Page 76 of My Husband Problem

“We can’t keep them away.”

“I will tell them?—”

“I mean, I don’t want to keep them away.”

Dammit. I sigh. “Fine. Then we fix the porch immediately.”

“I don’t know if?—”

I grasp her waist again and lift her, setting her on the floor. “I do,” I say simply.

She just presses her lips together.

And nods.

Holy fuck. Is she just…letting me take charge?

I crowd closer, her back against the counter. “Is this you beingsubmissive?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” she says softly. “But I like your CEO mode. Especially when you’re in a suit.”

Oh. Fuck. I’m in a lot of trouble with this ‘let’s take things slow’ thing.

“So the bossy thing in Carawaspart of why you said yes,” I say.

“Unfortunately,” she admits.

I laugh and brush the backs of my knuckles over her cheek. I can’t just not touch her. “Noted.”

She nods. “I was afraid you would.”

“I—”

She cuts me off. “I have to go take care of the ducks.” She starts to move past me, but I stop her with an arm around her waist.

“Uh, no,” I say firmly.

“Excuse me?”

I look down at her bandaged hand. “I’ll do it.”

She looks at the small bandage, then up at me. “You have to be kidding.”

“I’m definitely not.” I step back. “You can come out with me and tell me what to do.”

She narrows her eyes, thinking this over. Then, apparently, decides this will be hilarious.

And it is.

For her.

Because ducks are fucking messy as hell. I have to clean every single dish and dump and refill their pool, which I know was clean this morning, all of which requires me to slog through mud in my dress shoes. She doesn’t evensuggestI change my shoes first.

“So I should probably buy some boots or something, huh?” I ask, standing in the middle of the duck pen, spraying out one of the larger water dishes, with mud two inches above my pants’ hemline.

She grins from where she’s sitting in the circle swing hanging in the nearby tree. “Can I pick them out?”

“Will they have animal faces on them?”