Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Then he’s on me, full throttle, all limbs and peanut-butter breath, and I’m laughing before I even think about it, spinning him around while he giggles like I’ve just rescued him from the moon.
"Hi, baby," I breathe into the crook of his neck. He smells like sunshine, dirt, and graham crackers—the full childhood trifecta. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too!" he says in one long exhale, already wriggling to be let down. "Grandpop let me feed the chickens—one of them pooped—and Grandmama let me make cookies by myself and I didn’t even burn them! Then we watched movies with popcorn and I only spilled it twice!"
He stops to inhale and looks up at me, eyes bright. “Are we going home now?”
“We are.”
I take his hand and turn toward my grandparents, who are standing by their car, watching us like they’ve just witnessed a Hallmark commercial come to life. Grandmama's got that soft smile that means she’s already planning a scrapbook page in her head, and Grandpop just nods like, yep, we kept him alive another weekend.
“Thanks for bringing him,” I say, already bracing for the stories.
Grandmama pulls me into a hug that smells like cinnamon and fabric softener. “Our pleasure, sweetheart. He’s just the best.”
“Speak for yourself,” Grandpop chimes in. “This one had me up at 5:45 asking for pancakes shaped like ‘realistic police cruisers.’ He’s got standards, apparently.”
Legend tugs on my hand. “Mama, can we play cops and robbers when we get home? I’ll be the good guy again. You can be the sneaky robber.”
“We’ll see,” I say, which is mom-code for yes, but please let me pee first.
And then—I hear it. That low, unmistakable growl of a truck engine behind me. My stomach tightens before I even turn.
Colt.
He pulls into the spot next to mine like something out of a country song—the kind that makes you roll your eyes but secretly hum along. His black pickup is spotless (which makes me irrationally angry, because who has time to keep a truck that clean?), and he steps out like he's walking onto a damn movie set. Boots shining, uniform crisp, and that badge flashing just enough to say don’t test me, son.
I told him my grandparents were dropping Legend off today. I just wasn’t sure he’d actually show. It’s one thing to say you’re ready for a kid, another thing entirely to meet him in real life—with chicken poop stories and pancake demands.
“Sheriff Boone,” I say, trying to sound calm and not like I’m two seconds from breaking out in hives.
“Ma’am.” He nods, eyes landing on mine for a beat before they drop to the small human now glued to my leg.
"And you must be Legend."
Legend eyes him suspiciously, like he's checking for a hidden agenda. “Are you a real policeman?”
“I am.”
Colt squats down, making himself smaller, more human. Smart move. Three-year-olds are natural interrogators and will smell your fear.
“I’m Sheriff Colt. Your mama’s told me all about you.”
“She has?”
“Mmhmm. She said you’re the best there is at catching bad guys.”
Legend puffs up like a marshmallow in a microwave. “I am! Want to see my police car?”
Before Colt can answer, Legend’s already halfway into his backpack, yanking out a tiny metal cruiser with one wheel missing.
Colt takes it with the seriousness of someone handling evidence from a crime scene. “Nice car. Does it have sirens?”
“Nope, but I make them with my mouth. Wanna hear?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Legend does a full sound effects performance, complete with hand gestures and a dramatic crash at the end. Colt nods like he's just watched a TED Talk on toddler law enforcement.
“Very realistic. You might be overqualified.”
I’m watching all of this with my heart caught somewhere between my throat and my stomach. This is it—the moment of truth. If Colt balks now, if he pulls away, we’re done before we’ve even begun.
But he doesn’t. He leans in. He engages. He listens like my son’s siren sounds are top-tier.
“Legend,” I say gently, “this is Sheriff Colt. He’s... kind of Mama’s friend.”
Legend tilts his head. “Like a real friend or like a boyfriend friend?”
My cheeks ignite.
Colt grins, not missing a beat. “Boyfriend friend. That okay with you?”
Legend gives it about three seconds of grave deliberation. “Do you love my mama?”
“I do.”
“Are you gonna be nice to her?”
“Always.”
Legend nods like a little judge handing down a sentence. “Okay. But if you’re mean, I will arrest you.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” Colt replies solemnly. “You got cuffs?”
“Nope. I use tape.”
“Smart man.”
Behind us, Grandmama’s practically melting. Grandpop just mutters, “Well, damn,” under his breath.
“Sheriff,” Grandmama calls sweetly, “we should all have dinner together. I make a mean apple pie for dessert.”
“That’s kind of you, ma’am.”
“Good, right now work for you? Follow us back to Emery’s place!”
“Wait, I thought… I don’t want to crash a family dinner.”
“Nonsense,” she says with a wave. “You’re Emery’s young man, which makes you family. Plus, I want the scoop on how y’all met. She hasn’t told us anything.”