Текст книги "Busted"

Автор книги: Shiloh Walker

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“She’ll make you feel like you kicked a dozen puppies.” Ressa slid her hands up his chest.

“Too bad. If I’m having coffee, I’d just as soon have it by myself . . . or better yet, with you.”

“We are still talking about coffee here, right?”

“Sure.” Then he bent down and nipped her lower lip. “Unless we’re not. But don’t worry, I’ll tell her.”

Mentally, he braced himself for it. He could already see the look in her eyes, too.

“You’re like an open book sometimes.”

He met her eyes.

“You’re thinking about how much you’re going to hurt her feelings, aren’t you?”

There was a zipper under her arm and he lifted a brow. “Well, this very second, I’m thinking about how easily I could pull this down . . . but . . . yeah.”

“You’re going to do it anyway. No matter what you say or how you do it.”

“I can be nice, you know.” He scowled at her.

For a moment, she stared at him.

Then she laughed.

“You are blind. Trey . . . she’s in love with you. And the sooner you make it clear it’s not going to happen, the sooner she can move on.”

There was only one way to describe how he felt in that moment. He summed it up in two words. “Oh, shit.”

Chapter Fifteen

The coffee shop was just down the corner from work. The new branch where she worked wasn’t as big, or as high tech, as the branch near the waterfront had been, but the children’s area was nice and they had a great program.

That was always a plus.

By an unspoken mutual agreement, they kept their discussion casual—the sort of talk they would have had if this had been their first date.

Well, technically, it was, even if they were doing things out of order.

Usually the date came before the crazy hot sex.

It didn’t negate that first, mild awkwardness that came with any first date, though, and Ressa was even more nervous because on the drive over, she’d had too much time to think through what a stupid decision this was.

Ressa pointed out, nice and casual like, how much the Norfolk library loved it when local authors came to visit. She hadn’t gotten around to that before, and now, at least, she could say she’d sown the seeds.

Now, as they sat on a low-lying brick container wall, the riot of summer flowers blooming behind them, she sipped at an iced coffee while Trey actually managed to drink regular coffee. In this heat. She didn’t know how people did that.

He stared toward the library, sunglasses shielding his gaze from the vivid rays of the sun. “How long you worked there?”

“For this branch? You forgot already?” She wrinkled her nose at him when those dark lenses angled toward her. She wanted to snag them off. If he never again hid behind a pair of sunglasses, it would be too soon. “Oh, guess you meant the library in general. I’ve been with them since college, at one location or another.”

“Always wanted to be a librarian?”

“Yeah.” She suspected he wouldn’t be one of the ones who didn’t get it, so she told him the truth. “You know how books are a casual escape for some? Books weren’t just an escape for me—they rescued me.”

His brow lifted, his expression somehow conveying . . . go on . . . all without him saying a word.

She blew out a breath. She could do this—get this part out. If he learned this much of her and didn’t handle it well? Then that would be answer enough and she’d know before she got in over her head.

“I wasn’t . . . a good kid,” she said finally, just laying it out on the table. “My mom died when I was little. I can relate to Clay there. But my dad . . . well.”

She shrugged. “He got in trouble a lot. In and out of jail. I’d live with his sister when he was locked up. He did a stretch of three years, got out when I was seven and seemed to straighten up—or so people thought. He just got smarter. We moved around a lot. He was dealing drugs . . .” She paused and then blew out a breath before she added, “And he used to have me helping him.”

Now she looked up.

Trey didn’t look shocked or appalled or disgusted.

He just sat there. Listening.

