need to see if we can open the side door to get outside for a few shots of him tossing a rugby ball in the air.
Then, once I’ve taken and edited the photos and videos, and added the proper background music and voiceovers, I can load them to all the Rovers social media platforms.
#HolidayWithTheRovers
#ThankfulForTank
#PRGoals
The reel I posted last night with Tank brining the turkey—shirtless, smiling, flexing in that infuriatingly innocent way—already has over a million views.
