Page 113 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"I thought staying out of his life was better than showing up every few months and making everything harder."

"Maybe you believed that too."

"I still do."

Jack meets my eyes. "Then why do you look like you want me to tell you you're wrong?"

I don't have an answer. Or maybe I do. I just don't want to say it yet.

Jack rests a hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to figure out the rest of your life today."

"That your professional opinion?"

"My professional opinion is about soil and veterans who lie about knowing how to drive tractors."

Despite myself, I smile. His hand drops.

"But as your friend?"

I wait.

"Don't end something good because you're afraid it might hurt someday."

The smile disappears. Jack holds my gaze.

"And don't make Maddy's decisions for her. If she chooses you, Martinez, have enough respect for her to believe she knows what she's choosing."

He heads back toward the trailer. I stay where I am.

I work until mid-afternoon. The ground is still wet, but the drainage ditch is clear and the damaged section of fence is repaired. By the time I get home, my shoulders ache and there's mud dried halfway up my jeans.

Atlas heads straight for his water bowl. I shower, change, and stand in the kitchen, realizing I haven't eaten since breakfast.

My phone buzzes on the counter. Maddy.

Important question.

I stare at the screen, then type: I'm afraid to ask.

You should be.

A second message appears. Noah wants to know whether Atlas likes peanut butter.

I look toward the living room.

"Atlas."

He lifts his head.

I type: Yes.

Three dots. Follow-up question. How strongly does Atlas feel about peanut butter on a scale of one to ten?

I glance at him. "Ten?" Atlas gets up. "Eleven?" He comes into the kitchen. I type: Twelve.

Her reply: That's what I told him. Apparently I'm learning things about dogs.

Then another. How was the farm?