Page 52 of Grouch-ish

“Time,” I whisper.

“Time for what?”

Leaning toward her, I hover over her mouth. My gaze seeks her eyes, hoping she’ll take my meaning.

When she doesn’t close the distance, I accept that I need to ask for what I want. “Kiss me.”

Pear leans forward and our mouths meet but the kiss is too quick and stiff.

Nope. Not having this. “I’m sorry I snapped,” I say as I pull back. “That’s on me. Nat is a difficult subject.”

“And you should really talk to someone about him.”

“I—” My rejection of the idea cuts off when she lifts those blue eyes to me. Eyes the color of a cold lake that was meant to cleanse me of any negativity. “I’ll think about it.”

“Really?” Her brows lift. Her eyes widen.

“Yes.” I’m not just blowing a promise at her, either. “I’ll look into something when I get home. For now, I’m serving my twelve-day . . . service.”

“Service?” Pear snorts, but the sound is more humor than sarcasm. “You should be servicing me, then.”

I grin, tipping up a brow, before Pear blushes and recants. “I meant serve. You should be serving me.” She waves at the spread on the table.

“I will. Take a seat. I’ll bring over the cheese board and a glass of wine.” I arch a brow to confirm that’s what she’d like.

“That sounds perfect.”

Reaching for her hair again, I scoop pieces behind her ear. “You’re perfect, baby.”

Day 8

Eight cows need milkin’

January 2

Chapter 14

[Pear]

Brock was not expecting my enthusiasm for a football game, and his surprise shows when I pull out a deck of battered old cards.

“Let’s play a game.”

“Now?” he questions.

“Pick two cards. And I’ll pick two cards.”

He peers skeptically at me but tugs two from the fanned deck in my hands. While he waits patiently, I draw two.

“Okay, we can share our cards with each other.” I show him I have the seven of spades and the three of diamonds.

He has the eight of clubs and the queen of hearts.

“At the end of the first quarter, if the score is seven to three or anything ending in seven or three, I win. And if the score is eight to twelve, or anything ending in eight with a twelve, you win.”

Brock scoffs. “For my team or yours?” He’s still shocked I’m a Georgia fan while he’s all Michigan.

“Either team.”