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“Just casual sex until you move out. NDAs for both parties, because obviously, my family can never know.”

I would’ve laughed at that if this whole fucking situation didn’t feel like a tornado had just transplanted this damn house into the land of Oz.

My tongue burned like hot lead in my mouth, wanting to fire out the answer yes like a loaded gun. But I couldn’t. We couldn’t. Still my eyes traveled over the almost adorable attempt at legal agreement for two people to engage in ‘intimate relations including but not limited to: kissing, fondling, oral sex, sex, at mutually agree upon times for the duration of their cohabitation.’

“I left room to add in any specifics for boundaries or preferences or, umm, any kind of kinks⁠—”

“No,” I practically snarled. Fuck. It was bad enough when she kept repeating the word breed the other day, my dick like Pavlov’s dog, salivating at the fantasy of breeding her. Or pretending to. There was no way this could happen. Not a fucking chance.

“I said we’re not doing this. The kiss was a mistake,” I bit out and shoved her phone back at her.

She reeled like I’d been the one to slap her this time, and even though I shouldn’t back down because it was just so much easier when she fucking hated me—when she didn’t know how damn badly I wanted her back.

“Blaze.” I stiffened when she said my name. “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”

Fuck. A stream of hot air hissed through my lips as she threw my own question back at me, the sting of it like a whip to my chest.

I would agree. I would sign her damn contract, that’s what I would do. I would have her.

And I would jeopardize everyone and everything in the process.

“We can’t,” I said coarsely, and grabbing my keys, I walked around her, not trusting myself to stick to my decision if I didn’t leave now.

Of all the fucking insane things to propose, like it would be that easy for me to just…have her. To not be afraid it would fuck up everything…and that I would fuck everything up for her.

I stormed out of the house and got in my car, making it all the way to Ailene’s house with one thought still buried like a bullet into my psyche: what if it was that easy?

What if I could have Harper and not hurt anyone in the process?

Chapter 13

Harper

“Ihave a surprise for you.” The five words you never wanted to hear from Frankie Collins. Especially when I’d just parked outside my aunt’s house.

The last time my cousin had a surprise for me, it was the day my honey ended up on shelves for sale in the Stonebar Farms store; I guess it was partially my fault for assuming the dozen jars she’d purchased were all for herself and Chandler, but still. Bringing my product to the local market without telling me was…bold.

But it was still selling out of my aunt’s store, so she’d argue it had been the right thing. “A necessary leap of faith.”

“If this has something to do with what I told you, I’ll never forgive you,” I muttered, picking up my pace to keep stride with hers.

Regret settled like a boulder in my stomach for calling and telling Frankie what happened with Blaze earlier this week. She was so sure that the contract idea would work, and after having it thrown back—spectacularly—in my face, the first outlet for my frustration had been to text her and tell her it hadn’t worked. That I was right. And Blaze wasn’t interested enough apparently.

“It doesn’t,” she said first, pausing at the front door to her mom’s house, and then added, “Not directly.”

Great.

She opened the door, and I braced for what was on the other side—at this point, anticipating Blaze tied up to a dining chair with a Santa hat on his head à la Christmas Vacation. Relief whooshed from my chest when I saw that wasn’t the case. No surprises waited for me in the empty hallway, and nothing but the sound of kids squealing and small feet running echoed down the corridor, my cousins’ familiar voices then yelling after them.

“This way.” Her eyes sparkled, and linking her arm through mine, she guided me toward the kitchen where I knew there would be a charcuterie board and a crowd of family around it.

We made it as far as the doorway before she stopped short to avoid running into the man walking out of the kitchen.

“Marc,” I blurted out, my mouth gaping wide. I stared like he was a ghost, a laughing ghost with that casual, warm smile.

“I invited Marc to the cookout since he was in the area all day with us,” Frankie explained, beaming with her self-assessed genius idea.

I remembered she’d mentioned that, after seeing the photos Marc had taken of me, she’d reached out to him to do headshots and promo material for her. She never mentioned he accepted or that he was coming today or that she was going to invite him here.