“Mrs. June get to you?”
Drew rolls her eyes, confirming my suspicion because gossip is a two-way street in Pinebrook.
“You might not know, but her husband left her for a younger woman a couple years ago.”
Her shoulders deflate then pull back, squaring and solidifying that defiant fire in her gaze. “I bet she blames the woman for that, too, and not her husband.”
“I think there’s probably enough blame to go around.”
I hate the wounded look in her eyes before she stomps off to the kitchen and starts taking things out to make the cocoa I offered her.
Only she does it the real way, the way her parents taught her with real dark chocolate, sugar, milk, and cream.
“Hey, I was going to make that.” My tone holds no bite. I don’t mind how she makes herself at home in my kitchen. It’s not like I’ve made much of a home in any kitchen. Give me a coffee maker and a grill, and I can survive, but I’m not skilled in this realm of the house.
Something Kim repeatedly complained about. When it was my time to make dinner, I preferred to order out.
“You mean dump two instant packets into scalded milk? Grow up.” Wow, this version of her is pulling no punches. That hit a sore spot she didn’t intend.
But then she offers me a small smile as she gets to work, heating the saucepan and measuring the ingredients by eye.
Drew is efficient, constantly moving, adjusting things, chopping the chocolate as the milk heats, scraping and washing the cutting board as it melts together.
I lean against the island across from her as she whips cream by hand. I wait a few beats before I ask, “So what did Adam want?”
She stiffens again, head tilting as she examines me, never once slowing her whisking. “He offered me a job. I start in the morning.”
“What kind of job?”
She leans in. “You’ve been back too long because you’re awfully nosy.”
She’s right, I do want to know, and those protective instincts tell me Adam has ulterior motives, but since both Gabe and I are working at the Lodge we can keep an eye on her.
It has me noticing all the things Adam probably noticed: how tall she’s gotten, how her athleticism has morphed into her womanly shape—hips and ass and just enough on top.
And she’s got more honed confidence, sharp attitude, competence…and the mouth to go along with it.
“You’re staring,” she says without looking up, her whisk moving like a metronome.
“I wasn’t.”
Drew pins me with a sharp, amused gaze. “You were. Same way you used to when I dove the wrong way and left the net wide open.”
“That was different. I was your coach.”
“Mmhmm.” Her lips curve, infuriatingly smug. “And now?”
My throat tightens. “Now, I’m just trying to figure out if you’ve gotten sassier or if I’ve just forgotten.”
She laughs, satisfied, like she’s won something, and puts in that last bit of muscle to create peaks in the cream.
She licks the whisk to taste it, meeting my gaze as she does. It knocks the breath out of me.
For a split second, it’s not Drew in my kitchen but a woman—confident, easy in her own skin, unaware of the chaos she leaves in her wake. My pulse stutters.
Then she offers it to me like a treat. I hesitate, every warning bell going off in my head.
This is Speed Demon Drew. My little brother’s best friend.
