Say You Want Me(25)

“Don’t you let him get away with a thing,” she tells me.

I giggle. “I won’t.”

“I’m serious,” she says. “You let these boys get an inch on you, they’ll take ten miles. And if that baby inside is a boy, Lord help you, darlin’.”

My face pales a little. Macie turns toward the door as I stand a little stunned. I didn’t even put any thought into the sex of the baby. I mean, I figured it was a girl because . . . I am one. But a boy? I don’t know what to do with a boy by myself. A girl I can teach things to, but boys like dirt and bugs. I’m so not meant to be a mother to boys.

Especially if he’s like Wyatt. These boys are boys. They hunt, fish, ride horses, and for all I know, they ride bulls too. I’m so screwed.

“She’s kidding,” Wyatt says against my ear. “My brothers and I were angels.”

She laughs and shifts so she’s facing us. “More like hellions.”

“She also has some kind of super hearing.” Wyatt throws his arm over my shoulder and turns to her with a smile. “Don’t you?”

Macie smirks back. “When you have kids, you learn what to listen for. And if it’s ever quiet . . . you know they’re up to no good.”

She’s amazing. I want to be her. It’s obvious that she loves her kids and they love her. Wyatt, Trent, and Zach have all stayed close to her. There’s a good reason for that. There’s also a reason my brothers and I got the hell away from our mother.

Wyatt and I enter the house, and I’m in awe. This house is straight out of a Southern Living magazine. The tapestries on the walls are soft creams with beautiful patterns. The floors are a deep mahogany hardwood. The entryway alone is magnificent and has a staircase on either side that meet in the middle. The foyer is filled with photos of their family. There’s a formal living room off to the right that looks untouched and a huge dining room on the left. We move farther and pass a powder room and a study.

We enter into the kitchen, which takes up the entire back of the house, and the smells are overwhelming. It’s filled with scents that make me feel at home—a pie baking in the oven with a mix of warm foods. I instantly relax. “Well, if it isn’t Wyatt and Angie.” An older woman stands from her seat at the table.

“Mrs. Rooney,” Wyatt says before turning his gaze toward his mother. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Of course, sugar.” She pats the side of his face. “I wanted to make sure Angie knew how happy we all are.” She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve met her before.

“All?” he asks with alarm in his voice.

“We’re all here, honey.” Two more women step in from the back porch.

Oh dear God.

Now I remember.

These are the four women who were all sitting around Presley’s house and plying me with baked goods when hell broke loose. Presley told me all about the older women from the town. All four of them have been friends since grade school, and they know everything. They also make the most amazing cake. I swear, I could’ve orgasmed from one slice.

“Mrs. Townsend!” I walk over and give her a huge hug.

“Angelina Benson, it is so good to see you again.” She returns my embrace. “You look just radiant.”

She’s another one of those moms I wish I had.

We all gather around the table as Mrs. Hennington, Mrs. Rooney, Mrs. Kannan, and Mrs. Townsend talk about the baby and how they can’t wait for the wedding. Wyatt laughs and shakes his head at me whenever I start to correct them. “You need to tell them we’re not getting married,” I whisper in his ear.

“Trust me. You don’t want to do that. It’s better to let them go off on their tangent. If you correct them, they’ll keep you hostage. Think of it as me savin’ you.”

I glare at him, and he laughs. “Stop being so damn adorable.”

My lips purse.

He leans in and kisses my temple.

All the conversations that were going on around us cease. I glance around and everyone is looking at us with expressions of delight on their faces.

I look at him, waiting for some kind of explanation, but he just watches me. I see something in his eyes then. It’s there, but it’s guarded. That knowing feeling sits heavy in my gut as I wonder if I imagined it. Could we both be starting to feel something more?

I don’t want him to fall in love with me.

I don’t want to want him.

I want for us to be friends.

I want to not fall in love with him.

But there’s a very good chance I’m not going to be able to stop it.

Mrs. Hennington clears her throat, breaking the trance. “Have you considered what we talked about, Angie?”