The words curl beneath my skin, low and molten.
I swallow, turning until my hip brushes the island, and I’m facing him fully. “Trouble usually has a reason.”
“Oh, you’ve got plenty of reasons,” he says softly, amusement swirling in his voice.
His hand finds my waist, the gentle curve of his palm along the side of my body, fingers brushing the hem of my shirt.
It’s nothing.
And it’s fucking everything.
“Do you know what you just agreed to?” he asks.
I lift my chin. “Clearing almost a million dollars?”
A corner of his mouth curves, slow and wickedly fond. “Yeah, that too.”
We stand there in the quiet. His thumb tracing a single, unhurried arc at my waist, my heartbeat thundering in my ears, the empty model home suddenly too small to hold any of it.
Then he steps back, just far enough to break the charge without breaking eye contact.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bells.” It feels like a promise and a threat. Like a memory of who we were and a warning about who we’re about to become.
He slips out the door, and I’m left alone in the echoing quiet with one truth pounding in my chest: we’ve just crossed a line.
There’s no going back now.
17
GAGE
By the timewe slip through the side gate into Ma’s backyard, the sky’s gone soft gold and the pool is throwing back the last of the light like it’s hoarding it. The air smells like chlorine, grilled citrus, and whatever expensive candle Coco’s burning.
She’s lounging by the deep end in a black swimsuit with a floral kimono tied at her waist, sunglasses perched on her dark hair like a crown. One leg is draped over the arm of the chair. A man I don’t recognize sits on the edge of the lounger beside her, barefoot, tan, mid-forties maybe—linen shirt unbuttoned at the collar, easy smile, holding a sweating glass of something red.
Right. Her current boyfriend. Not that she would ever call him that.
Coco bought this house for the pool. When we were still kids, she said she wanted a place that felt like a resort without having to leave town. She poured time and money into this backyard until it bent exactly to her vision. Even now, it feels curated to her.
She turns when the gate clicks, smile already in place like she knew we were coming. “Well, now this is a surprise.”
Cruz lifts the taco bags like an offering. “We brought dinner.”
Her smile widens. “Is that from?—”
“Your favorite place,” Cruz cuts in. “Yeah, Ma. It is.”
She makes a pleased sound and stands, the man beside her rising with her. “All my favorite things,” she says lightly. “My boys and dinner, and it’s not even my birthday? Miracles never cease.”
Bishop goes to her first. He leans down, hugs her, and kisses her cheek. “Hey, Ma.”
She cups his jaw, studying him the way she always does, like she’s checking for cracks only she knows how to see. “Hi, honey. How are you?”
“I’m good,” he says.
Her gaze flicks to the man beside her. “This is Evan,” she adds casually. “He’s a friend.”
Evan flashes us an easy smile. “Nice to finally meet Coco’s boys. I’ve heard so much about you.”
