I am such a nerd. The opposite of whatever you would call a cool person.
In other words, I have exactly zero chill.
Zeke—tall, growly, stupidly hot Zeke—is currently carrying my suitcase like it’s made of feathers, muscles rippling beneath his shirt, while I trail behind him like some sweatier, more confused version of Cinderella arriving late to a pool party.
He doesn’t talk much.
Just glances over his shoulder occasionally to make sure I haven’t face-planted on the graveled walkway that leads to the stairs outside Avery’s home.
His expression is all hard lines and broody intensity, but I swear there’s a twitch of amusement in his jaw every time I trip over the tiny pebbles like a newborn giraffe.
We round the porch, and I spot a small figure barreling toward us.
A tiny, furry blur of energy with teeth, curls, and zero fear.
Rosie.
Avery’s daughter. Only she is butt ass naked.
“Hi, Casey! I missed you. Mommy said you were coming for a visit!”