I must’ve stared too long, or drooled, because when I glanced back at Wren, she was grinning. “Wrangler butts drive me nuts.” “Uh—” I blinked. “Excuse me?” She smiled wide and laughed, looping her arm through mine. “I’m guessing since you can’t stop looking, you didn’t see them much in your parts of Cali. But, dear,” she said, dipping her chin toward Brooks and his brothers—her nephews—“those are Wrangler butts.”