She swiped a finger through the condensation on her cup while her gut twisted into ten thousand knots. “There were a few times when he’d get arrested off and on, but he never got charged, never got held. He was killed when I was fifteen. I ended up going to live with his sister.” She smiled now, unable to stop it. “Mama Ang. She pretty much changed my life. And not just because she introduced me to books. I wasn’t easy for her to live with—at all—didn’t think I needed anybody, kept trying to run away—school was awful . . . but she kept at it, kept at me. Six months after I’d gone to live with her, I got in a fight at school. Somebody was on me again, about my dad, and I lost it. Got suspended. Mama Ang locked me in my room. No TV. I could come out for meals but that was it. The only thing in the room was the schoolwork I had to do and books. Eventually, I got bored enough to pick one up. I didn’t even hear her come in the room—she’d been calling me for dinner and I never heard.”

She flicked a look at him. “It was Tolkien. She asked me if I was enjoying it and I lied—told her it was the most boring piece of shit I’d ever read. Mama Ang just laughed. The next day, she brought me more books and told me a whole world lay inside them.”

Ressa paused, thought of the hours, the days, the weeks that followed. “It took a while. It wasn’t some Reading Rainbow after school special where I changed overnight, but . . . I found myself spending more time inside a book, getting in trouble less . . . doing better in school. Not on purpose, but it happened. And I liked me more. I’d read about these people who were . . . decent. Like Mama Ang. I didn’t understand why they could be like that and I couldn’t. So I told myself I’d just pretend . . . and maybe I’d figure it out on the way.”

“I guess you did.”

Ressa stared at her watered down coffee for a long, long moment. “It took a long, long time.”

“Sometimes that’s how it works.”

Silence fell between them as they drank their coffee under the shade of the tree, the day growing hotter and brighter around them. It was probably a good five minutes before he spoke again. “You know, I never go to this branch.”

Thankful for the change in subject, she smiled at him over her cup. “You’re more than welcome to come. And . . . for the record, you’ve been invited—an open invite to any of the branches. More than once.”

“Uhhhh. . . .”

Ressa laughed, the embarrassed look on his face delighting her. “Hey, don’t freak out on me. My boss would love to have you come visit—naturally, she’d prefer if you came to the main branch, but any of them would make her day. Her month. Her life.” She winked at him. Then she looked down. “I . . . uh. Well, I was supposed to try to talk you into it if I had the chance in New Jersey, but it didn’t ever work out. Seems like you’re not big on public stuff anyway.”

*   *   *

He’d put a shadow in her eyes.

He wanted to take it back, but at the same time, he realized if they were going to try for . . . coffee or anything else, shadows came with it.

Now she was smiling at him again and he wanted to see her smile, then laugh.

And he wanted to kiss her.

The longer he sat there, the more he wanted to kiss her. The more she breathed, the more he wanted to close the distance between them and cup her face in his hands, take that wide, lush mouth with his and just . . . have.

Just have.

Take.

Give.

Because he knew he’d give in to temptation if he kept staring at her, he dragged his attention away and focused on the pigeons gathering near one of the windows.

“It’s not the public thing that bothers me, really.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not too crazy about doing anything where I live, just . . . well, it feels weird. But up until recently it was more of a matter that I just . . . can’t. Couldn’t.”

“Clayton.”

Her understanding, so softly spoken, was just another tug toward her, another strand in a tangled web he could feel spinning around them both. Reaching up to tug his sunglasses off, he dropped them on the concrete and rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah. Clayton. We don’t have family here. My family would come if I called—man, my mother would be overjoyed. She’d probably do backflips. And Travis—my twin—he comes out as often as his job lets him. The others would help if they could . . .” Then, abruptly, he laughed. “Maybe not Seb. He’s a good kid, but he’s not quite ready to handle the responsibility of taking care of himself, much less my son.”

“I have to say this, just once.” Ressa puffed out her cheeks and then heaved out a heavy breath. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here next to a guy who refers to Sebastian Barnes as a good kid. Man, Mama Ang practically drools when she sees his name anymore. But he’s a good kid.”

Trey slid her a sly look from the corner of his eye. “Well, as long as it’s her drooling, and not you. Gotta say, I’m not too fond of the idea of you drooling over my baby brother.”

