Surely you can see that—unless you’re willfully being blind.” Cade glanced over from the driver’s seat as he drove them toward the little Tex-Mex café. “Please. Skeeter is for some coonhound, not a handsome fellow like my Finn.” “Our Finn—I mean, Skeeter.” When Sophie laughed at his mistake, Cade felt like the world just might make some sense after all. When they’d been seated in the restaurant, Cade ordered margaritas for both of them. “I shouldn’t,” Sophie protested. “Can’t, won’t, shouldn’t… You draw up a pretty stiff set of rules for yourself, Queenie.” He nodded at the waiter and sent him on. “You don’t have to drink it. Shoot, I might have both of them.” “Are you hurting?” She leaned forward in alarm. “I knew you worked too hard today. You expect too much of yourself.” He glowered at her.
