“Yeah, well, that was before we were friends. But now—as your best friend—”
“Oh, you’re my best friend now?”
“Yes. And as such, I’m telling you, you can’t date my asshole brother.”
“Is that an order?” She doesn’t seem amused anymore. I watch her temper flare in her eyes—and god, if she isn’t twice as beautiful. “And I’d think long and carefully before you answer that question, Jameson.”
“It’s not an order,” I say and watch her eyes soften. “It’s acommand.”
Her eyes blaze anew. “That better be a joke.”
I step closer. “I don’t want you to date Tommy.”
“Why? Give me one solid reason.”
“Because I—” The rest of the sentence tangles in my throat. I close my mouth, heart thudding. She’s looking at me now, really looking. What would happen if I just told her the truth?Because Ilove you. Because I can’t stomach the thought of anyone else touching you. Because deep down, I still have this absurd hope that you’ll want me back.But I can’t say any of that.
At least not with words.
My body, however, seems to have gone on autopilot. My feet carry me a step closer, and I watch her breath catch. The floor creaks under my boots and I advance toward her even more. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but now we’re standing close. So close I can count the freckles across the bridge of her nose. I can easily see the moment her eyes flick to my mouth. Mine drop to her lips too, tracing the pronounced bow of her full upper lip with my gaze, and I watch those lips part on a soft inhale.
My pulse is a drum line, and my hands itch to touch her. It would only take one second. One blink.
But then—
“Uh, can I go now?” the delivery guy asks, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ve got . . . other stops.” We both jerk apart, having completely forgotten about our unwilling audience.
Madison blinks like she’s surfacing from water. “Right! Oh geez—sorry.” She glances at the flowers. “Could you help me carry this to my truck? It’s just outside, and then I promise we’ll let you go. And I will leave you a raving review on Yelp!”
The guy nods, looking more than ready to escape, grabs the bouquet, and follows Madison to the back door. She holds it open for him to walk through, and after he’s out she stands there a moment longer.
“I’m going to head home,” she says, and although nothing happened between us, the atmosphere is different.
“Sure. Need help with the flowers at your cottage?”
“No, thanks,” she says with a laugh and then lets the door fall shut behind her.
I blow out a huge breath and remove my hat so I can scrape myhand through my hair, worried that I’ve just screwed up something fragile between us.
But then the door swings back open almost as soon as it shuts and Madison pops her head back in, apples of her cheeks flushed. “Hey . . . I thought I might make popcorn and rewatchSweet Home Alabamatonight. You wanna come?”
Or maybe I didn’t mess anything up. My blood rushes through my veins thinking of a night cozied up at Madison’s cottage watching a movie. How many times have I wished I could do just that with her. God, I want to. But . . .shit.
“I can’t. I let one of my employees cut out early, so I have to finish covering for him after dinner.”
She nods slowly, looking disappointed. “Oh, okay. No problem.”
She turns to go again, but this time I call after her.
“Madison.”
She pauses.
I scratch the back of my neck, heat crawling up it. “Thanks. For the salad.”
Her expression softens. “Stop eating trash. You literally have everything you need to be healthy growing in your backyard. And take your blood pressure. And go for morning runs. Google says it helps.”
“Mind your own business,” I tell her, grinning despite myself.
