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Declan looked at him. That was it.

Clayton sighed. “Fine. Whatever.”

I got out laughing.

The goat bleated.

Clayton went directly to it, climbing onto the rear bumper and checking its water before scratching the top of its head between the horns.

The goat leaned into him.

That somehow made the entire thing more confusing.

“You two seem close,” I said.

“Jealous?”

“Devastated.”

“Understandable.”

He went back to scratching between the goat’s horns.

Whatever Clayton was doing with the goat, at least the goat appeared to be getting five-star accommodations.

He glanced back at me, giving me that sweet smile again. “It is kind of a cute goat, though, huh?”

“You are such a goofball,” I told him.

“A hot goofball. And you love it,” he shot back.

I rolled my eyes, laughing as I made my way to the house.

And there it was. That warm, comfortable affection I had for him. Easy. Safe. Deep enough that I could not imagine my life without him.

Why couldn’t I feel for Clayton what I felt for Declan? Even a small spark of that inferno would have been enough. It would have made everything easier.

Behind him, Chief slammed the back of the Suburban shut.

My attention snapped to him immediately. Of course it did. I hated myself a little for it.

He walked toward the house without looking at me.

Ruckus came up beside me, his backpack hanging from one shoulder.

“You know staring at him isn’t technically a hobby, right?”

I elbowed him.

He grinned and dodged away.

“Shut up, Ruckus,” I told him.

He held both hands up. “Just trying to help.”

“Try less.”

“I get that a lot.”