We Have Till Monday by Cara Dee (moboreader .TXT) 📕

One problem, though. In my worry not to fuck up and get lost, I’d thought, I’ll check out the ranch first, and then I can go to my motel. In other words, I was approximately five hours early, so I wasn’t staying here.

I exhaled some smoke and rubbed a kink out of my neck.

The afternoon sun felt good on my skin. Hella good.

I’d shed my hoodie before I’d reached the Nashville area. I didn’t know what direction that city was in at this point, because I had no actual business there. The food festival took place in Franklin, a suburb. The music festival would bring us to a wooded area near Murfreesboro, its own city and another suburb. My motel was near there too. And Littlefield Ranch was closer to Franklin but still located in the middle of fucking nowhere.

I needed a drink. A long shower, a nap, and a strong drink.

I took a deep drag and leaned back against my truck.

All right. I knew where the ranch was now. I’d finish my smoke, and then—

The sound of a vehicle slowing down interrupted my planning, and I pulled down my shades to see a truck appearing in the blazing sunlight. It could be someone who worked for August King—or the man himself. Either way, I was probably in the way, and I shouldn’t be here in the first place.

I was opening the door to my truck when I heard a man holler.

“You lost, sir?”

In general, or…?

I shook my head and flicked a glance his way. Fuck. It looked like it could be King. The sun prevented me from seeing past a hazy image of him surrounded by a halo of light, but it reminded me of him. Now I couldn’t just say no and drive off.

“Just stretching my legs,” I replied. “I thought I’d swing by to make sure I knew where the ranch was before checking in to my motel. I’m one of the participants for tomorrow.”

“Oh.” He sounded a little surprised, and then he opened the door and stepped out.

Jesus.

The white tee he wore underneath an open flannel shirt stuck to him like a second skin and revealed a stocky frame with defined muscles and a broad chest. He was taller in real life, too. Undeniably handsome. A lot of silver in his hair. Well-worn jeans that hugged his thighs.

He put a polite smile on his face and extended a hand.

I’d studied those hands more times than I cared to admit.

“An early introduction, then. I’m August King.”

Yes, you fucking are.

“Anthony Fender.” I shook his hand, a warm, firm grasp, and I was glad I was wearing shades. Because I wasn’t sure I could eye-fuck him discreetly without them.

“The New Yorker,” he replied with a smirk. A too-charming grin that reached his eyes and crinkled the corners. “Camden was happy when he told me you’d RSVP’d for the barbecue tonight.”

That didn’t really compute. I didn’t know why Camden would be happy about that.

It sounded like confirmation about him attending tonight, though. Even though they were married and lived together, this was King’s event, and I wasn’t assuming I’d meet Camden too. Especially not since they appeared to make it a habit to keep things separate.

I didn’t know how to respond, and luckily I didn’t have to. King excused himself and retrieved his phone from his pockets; it must’ve been set to vibrate.

“I’m almost home, darlin’,” he said to…Camden, probably. “Seven, like you said.”

While he was distracted, I couldn’t not take the opportunity to memorize his features. He had more silver in his hair than I’d anticipated. Maybe the lighting in the videos changed the color. It made me wonder how old he was. His Wikipedia page didn’t actually reveal his age, but I’d guessed late forties, early fifties.

I stubbed out my smoke and put it into my pack.

August and Camden were discussing ingredients, perhaps for the barbecue tonight, and there seemed to be an issue about the number of something.

“There’s no need for that,” he said in a reassuring tone. “I’ll make kabobs instead.” He paused and quirked a grin my way. “Yup, I’ll be home in a minute. I stumbled upon a New Yorker at the gate.”

I felt my forehead crease with bewilderment. Was I missing some inside joke here? ’Cause that’s what it sounded like.

King relayed what I’d said, about driving by to make sure I knew the location, and then Camden must’ve interrupted King, who laughed and scratched his car key against his eyebrow.

“I had a feelin’ you’d react that way. I’ll ask him,” he responded. “See you soon.”

Impatience surged forward within me, and I folded my arms over my chest.

I was definitely missing something.

“Apologies for that.” He pocketed his phone again. “If you don’t have any plans right now, Camden would love to meet you.” He smiled faintly at my evident confusion. “He picked the winners and became an admirer of yours after checking out your account.”

I had to look like a fucking question mark, but it didn’t seem like I was gonna get any further clarification.

Maybe Camden wanted to learn how to play the guitar or something. It was the only reasonable explanation.

“I don’t have any plans.” I shrugged with one shoulder.

“Great.” He gestured past the gate. “Just follow me.”

Not for the first time lately, I wondered what the hell I was doing.

We got back into our trucks, and I drove after him, past the gate and up the long road that slanted over an expansive hill. And once we reached the top and started descending, it became clear exactly where we were. This was the background to most of their cooking videos.

A large ranch sat at the bottom of the hill, pristine white against the green grass. Only the center of the house had two stories. Then there was a left wing and a right wing.

Did the two live here alone?

A stand-alone building was to the left, a large carport, housing three cars already.

As I got closer, I drove past a sign