Luke eyed her when she climbed into the truck, unsure if he was going to have to help her or not. But she was fine. Barely. He started the engine and paused when she got into the middle seat instead of the passenger’s.

“Two beers,” he told her, “and lots of food. I told you I was going to bring you home any time, and I meant it.” He’d run out of fingers and toes if he tried to count the number of times Sam or his father got too drunk to drive and insisted on doing it anyway, even when they knew Matthew had gotten hit by a drunk driver. It’d always bothered him. Coupled with his temper, Luke had no business hitting the bottle hard when he wasn’t in a good headspace. It was a recipe for disaster. He’d do things like yell in Sam’s face and tell him he’d never fuck his wife, even if he was dead. Normal, healthy stuff.

Her stupid phone lit up, and he forced himself not to look at it. It wasn’t his business.

“Here.” Luke reached around Charlie, grabbed the seatbelt, and buckled her in. He pulled the end so the fabric was taught around her waist, and he gave it a hard tug. “Safety first,” he teased. Truthfully, he didn’t trust himself to not reach over and put his hand on her thigh, where it didn’t belong. And he didn’t necessarily trust her either. She’d been touching him one way or another since she’d sat next to him at the picnic table.

Back at the house, Jake bounded out the sliding door and circled the both of them before bolting off to the barn. In many ways, the dog was like a safety net. If he noticed something wrong, like an open gate, he’d bark until he got someone’s attention. He was an excellent farm companion.

Initially, Luke was apprehensive about being in the house again. He was afraid that its weight would surround them or settle like dust on their shoulders. But they’d actually done a lot to make it more “theirs” in the last few weeks. A growing winter-prep chore list was on the fridge, tucked between the many photos Sam had taken over the years and a running tally of groceries they needed if one of them went to town. At least two of Luke’s work hats were hanging on hooks by the door. The island had junk mail, the keys to the Chevy, and a dirty plate from when Luke was eating a snack while Charlie got ready for the bonfire.

He took the plate and put in the sink, and he got two beers from the fridge. Brow raised, he handed one to Charlie. “Nobody’s going to call us too drunk if we’re in the house. And I was serious about the biscuits.” Luke took some flour down from the cabinet and put a few sticks of butter in the freezer so they’d be as cold as possible. “You’re helping me. This was your idea, and you’re not getting out of it.”