Page 129 of Small Town, Big Storm

And for the first time, I consider not stopping him.

Too bad, he stops himself, sighs, and shakes his head with the beleaguered bemusement of a man used to dealing with Shep’s shenanigans.“I so can’t wait for you to get a taste of your own medicine.”

“Who me?”Shep asks with the innocence of a man who believes his own bullshit.

Or is clinging to it, anyway.

“Yes, you,” I say, narrowing my eyes.“I can see the headline now—TOWN FLORIST LEVELS COCKY DEFENSEMAN.”

“Eh”—he shrugs—“I can take The Enforcer.”

Storm snorts.

I laugh outright.

Then I brush my lips over Storm’s stubbled jaw.“See you upstairs?”He nods, so I move over to Shep and give him a quick hug.“Holly’s going to be up bright and early, so keep the Shep-nanigans to a minimum please.”

“I’m gonna need a T-shirt with that.”A beat.“STAT.”

I roll my eyes.“You’re incorrigible.”

“No,” he teases.“I’m Shep, remember?”

Another roll of my eyes, another sigh.“Goodnight, Shep,” I call as I walk to the door.“And consider your apology officially accepted.”I type in the code.

“You sure you don’t need another part-time bartender?”

Laughter bubbles in my chest, but I keep it contained as I pull open the door and head upstairs.

The first thing I do once I’m inside the apartment is check on Holly.

She’s sleeping, arms and legs akimbo, blanket almost puddled on the floor, her stuffed “Gerald” tucked under one arm.

Heart squeezing—because, God, I love my little girl—I tuck her properly into bed, pat Gerald on the head, and then I go to the bathroom.Even with only one good hand, it doesn’t take long for me to wash and moisturize my face, to brush my teeth, then to go into the bedroom and tug on my pajamas.

But I don’t crawl under the covers and go to sleep.

Instead, I go over to the closet, climb on top of my dresser, and reach up on tippy-toe?—

“What the hell are you doing, Poppyseed?”

I freeze.Then glare at Storm over my shoulder.“Don’t do that!”

He’s at my side a second later, lifting me down like I weigh nothing.“You already have a broken arm,” he grumbles, bringing me to the bed and setting me on the edge of the mattress.“Are you trying to get a broken leg too?”

“I was fine.”I sniff, even as part of me melts at his concern—bossy and grumpy as it is.

It’s been a long time—hell, maybe it’s never really been a thing, having someone take care of me.

“What?”he asks.“Did I hurt you?”

“No.Not at all,” I add when concern drifts into those stormy gray eyes.My heart squeezes because I know what I was toying with a week ago is real, is true.

I’m in love with Storm Harrison.

And I always have been.

“Pop?”he murmurs.