Page 55 of This Broken Heart

Maybe somebody gets ambitious enough to bring a bag of chips.

Erin doesn’t know this.

She’s been working away in the kitchen all afternoon, even after I told her she didn’t need to trouble herself.

I lean on the doorframe, watching her roll dough out on the counter. “Now what are you making?”

“Synonym rolls.” Trace declares.

Erin and I glance at each other, mutually amused.

I tilt my head. “To go with the antonym soup?”

Trace looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “It’s chili.”

Erin laughs. Trace glances at her with a big grin. “He doesn’t know much about cooking.”

“Not like you.” She says, booping his nose. Her finger leaves a smudge of flour on his nose.

“Are you helping?” I ask him.

He nods. “It was my idea.”

Erin smiles, showing him how to sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on the dough. “He said cinnamon rolls were his favorite.”

“Dad’s too.” Trace declares, giving me away.

She glances at me, looking almost shy.

This woman is going to be my undoing. She’s got on a white sweater than exposes both shoulders. Big hoop earrings just draw the eye to her delicate neck and then back down the slope of her bare shoulders. I want nothing more than to lift those soft curls from her neck and see if she tastes as good as I remember.

Cinnamon rolls from scratch and wearing that sweater? I’ll be lucky if none of my friends tries to carry her off.

The front door creaks open and Bo’s voice booms out. “Honey, I’m home.”

In her room, Maven starts wailing.

“Oh, shit. I’ve got her.” Bo calls from the living room.

Dusty and Skyler walk in next. It probably says something that none of my friends bother knocking. But we’ve known each other our whole lives. Not much is off limits between us. They’re like brothers to me. They even treat my kids like their niece and nephew.

Dusty strides into the kitchen, depositing two six packs in the fridge before turning to lean up against the counter next to Trace. “What are you making?”

“Rolls.” Trace says, giving me a flat look. Clearly, he knew we were having a joke at his expense before.

“From scratch?” Dusty asks, almost reverently. He looks at me. “She cooks for you?”

Erin shrugs, not lifting her focus from her work. “All part of the job description.”

I tilt my head, looking at her. Was it?

“Come work for me.” Dusty says, grinning at her.

“You don’t have kids.” I point out.

“I’ve got a dog.” He cranes his head, trying to catch her eye. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it.”

“Okay, get out.” I say, shooing him away from her.