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My brother leans forward to see around me. “We are townies, Charlie.”

She gives him a matching grin. “Yeah, but the cool kind, not the ‘this is our town, no outsiders’ sort of townies. Besides” — she blushes — “getting me arrested would make you officially the worst brother-in-law ever!”

She doesn’t wait for our reaction before she turns and hightails it into the cabin. Had she stayed, she’d have been the first person to ever watch my cheeks grow hot. Instead, I had to listen to Michael tease me about how bad I have it and how she’ll have me domesticated in no time.

Something we both know is neither possible nor true.

But I let Michael have his fun. It’s what brothers do, right?

He doesn’t knock it off until our parents’ three-story lakeside home comes into view. Our home for the weekend—my mother’s idea, a chance for the family to spend time together and to bond more.

“Daniel,” Michael says, pulling me back, “I’m really happy you found your one.” He clears his throat when the words get stuck. It’s hard because we’re not like this. I’m not like this.

“I have you’re back like you had mine. Whatever you need,” he promises.

His words mean a lot. I don’t say that, though. I just give a solid nod.

“And for what it’s worth, I really like her. She’ll come around in the end.”

This time, I don’t spare him a glance when I climb out of my truck. Because although I wouldn’t be able to express to him how important his opinion is, even if I could say the words, I know that I don’t need to.

Not with him and apparently not with Charlotte.

I have never really thought about souls and being bound. I have just always known that I was meant to be here with Michael to protect and watch over him.

But now I know, without a doubt, that the three of us are connected.

I feel it.

Michael and Charlotte are mine, but something is missing. As I walk up the wooden stairs and past the trick-or-treat signs, I can’t help but picture a few additions to the Cromwell household, a few extra souls waiting to join us.

CHAPTERSEVEN

Charlie

“Ahhh!”

The scream startles me, and I drop the red plastic cup, the contents spilling onto the counter.

Billy! The asshole.

What is it with men needing to scare the crap out of their girlfriends? Do they enjoy us wanting to cuddle after? Do they like feeling as if they saved the day, despite the fact we wouldn’t need it if they didn’t scare us out of our minds?

Morons . . . or maybe it’s just these three because Daniel and his brother didn’t seem stupid.

That’s what it is: age. I tell myself I’m never dating a college boy again.

Not that I ever have. Well, not really.

At the thought of Daniel, my irritation rises. I haven’t heard anything from him all day. Of course I haven’t—the man didn’t even ask for my number.

I’ve changed my mind. It’s not men, it’s me.

I’m the moron.

Why did I think he’d call or come by?

Tilting my head back, I sigh. I’m disappointed and embarrassed. I let a man I don’t know do . . . I don’t even know what to call it. Is it spanking if he didn’t touch my ass?