“Well.” She winked at him. “He’s prettier, but I think you’re way sexier.”

“Seb is pretty,” Trey agreed. “And he knows it. Any woman who takes him on is going to have to be prepared to fight him for counter space and her fair share of time in front of the mirror.”

The low laugh that escaped her settled down low in his belly, adding fuel to the fire that was already licking through him. Sliding a little closer, he reached up, toyed with one of the fat, round curls spilling down her neck and shoulders. “Vain. A man that pretty is going to be vain. I’m not surprised.”

“Oh, he’s a peacock,” Trey said, nodding. “But Zach’s just as pretty as Sebastian is. He’s not a peacock.”

“Zach . . . he’s got some pretty ink.”

“Ressa . . .”

You’re getting ready to complicate things. It was a resounding echo in the back of his head, one that echoed and echoed and echoed as he lifted a hand to cup her cheek.

“Yeah?”

Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Quit talking about my brothers. Matter of fact, don’t think about them . . . forget what they look like.”

“And why would I want to do that?” She murmured the words against his mouth.

“Because I’d rather you just think about me.” He kissed her then.

She opened for him on a moan, her mouth parting as his lips covered hers and he had to do that, too, take advantage and slide his tongue inside, tasting vanilla, coffee . . . and under that, her . . . the taste that had haunted him for the past five weeks.

How did one night turn into such an addiction?

He didn’t know, but it had.

Before he could forget where he was, he pulled back, lingering long enough to press his brow to hers. “You’re getting under my skin, Ressa Bliss. How are you doing this?”

Then he settled back as she blinked at him, her eyes wide, dazed.

He lifted a hand, stroked one finger over her lower lip. Then a slow smile curved her lips, and that smile had his blood pumping hot in his veins. And the look in her eyes—damn—that look, all lazy and lambent. He wanted to bite her, strip her naked, taste her everywhere he hadn’t—

“You’re under my skin, too, honey.” Then she sighed and looked away. “And that wasn’t something I was at all prepared for.”

He shifted on the brick wall, his erection becoming a painful—and noticeable—problem.

“So. Tell me about the other two.”

Half-formed thoughts faded into nothingness as he slid her a look. “Huh—oh. Well, there’s Zane. He’s the oldest.” He studied his coffee for a long moment. “He does photography . . . I think there’s going to be a wedding soon.”

“A wedding?”

He crooked a grin at her. “Yeah. Keelie . . . she works with Zach, the one with the pretty ink . . .” He gave her a playful snarl and she swatted him. “Zane’s been waiting—he does that. He watches. He waits. She finally figured it out. I hear they are like tripping over themselves happy in love.”

“That’s . . . sweet,” Ressa said after a moment. “Are you happy for them?”

“Yes.” He said it without hesitation, without reservation. “Zane’s always been that way. He’ll stand there, watch things, wait for things . . . he never really chased them and sometimes I wondered why, but I guess he had his own timetable. I don’t know Keelie as well as some of the others—I can’t travel to Tucson as often as some of them can, so I haven’t really gotten to know her that well, but if she makes Zane happy, that’s all I need to know.”

“And then there’s the other one . . . your twin, right?”

“You’ve been reading up on us.” He chuckled and shrugged. “You probably noticed you didn’t find much about him. He’s the odd one. Went into accounting.”

“You say that like he decided to stitch together cat skins for clothing and yodel naked on the streets while eating nothing but haggis and drinking only rotgut.” The glint in her eyes said she was clearly amused.

Trey laughed, shaking his head. “Well, accounting confuses me.” Then he shrugged. “I guess it shouldn’t seem so out of place. Mom was going to be a lawyer. Dad dealt with stocks before he retired. The rest of us . . . actors, photographer, writer . . . and there he is, crunching numbers.”

“He’s probably got the more stable occupation.” She wrinkled her nose. “And the most boring one. If it makes him happy . . . ?”

