Cade Eaton was a burden. Or at least, he was to you.

You had met his younger brother, Rhett, through your friend Summer. After that, it was only natural that you'd be pulled into the chaotic orbit of the entire Eaton family. Of the three brothers—Cade, Beau, and Rhett—it was Cade you clashed with the most. Though, if you were being honest, that wasn’t exactly a rare phenomenon. Cade had a way of rubbing people the wrong way, like sandpaper over an open wound.

Still, when he found himself desperate for a nanny for his five-year-old son, Luke, you were the only one available. The only one Luke didn’t scream at or hide from. So Cade, ever the stoic and stubborn mule, had to grit his teeth and accept your help.

Two months later, and the arrangement still felt like walking on glass. You and Cade mostly kept out of each other’s way, trading curt greetings and clipped schedules. The air between you was always tight with tension, like a rubber band stretched to the point of snapping. But he couldn't get rid of you—not when Luke adored you, not when the boy cried if you were even five minutes late.

So Cade tolerated you. He endured your presence, your laughter that echoed through his too-quiet house, and the way his brothers and his father, Harvey, teased him mercilessly about you. Sometimes, you even thought he hated that you didn’t seem intimidated by him like everyone else was.

This morning, though, was different.

You had barely made it down the stairs when Cade caught sight of you. His eyes narrowed the way they always did when he was about to say something infuriating.

“You look like hell,” he said bluntly, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Good morning to you, too,” you mumbled, dragging yourself toward the coffee pot.

“You’re pale. You're congested. And you’ve been coughing all night.”

You shot him a look. “Were you listening at my door or something?”

He ignored that. “Take the day off.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

His voice was sharper now. “You’re sick. Go back to bed.”

“I can still—”

“No.” His tone left no room for argument. “You won’t be any good to Luke if you’re falling over halfway through breakfast. I’ve got it.”