Must Be Wright (The Wrights 3)

“No,” Gypsy answered for Miranda. “She’s not staying. And neither are you.”

“Don’t be like that, sugar,” Wyatt said.

Miranda crossed her arms, leaned back on her stool, and gave Gypsy that I-wouldn’t-miss-this-for-the-world smirk. “Yeah, don’t be like that. Sugar.”

Great, now they were ganging up on her. Wyatt was way too big for her kitchen, and he looked way too comfortable there too.

Good God. Wyatt-freaking-Jackson was standing in her kitchen, unpacking groceries. This was weird. Really weird.

It was one thing to have him drop Belle and go, but it was another to have him making himself at home in her house. He’d gone from someone to occasionally shoot the shit with to the guy making her dinner in her own kitchen. And it had happened overnight.

She suddenly couldn’t see the lines demarcating their relationship anymore, and that, more than anything, made her insanely nervous.

He set a pink-wrapped package of meat on the counter along with green beans, butter, Crisco, pepper, hot sauce…

“I hope you’re planning on taking this home,” she said, “because I don’t cook enough to need any of it, and I don’t have room for it either.”

“Just making sure I have everything I need.” He smiled at Miranda, but Gypsy could see the stress and fatigue beneath. “Are you up for chicken fried steak?”

“And grits,” Belle yelled from the living room. “And green beans.”

“Grits,” Cooper imitated. “Green beans.”

“I’m with them,” Miranda said. “Count me in.”

Gypsy lifted her hands out to her sides. Her world was spiraling. She shot a look at Miranda. “No.” Then to Wyatt. “No. I have work to do.

“When I promise a lady dinner,” Wyatt said, “I provide dinner. Since you won’t go out with me, I’m improvising. My guys tell me I’m good at that.”

“I bet they’re not the only ones.”

“That jealous streak of yours is showing again.” Heat slid through his voice, and after Gypsy’s talk with Miranda, she was sure her sister heard it too.

“Do you even know how to cook?” Gypsy asked. “You’d better not break something, like my stove or my fire alarm or—”

“It’s all good. I love cooking shows. I watch them to decompress when I’m on the road. There’s something so soothing about the linear order of it all.”

“You watch cooking shows? That hardly means you know how to cook.” Gypsy’s stress meter ramped up. “I don’t want you using my kitchen as a test laboratory.”

Wyatt glanced over his shoulder toward Miranda. “Why don’t you get your sister to sit her butt down while the kids and I make supper? Cooper, Belle, get in here.”

“Oh my God.” Gypsy’s mind filled with chaos. “No way.”

“A cook needs his sous chefs,” Wyatt said.

Miranda pulled her out of the kitchen. “If you’re not cooking, you’re in the way. That’s what Jack always tells me.”

“Amen,” Wyatt said. “Why don’t you get to that paperwork you’re always complaining about? This shouldn’t take more than an hour. Miranda…” He lifted his chin toward another grocery bag. “I picked up some nice wine. Gypsy thinks she likes beer better, but that’s only because she hasn’t had the really good stuff. You two open a bottle.”

“Stop bossing us around in my house.”

“Speak for yourself,” Miranda said, searching the bags. “He can boss me toward wine anytime.”

That made Wyatt laugh.

“I have had the good stuff,” Gypsy added. “And I still prefer beer.”

“Don’t worry, I picked up two six-packs of your favorite IPA,” Wyatt said. “Picked up something chocolate for dessert too.”