Page 51 of Wishing Hearts

“Hey, it’s all right,” I tell him, giving his wrist a squeeze and leaving my hand there atop the table. “You don’t have to justify it. We already talked this through, and I’m on board. I don’t mind waitin’ to tell your daughter.”

Harrison whooshes out a breath, looking relieved.

“You live close by?” Frank asks. He clasps his hands together, gauging me, if I had to guess.

“I do, sir,” I tell him. “I have an apartment in Houston.”

“Yet you two found each other in Plum Valley,” Cordelia cuts in, smiling. It’s a smile that reminds me of Harrison. “How interesting.”

“Fortuitous,” I agree.

Harrison gives me a soft look before nodding down at my plate. Breakfast, right. I dig back into my waffles as Frank and Harrison start talking logistics of the treehouse.

“I need the lumber still,” Harrison is saying. “Cement, too. And some hardware.”

“Then go get it,” Frank says. “Your mother and I will stay here with Winnie.”

“You’re sure?” Harrison responds. I don’t know why he looks so guilty about the idea. It seems like his parents are happy to help.

“Absolutely,” his mom says. “We’ll have a great time.”

Harrison looks to me next. “And you’re sure you want to stay? You don’t have to—”

“I’m stayin’,” I tell him, setting my fork down. “Honestly, it sounds like a blast. You know I’ve got energy to spare.”

Harrison huffs a laugh at that.

“Might as well put me to use,” I add, giving him a wink.

I didn’t intend any double meaning with that comment, but by the way Harrison looks at me, I can tell he took it as such.

“You’re my man?” he asks.

My pulse fires, and I shoot him a grin, rolling the words I want to say around inside my head. My hands, my body, they’re all yours.

Instead, I tell him, “You’re catchin’ on, stud. So, are we doin’ this?”

Harrison pushes out of his seat. “Guess so. Come on, Sam. Let’s go build a treehouse.”

Chapter 15

Harrison

It’s late morning by the time Sam and I get back to my house, the bed of his truck loaded with lumber. The first thing he does once he parks is settle his cowboy hat atop his head. The second thing is lower the tailgate and heft a bunch of boards onto his shoulder.

I watch, more than a little tongue-tied, as Sam hauls the wood toward my backyard, his navy t-shirt stretched taut around his back and arms. I want to be stretched around his back and arms.

Great, now I’m jealous of a shirt.

Grabbing a few boards myself, I follow Sam through the open gate into my backyard. The tree we’re building around is an oak, big and sprawling with a thick trunk and plenty of shade to offer. It’s the only large tree in my backyard. The rest of the space is open or filled with lower bushes and flowerbeds.

Sam is beside the oak when I arrive, appraising the tree. When he sees me approaching, he gives me a grin.

“This is gonna be great,” he says.

“You really don’t have to do this, Sam,” I tell him for the dozenth time. “I don’t want you to feel obligated—”

“Stud, I’m gonna stop you right there,” he says, facing me as if he’s squaring off. His hands are on his hips, shiny silver belt buckle flashing in the sun. It’s not the Longhorn-shaped one, but it’s still big and decorative, and I want to rip it right off his body. “Spendin’ time with my…”

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