Happy. He shrugged. “Yeah. That’s the bottom line.” Which was the problem, really. Travis wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t like Trey could pull him out of it or anything, could he?

“You’re closest to him, aren’t you?”

He just nodded.

“I always wondered what it would be like, having a sister.” She slid him a look. “I’ve got cousins—none of them are close except Kiara. That’s Neeci’s mama and we don’t have an easy relationship. What’s it like, having a big family like that? Were you ever lonely?”

“There are always times when somebody can feel alone,” he said softly. “But when you’ve got a family like mine—and it’s not the size of the family, really, but being close—all you have to do is pick up the phone. Knock on a door. I didn’t always knock when I should have, didn’t pick up the phone.”

She linked her hand with his and for a long moment, both of them were quiet.

It was an easy quiet—he liked it. He could see the two of them sitting just like that. And his mind started to spin up scenarios of maybe her sitting in the living room with him, just like this . . .

“I’m going to have to head out soon.”

Ressa’s low voice cut into the hazy fantasy winding into place in his head and he cleared his throat. He was messed up. He was here with a beautiful woman—one he’d already slept with, tasted, touched, a woman he wanted like mad—a woman who’d then brushed him off.

Complicated.

Yeah.

That pretty much summed it up.

Still, it would be worth it. Whatever her complications were, whatever hurdles they might have, he thought it would be worth it.

“I . . .”

“Look . . .”

They both spoke at once, and he grimaced, looked away.

“I want to see you again,” he said when she stayed silent. “Often. A lot. I’m going to be blunt and say it flat out—I want to see you in my bed. I want to take you out on a date, I want to press you up against the nearest hard surface and kiss you until we’re both senseless. I want to take you and Clay . . .” Then he paused, grinned. “Your cousin. Neeci? Her, too. We can go to the beach and they can run each other wild while we take it easy. I want all of that.”

She opened her mouth, her eyes going hazy.

Trey pressed his thumb to her mouth. “But I’ve already told you I wanted more with you. So . . . we’ve had coffee. Now you decide if we try for anything more or if you’d just rather everything stay in the past.” He paused and then added, “But if that’s what we’re doing, then you need to know . . . I’m not trying to be an ass, but I don’t want to pretend like we’re friends from here on out, either. I can’t be near you without wanting you and I’m not going to pretend otherwise.”

She caught his wrist, tugged it down.

“And if those complications I told you about turn out to be more complicated than you thought?” she asked softly, nerves dancing across her face.

Something inside him unknotted. Relaxed. He felt like he could breathe deeper, see clearer. “Unless you’ve got the Russian mafia out after you, then I’ll deal.”

“No . . .” She leaned in and dropped her head against his shoulder. She smoothed a hand down the shoulder of his polo, like there was some imaginary wrinkle. If there was, he was going to put in a dozen more to just have her touching him again. “No mob bosses running me down, Trey.”

“Then maybe you can go ahead and give me your phone number.” The way her mouth curved up ever so slightly was going to drive him nuts. “Maybe we can . . . I don’t know . . . grab coffee again. Or dinner.”

“I love both.”

*   *   *

“What’s up with you?” Farrah eyed her suspiciously as she came into the employee area.

“What? Nothing. Hey . . . why are you here?”

Immediately, she knew she’d been a little too jumpy with her answer, but she tried to skate by anyway, feigning a look of wide-eyed innocence, one that fooled nobody. Farrah made that clear by the way she crossed her arms over her chest and started to tap a tiny foot.

“Oh!” Ressa focused on the glittery, strappy silver sandal. “Where did you get those? They are so cute!”

“Zappos. Now let’s get back to the subject. You . . .” Farrah walked closer, circling around Ressa with narrowed eyes. Lips pursed, she raked a gaze over Ressa and then stopped in front of her, planting all five foot one inch of herself in the middle of Ressa’s path. “What is up with you?”

