The Off Limits Rule (It Happened in Nashville 1)

Drew and I both look at each other and shrug. “Yeah,” we say in unison.

Lucy is not okay with this. She folds her arms and stomps a foot defiantly. It makes me smile and want to do something stupid like pick her up and spin her around. Drew moves first, though. Lucy must know what’s coming, because her eyes widen, and she turns like she’s going to bolt out of this room, but he catches her first, bending down to wrap his arms around her thighs and flipping her upside down. Some change falls out of her pockets and clangs against the ground.

“UGH. Put me down, you big dummy! You’re such a jerk. I bet you’re going to steal my change next and run out of here.”

“Say you forgive me,” Drew says with a big grin.

The tips of Lucy’s hair are brushing against the floor, and she folds her arms. She’ll stay like this all day if she has to. She will pass out in this pose before she gives in to him. “Never. You said mean things to me.”

“I’m sorry, Lucy. Really. It was a bad move, and I won’t do it again. And I don’t think you’re making a bad decision with your life. I wish I had never said that. But I’m so tired of fighting with you. I miss talking to you.”

“What happens when you tell me not to eat the pie on Thanksgiving and I do anyway? Are you going to freeze me out again?”

“No,” he says, indulging her and speaking in his most serious tone. “I’ll respect your decision to eat the pie.”

Her arms soften a smidge—maybe because she’s about to pass out. “And you need to apologize to Cooper for insinuating that he’s a sleazeball, incapable of becoming a family man.”

Drew’s eyes rise to mine, and I raise my eyebrows like a snooty teenage girl waiting for her due apology. “My darling Coop, please accept my sincerest apologies for doubting your character. I will never do it again. But also…if you leave my sister, I will beat you into dust.”

“Fair. I accept.”

Drew looks back down to Lucy. “There, see? We made up. Will you forgive me now, Luce?”

“Yes. But only on the condition that you owe me ten nights of babysitting.”

He chuckles and turns his eyes to Levi. “Deal. I’ve missed that kid. Is he mad at me?”

“Nah,” I say, all too happy to rub a little salt in his wound. “He’s had me.”

Drew’s eyes slowly cut to mine, but there’s humor there underneath the tough facade—also maybe a little gratitude. He gives me a silent nod, and that small gesture feels loaded with more meaning than any words ever could. I nod back. It’s settled. I’m officially welcomed into the family.

“Hey, guys,” Lucy says from her inverted position. “Is the room starting to get darker to you?”

Lucy doesn’t pass out, but she does wobble adorably when Drew sets her back on her feet. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pull her back against my chest, and kiss the side of her face. It feels good to be openly affectionate like this in front of Drew. His gaze definitely still hitches on us for a fraction of a second, but he forces a smile and turns to Levi.

He takes my seat beside the bed and takes a shift sitting with the kid so I can take Lucy to get some food. She never ate dinner, and I know she’s starving but unwilling to leave Levi. Now, with Drew here, she finally lets me guide her out of the room. In the cafeteria, we find Lucy’s parents and end up spending a whole hour laughing and getting to know each other over Jell-O and nasty, plastic-wrapped turkey sandwiches because the kitchen was closed.

Despite the less-than-mediocre food, it’s good. Her parents are hilarious, just like her and Drew. Claire takes my hand from across the table and thanks me for being so good to her daughter—which makes Lucy’s cheeks turn my favorite shade of raspberry sorbet. Then, her dad leans back so Claire can’t see him and mouths, “Respect my daughter,” which is terrifying on so many levels, and I will definitely have a nightmare about it tonight.

After the frightening threat, Drew calls to say Levi is awake and asking for us. Us—as in, me and Lucy. It’s the craziest thing, going from a life of bachelorhood and late-night drinking to having a four-year-old in a tiny hospital gown wrap me around his finger and ask me to sing him “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” eighteen times and me doing it gladly.

Around midnight, I look across the hospital bed where Levi is asleep holding my hand, to Lucy who is passed out, legs curled up in the seat with her, wearing one of my sweatshirts that pretty much swallows her whole. It’s a sight I don’t think I’ll ever forget and certainly never want to.

It’s been a few days since Levi’s surgery, and thankfully, he is recovering quickly. I have barely left the house since we got home from the hospital, but since he’s feeling more like himself today, I left him with Drew and headed for Cooper’s house to finally put together his new furniture.

“Hellooooo,” I call out as I struggle to sho

ve the front door open. It feels like a sumo wrestler is on the other side, and when I get through, I see why.

My eyes widen at the enormous wall of brown furniture boxes piled up all around the entryway, and I can’t help but feel a little guilty at the sight. Did I really order this much stuff for him? Felt like a lot less in the online cart.

“LUCY!” Cooper yells from somewhere past the cardboard tower. “You got some ‘splainin to do!”

Ladies and gentlemen, if you are looking for Cooper’s fault, I have found it. He uses this I Love Lucy joke more times than anyone ever should. I forgive him his faults, though, when his handsome faces peeks up over the row of boxes and I can tell he’s not wearing a shirt. Suddenly, I’m in a ninja warrior competition and scaling these boxes because I WILL WIN MY PRIZE.

I crest the top of the tower and spot Cooper on the other side. He’s wearing black gym shorts slung low on his waist and no shirt. He is sort of a nudist, I’ve learned. If he’s home, that shirt is coming off.

He takes my hand and yanks me down off the box wall, and I land in his arms. He smiles down at me, nose to nose, and then his eyes drop to my mouth. That—the moment where his gaze settles on exactly what it is he’s after—never fails to make my stomach leap. The freshly showered, damp-hair look he has going on doesn’t hurt either.