I must admit this hulk of an athlete looks pretty damn cute in an apron.
“What are you smiling about?” he asks, squeezing my ass.
“I was just thinking about how lucky we are.”
“Damn right, baby. But I got to go get these sweet tea orders filled. And you better get your ass in the kitchen, I just put in four more orders for your famous fried chicken.”
I laugh. “Didn’t realize you were so demanding.”
He lifts he eyebrows and chuckles. Leaning in, he says, “Well, I remember how demanding you were in the bedroom last night.”
Heat rides to my cheeks. “I needed to let off steam. I’ve been a nervous wreck about this grand opening.”
“And look, all that worry for nothing. Sweet Tea and Sunshine is off to a perfect start, wouldn’t you say?”
I smile, on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around my husband for a lingering kiss even though I know there is plenty of work to be done.
“I love you, Major. Thank you for all the support — on the floor and in the bedroom.”
“You did the same for me when I started my podcast a few years ago.”
I nod, remembering how jittery he was to take the leap and start a sports podcast. He doesn’t need to work — we are lucky that his career in the NFL provided us with so much — but he loves talking football, and it’s a great job considering we have two rambunctious boys who need their daddy’s attention.
“Maybe when we get home tonight I can help you relax… you’ve been on your feet all day,” Major says, his hot breath on my ear.
I lick my lips. Nothing sounds sweeter than that.
Just then, Grandma Trudy arrives with the twins, and they run up to us with bright smiles on their faces. Granger and Gordy beam up at me and my heart swells.
“We brought you roses, Mama,” Gordy says, offering me a bouquet.
“Grandma said to say we’re proud of you,” Granger adds, wrapping his arms around my legs.
I laugh, ruffling their hair. “The roses are perfect. And they’re my favorite kind.”
Trudy gives me a warm hug of congratulations. “Now don’t you mind us,” she says. “Pretend we’re customers.”
I laugh, knowing I need to get back to the kitchen. I left Georgia with nothing — no family, no faith in love — and I found it all right here.
I give Trudy another hug, thanking her for watching the boys, and I’m grateful she is healthy. She’s been in remission for five years now.
Then Major takes my hand, pulling me to the kitchen. I pass the display case of lemon pies topped with whipped cream. I want to pull him into the supply closet and have my way with him.
Later, I will. With I smile, I think I’ll bring the whipped cream into the closet with us. Why should sweet tea get all the fun? With Major and me, there is sugar damn near everywhere.
My Butter Half
The Way To A Man’s Heart Book 9
By Frankie Love
I’ve spent my life in the stuffy corporate world.
So when I see Lucia delivering milk and butter from a local farm, she’s the breath of fresh air I crave.
But this darling farm girl is wholesome in ways I’m not.
And I want to do more than butter her biscuit. I want all of her. Forever.
I may be twenty years older than this sweet thing, but I say butter late than never.
I want to make her my butter half. Now.
Dear Reader,
Logan is all grown up with one thing on his mind: Lucia.
He’s ready to spread the love because he knows they’re butter together than a part.
You ready to melt, babycakes?
xo, frankie
Chapter One
Logan
“Having a good day, Mr. Barton?” Valerie asks, pouring me a cup of coffee. I’m at a table for one in Hot Spot, the local diner, eating biscuits and sausage gravy.
“Logan,” I say. “Call me Logan. And if you see my daughter, will you tell her to give her old man a call?”
She laughs, placing a hand on her pregnant belly. She recently married a local cop, Vance, and later this year they are expecting their first child. “Old man? Mr. Ba— I mean, Logan, you’re hardly old.”
I run a hand over my jaw. “Turned forty last year.” The woman at the table next to me keeps trying to make eye contact, but I couldn’t be less interested.
She’s eating her avocado toast in expensive workout clothes, with so much Botox she can hardly smile, looking like a cookie cutter of every divorced