“Not a thing.” Ressa smoothed a hand back over her hair and then glanced down at her clothes. She’d spent the past thirty minutes or so wandering around, trying to clear her head because being with Trey muddled it. Muddled it enough that she’d lost track of time and had almost been late.

She’d ducked into the bathroom before she’d hurried in here, worried the wind or the heat or . . . something . . . would show on her face, but with a smile that seemed to be perpetually locked in place, she thought she looked fine.

Apparently she’d missed something. “I swung by the coffee shop and had a panini and iced coffee before I came in. I don’t have spinach between my teeth or anything, do I? What brings you out this way?”

It wasn’t completely a lie. She’d eaten the panini on her way in, and now she was worried she might have something trapped between her teeth.

“No.” Farrah raked her with a rueful look. “You look gorgeous as always. You look like you’ve been . . . son of a bitch. Did you hook up with somebody last night?”

“What? No.” Ressa edged around Farrah and shoved her purse into the locker she’d been assigned. “You do remember that I have a five-year-old child living with me, right?”

“Okay. This morning. Did you hook up with some beautiful piece of man flesh this morning after you dropped her off? Oh! Hey, how was my baby’s first day?”

Beautiful piece of man flesh—Ressa made the lightning adjustment as Farrah’s mind jumped from one track to the other. “I think she’ll do fine.” That’s good. Focus on Neeci. “The first day, she’s worried . . . wishes Kiara was here.”

Farrah rolled her eyes. “Sooner or later, she’ll realize how lucky she is that her mama isn’t here.” Then, with a lift of one slim brow and a sly grin, Farrah’s mind shifted track once more.

Back to the beautiful piece of man flesh, and yeah, that described Trey rather well, although he was so much more.

And they didn’t hook up. They’d done that already.

“No. I didn’t have a hook up this morning,” she said tartly, looking back at Farrah over her shoulder. “I dealt with Neeci, went and had coffee, some food. Came here. Fascinating morning.”

Farrah didn’t look like she entirely believed her. But she shrugged. “Okay, girl. If you say so. Anyway . . . I took half a day off. I have to go get fitted—”

“Shit!” Ressa squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s today.”

“Yep.” For a moment, Farrah’s face all but glowed. “Just a few more of these things and then . . .”

Farrah sighed happily. Ressa would have rolled her eyes at the almost rapturous look of bliss on her friend’s face, but in truth, she was more than a little jealous. “I want pictures,” she said.

“I know, I know. I just wanted to remind you that your fitting is in tomorrow. And I’ve been told to tell you—eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ressa didn’t need the pointed look to drive the comment home again. She’d lost a few pounds between the original fitting and when she’d gotten to try the dress on again after the hem had been brought up.

The cause for the change in her weight? A total lack of appetite. Brought on by lack of sleep, a terminal case of lust, and loneliness, all of which started in New Jersey. And now she was worried it might start all over again.

“Don’t worry,” Ressa said with a game smile. “I’ll fit in the da—the dress.”

Farrah studied her, and it was too hard to hold her friend’s eyes so Ressa busied herself putting on the lanyard that held her ID card and checking her hair.

After a few more seconds, Farrah just sighed. “Okay, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow night, right?”

“You bet.” She listened to Farrah’s heels clicking on the floor. Farrah paused by the door.

“I’ll call tonight, okay? Send you pics and we can giggle over the dress,” Farrah said. The door squeaked as she went to open it.

Ressa squeezed her eyes shut. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Perfect . . . so . . . what’s his name?”

“Tr . . .” She clamped her mouth shut. Then, slowly closing the locker, she looked back at Farrah, standing with her back against the door. “You’re a sneaky bitch, you know that?”

The other woman looked unfazed. “A girl only gets that look in her eye when she’s met somebody. Now, let’s get to the good part. What’s his name?”

Swiping a hand down her skirt, Ressa nibbled her lower lip for a second. Then she just plunged ahead.

“Trey Barnes.”

For a second Farrah gaped at her.

Then she started to laugh. “Oh, okay. That’s funny. That’s . . .”

She stopped laughing when she caught sight of the look on Ressa’s face. “Wait a second . . . you’re serious?”

“Yeah.” Ressa braced herself.

“The Trey Barnes. As in the sexy motherfucker I’d die to get my hands on?”

“You’re getting married,” Ressa pointed out, trying to ignore the curl of possessiveness that tugged at her.

“I mean if I wasn’t.” Farrah waved a hand through the air like that was just a given. She glanced around the lounge and then moved closer, eyes narrowed by retro-chic glasses. “I thought you had trouble getting him to talk to you.”

“Ah . . . it wasn’t that. Exactly.” Ressa blew out a breath. “I need to get out there. The manager here isn’t quite as laid back as my old boss.” She used the most charming smile she had in her arsenal.

And it didn’t do jackshit.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Farrah said, catching Ressa by the elbow. It would have been funny—Farrah barely topped five feet and soaking wet, she might weigh one hundred pounds. Ressa, on the other hand, was five eight and although she wasn’t constantly on the diet binge, she hadn’t been below one seventy since high school and she generally had to fight to keep it at one eighty.

While Ressa might outweigh and outreach her, there was nobody who could out stubborn the other woman.

“What?” Exasperated, Ressa tugged her arm free and propped her hands on her hips. “What more do you want to know? Look, I told him you’d like to get him in here, although I don’t know if it will happen. He’s not big on doing anything where he lives. That’s a huge part of it. He’s pretty private. I wouldn’t call him shy, but . . .”

“I don’t care about that!” Farrah’s eyes rounded and she advanced on Ressa, poking a finger at her. “You’re seeing him and you didn’t tell me.”

“I’m not . . .” She stopped, blew out a breath. “We’re not. Not exactly.”

“What’s that mean?” Farrah gaped. “Son of a bitch—are you sleeping with him? Please, please, please tell me you did—tell me you fucked him and that he can fuck a woman the way I think he can.”

“Would you drag your mind out of the gutter?” Huffing out a breath, she turned away so Farrah wouldn’t see the answer in the rush of color in her cheeks. “It means we’re not seeing each other yet.”

It wasn’t a lie. And she hadn’t answered Farrah’s other question, either.

It worked. She hoped. Moving over to the watercooler, she got herself a cup of water she really didn’t need and took a sip before looking back at her best friend. “We . . . well, we talked a lot in New Jersey.” It wasn’t a lie. Not really. They’d just talked a lot in between bouts of amazing sex. “But I . . . I didn’t want to try to pursue it. He . . . did you know he was married?”

Farrah’s eyes softened. “Honey, his wife died. A while ago. Didn’t you know that?”

“It’s not like I’m one of the Trey stalkers on that Pinterest page. I don’t follow his every move the way you do.” Although she had to admit she had a certain interest in some of his moves now. Very specific moves. Mouth suddenly dry, Ressa took another sip, focused on the wall in front of her. “And yes, I know that. Now. He was still wearing his wedding ring.”

“Oh.” Farrah glanced toward the door as voices drew near. “Oh, sweetie.”

“Look, it’s not . . . I don’t think he’s still hung up on her. It was rough when she died. She was pregnant—he almost lost his boy, too.” Then she shook her head. “This isn’t a good time to be talking.”

“No, it’s not. Look, I know it was bad. You were . . . well, that was back when things got bad with Kiara—you had your hands more than full. It was a big splash in the news around here for a while. Anyway. So, forget me calling. I’m coming by after my fitting. We’ll talk.” Farrah nodded. “I’ll grab Chinese. You grab a bottle of wine.”

Ressa winced. “I don’t know . . .”

“Are you going out with him tonight?” Farrah cocked a brow.

“No, but . . .”

“Then I’m coming over. Because we are not done.”

*   *   *

Trey had made the shift from being a night owl to learning how to focus in the morning once it was clear that afternoons were a bust, because that was when Clayton really seemed to want to make the most chaos and noise imaginable. His son might have started school, but he suspected nights and afternoon were going to be just as manic as before.

Half lost in a world that involves silken skin and soft sheets and shaky sighs—a book, not a dream about Ressa—he didn’t hear the first time the doorbell rang, or the second.

But by the third, when he was trying to convince the hero and the heroine they couldn’t have sex . . . yet . . . the jangling noise managed to cut through his concentration.

Scowling, he eyed the clock, looked back at the open project on his computer.

His hands were numb at this point.

He’d managed to get a couple thousand words written on the next Forrester book. But he didn’t want to go answer the damn door.

The bell rang again.

With a sigh, he shoved back, a little off-kilter as he realized how late it was. He’d set the alarm on his phone—not that he expected he’d ever lose track of time that much, but he wanted to make sure he was on the road well before school let out.

It was after one. He had to leave in another fifty minutes.

That much time had passed. The silence in his house was almost eerie.

He wasn’t used to that much quiet in the middle of the day. By now, there should have been at least a hundred demands to go swimming, to go to the beach, to go to the Nauticus—or even just riding his bike—something.

But all day long, it had been quiet.

Muscles in Trey’s neck were stiff, letting him know how much time it had been since he’d moved, and he rolled his head from one side, to the other.

The doorbell had fallen silent and he breathed out a sigh of relief. Nadine. Had to be. The only other people who’d hang that long were his brothers and they’d call. Besides most of them had keys. Except Seb, and he’d had one; it had just gotten lost.

He peered through the Judas hole and then groaned silently, resting his head against the polished wood.

It was Nadine.

And she was still out there, busily writing on a little notebook.

He opened the door, because in the back of his mind, he could hear Ressa’s voice. The longer he waited . . .

She jumped as the door swung inward but he forced himself not to apologize, not to invite her in. He just smiled. “Hi, Nadine.”

“Oh . . .” Her hand fluttered up to her throat, toying with the necklace there. “Trey, you . . . you startled me. I didn’t think you were home. You took so long to answer.”

“I was working,” he said, shrugging. “I get caught up and don’t hear the door.”

A nervous laugh escaped her. “Of course.” She stood there, her hands clasped at her waist, an expectant look on her face.

Guilt gnawed at him. That vague sensation of something closing around him rose inside him. Refusing to give in to the guilt, he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Can I help you with something?”

“What? . . . Oh.” Her shoulders slumped, so very slightly, and then she brushed her hair back. “I wanted to know if you needed anything. I thought I could pick up Clayton and take care of dinner for you.” She gave him a slow smile. “You could get more work done . . . maybe tell me what you’ve been working on lately. We don’t talk much anymore, do we?”

She’s in love with you—

The sound of Ressa’s words danced in the back of his mind and Trey fought the urge to shut the door and just disappear. Instead, he squared his shoulders. “Afraid that won’t work out, Nadine,” he said, shaking his head.

“Silly me.” With a tentative smile, she eased closer. “I forgot you said you had plans. Maybe tomorrow?”

She reached out to touch his arm.

He caught her hand in his, squeezed gently. “No.” Carefully, he nudged her hand back down. Then, forcing himself to hold her eyes, he shook her head. “Nadine, I don’t know what you think you see here, and it’s not that I don’t appreciate the intent, but . . . Clayton and I aren’t ever going to be anything more than neighbors to you.”

Her dark green eyes widened and judging by the flash of hurt there, he realized Ressa had been right. “Trey . . .” She reached out again.

This time, he stepped back. “Nadine, you’ve helped out a lot the past few years . . .”

“You just need more time,” Nadine said, her voice tremulous and soft. She took a step closer, then another.